When I was offered a solo show at the Rondout Savings Bank, I was thrilled. And then I thought about how I don’t really shoot series photos and about how I’d never tried to make groups of photos that worked seamlessly together, but I said yes anyway. For years I’d been encouraged to think about these things, shoot this way, and suddenly, I realized why. I did find a theme, though, and described it this way in my artist’s statement:

The photos I’ve chosen to exhibit are mostly city images, but I hope they convey my desire and need to find aspects of nature in everyday life—no matter where I go. Contrasts, unexpected moments of beauty, and the way that place can help memory unfold inspire me.

I was beyond anxious about promoting my own work, but I’ve found that mentioning the show to people, handing out the promo cards, and sending some emails has been a comfortable way of talking about photography, painting, and other artists’ work. It’s created an easy dialogue with my writer and actor friends, too. I’ve learned more about how non-profits work with the community and how this relationship can benefit businesses and artists.

When I was a kid growing up in the wild foothills of North Carolina, my dad (an artist who chose a business career to put food on the table) worked with a bank. When my parents arrived last weekend to see the show, I could tell they were so excited. It was a great moment for me.

The show’s up through December 5. If you are an artist with a first-ever solo show deadline approaching without gallery support, email me at rousseaunyc@gmail.com and I’ll write back with a checklist of ideas, things people told me. It’s so much fun! I’ll keep reporting back.

Years ago, I took acting class in a studio space on West 71th Street above Cafe La Fortuna. Back then I had no idea how attached I would become to Fortuna’s dim back room, exposed brick walls, and private outdoor garden. During the acting days, I hadn’t been in NYC long enough to know what I was getting into. I learned pretty fast. Space is a luxury. Rents continue to soar. Things change.

La Fortuna closed a couple of years ago, and New Yorkers lined up for several days to go inside and cry with Lucy, a wonderful lady who kept order and reminded us to bring in our books. “All of this writing and where are the books,” she said. “You all need to bring me the books.” I reminded Lucy that I was at the getting-published-some-but-no-book-deal-yet stage, but she didn’t seem to believe me. “I want the books,” she said.

Today I was walking by Joe on the Upper West Side and decided to pop in for an espresso. This is not a hang-out-and-write type of cafe. Joe employees are hipsters and very serious about making a perfect cup of coffee. And I appreciate that. The thing is: this cafe is tiny. You dance just to survive the wait for a takeout beverage. Watching people shift around the space is a form of interactive entertainment, if you’re in that kind of mood. There are other Joe shops with more room, although the tables are the size of dimes. The Waverly Place Joe is cute in summer with its two outdoor benches. The Joe near NYU has more indoor space.

For writing, check out Cafe Dante in the Village. No laptops allowed, though. Cafe Henri is good after the lunch rush. A friend of mine recently reminded me that the New York Public Library at Bryant Park is a great place to write. Sometimes I guess we gotta let go of the coffee until we get some work done. And if we never left our apartments to work, well, I don’t want to think about it.

So here’s a photo I took with my iPhone today while I sat in Joe for a minute not writing.

The Golden Notebook is open! Great books, great people, and a great local bookstore. The newly renovated Notebook is on Tinker Street right in the middle of town—just across from the WAAM and a few doors down from Changes (the coolest men’s store anywhere) and Oriole 9 (coffee that’s beyond amazing). If you’re in Woodstock, stop into the Notebook and spread the love. If you’re somewhere else, support your local bookstore!

The New York Times reported yesterday that a collective of graffiti artists called Slavery is (sort of) reproducing well-known works with the goal of recreating and reinterpreting 50 or more pieces of famous graffiti as both history lesson and homage to the original artists. Many of the works were documented in Subway Art, a 1984 photo book by Henry Chalfant and Martha Cooper. When you’re in NYC look for the revived pieces. When I find some of them, I’ll try to take pictures and post under the title Graffiti Revival.

Thinking about graffiti and abstract expressionist exhibits while trying to get through midtown traffic made me remember this photo of a delivery truck that I took a couple of weeks ago with my iPhone. Sometimes when you’re in a cab, running late, and wishing that the mayor had not put all those medians and cafe tables in the middle of the street, it’s a good thing to just look around. After I took this pic and finished whatever appointment I was running late for, I walked by the Spanierman Gallery and saw a painting by Frank Bowling that echoed elements of  the delivery truck image I had just snapped a couple of hours before. I detoured into the gallery and looked and asked questions. If you click on the link, you’ll see one of Bowling’s paintings–not the one that pulled me into the gallery, but you’ll get the idea. Where else could you do that? You gotta love New York.

I saw the Abstract Expressionist show at the Museum of Modern Art in NYC this week. I’m interested in how this generation of painters gathered in New York, communicated with each other, and searched for a new language on canvas. The rock-star status paintings are there by the rock star painters. Ceiling to floor drips by Pollock. Black graffiti-like shapes by DeKooning. Several works by Krasner. I’ve always been fascinated by the relationship between Pollock and Krasner, and I haven’t lost interest after the movie and all the stories. Seeing their paintings hung in the the same show made me think. And compare. I’m going to go back to spend more time looking.

This is going to be a quick post. I’m sure I’ll write more about this subject later, but it’s Friday! This week I worked on a very, very short non fiction piece and finished it last night. My tiny memoir is edited, polished and ready to submit to a section of a literary magazine. This morning I started thinking about how it feels to write something and then send it out. I really want my piece to be published. Getting published in a newspaper or a literary magazine has been thrilling for me. It’s a rush. It’s a form of validation. The weight of the paper, the tone of the ink and the shape of the publication feel delicious when I hold published work in my hands. But first, I’ve got to write the words.

As writers we need the freedom to write what we need to write in this moment and then let it go. We can choose whether or not to try to publish later. We change. Memories change color. My stories will change constantly because understanding deepens, shifts. The freedom to express a thought needs to be a real freedom. The writer has the choice to write, edit and then let go and allow the piece to exist on its own. We can decide what to do with it after the process of creating is finished.

The writer Natalie Goldberg wrote a great essay about publication in one of her books, and I can’t remember which one. I thought the title of the chapter was “You Are Not the Poem,” but I can’t find it right now, so don’t quote me. I suggest reading her books if you’re a new writer. Her insight on her own writing process is part of the gift of her work.