On the train

and other short stories from September.

I’ve felt a bit scattered this month. I’m preparing to show around 27 new works of art at The Other Art Fair (link for 20% off tickets!) in Brooklyn from October 17-20, so I’ve spent most of my free time in September organizing logistics and finalizing pieces.

So, instead of a complete short story this month, here are three small sketches that are fun, exploratory, and focused mainly on describing sensory experiences—particularly in subways. I’m not sure why, but perhaps it’s because autumn is a very on-the-go season for the city. Everyone’s back from their summer travels, fashion and art shows bring a host of new characters to the streets, and the city feels alive once again.

On the train

The subway was especially tired tonight. Seemed to absolutely groan under itself, it wailed so loudly as it chugged along the tracks as if the car would dramatically fall apart under its own weight. Not the physical weight, but the metaphorical one, of never ceasing to carry passengers to and fro—as if only to that extent, and never to an end point. It bounced off the tracks like it was angry at this. Chug a chug a chug a chug a chug where a chug are a chug you going?

She stumbled off at Bedford Avenue, irritated by proxy, as if the train was a human she could catch emotions from. You can’t catch emotions from people, her friend told her, a flash of a memory. Sticky walnut counter top. Wobbly stool. Black booties. Brooklyn? No, East Village. She remembered disagreeing with a laugh and flourish of her cup under the cheap red neon lighting, using a flippant gesture to hide her sincerity and secret seriousness.

Portrait of early autumn in New York

September, the month when the first cool breeze kicks up and brings the city back to life. Restaurant windows fling open, letting murmurs spill onto the streets, silverware clinking like wind chimes.

Snippets of conversation drift through the air as people float in and out of doorways, across terraces, and between subway cars. Their voices are carried on the wind, wafting between the rumble of trains and the steady clip-clop-clop-clop of Chelsea boots on pavement.

The sound of their voices blurs, and you’re reminded of lying on the carpet as a child, listening to the grown-ups past bedtime—feeling both comforted and a little clandestine as you catch indistinct fragments:

Haha.. I’ll have the Cabernet.. that’s nice.. No!.. touchdown.. unbelievable.. would you like some?.. haha.. thanks I found it at.. when Sarah and I.. equity.. oh, shit, really.. there on Tuesday.. we’ll actually be in Hudson.. have you two met?.. that’s amazing.. haha..

The tips of the leaves are starting to crinkle as they sway, and more of them scatter on the ground, yellow and happy, signaling change, signaling novelty. You stoop down, but a breeze kicks them up, and they tumble away in a flurry, alive and clumsy like puppy paws. You can’t catch me, not yet.

The humidity of summer has lifted, along with the sluggish blues of those long days. The sunsets shift from pink to purple, burning a deeper orange along the horizon as the sun sinks. When you wake in the morning, the traffic sounds clearer, and you recall something about sound waves traveling faster when it’s cold. You push up the dusty window—pshhhh—and stick a hand outside. The air slides over your skin, cool and slick.

It’s autumn once again.

In the zone

Like many people, I struggle with traditional meditation. But man oh man, can I easily achieve a ruminative state through zoning out. It’s probably an inversion of meditation as instead of letting go of thoughts, it’s a state where I recede so far back into my fantasies that I lose my grip on the physical world entirely. I had a moment like this on the subway the other day, my eyes settled on a neutral position somewhere between the train floor and other commuter’s shins—in other words, away from anyone’s faces. I learned that early on: try not to zone out on other people’s faces. It’s unnerving.

Anyway, without any strain or excessive concentration, I felt my eyes lock into place, and somewhere in between them was the sensation of a pleasant whirring, like I was a cat being petted on that flat space between my ears. Mmm that’s nice. For a moment I felt mildly concerned I wouldn’t be able to yank my eyes away from this zen, or pull my mind away from this gentle hum. With one part of my brain playing out imaginary scenarios from my life, and the other part aware enough of this state, I began to find it funny. This might be how I will exist forever, I thought, amusing myself. Just riding the subway back and forth, staring off into space.

I imagined Rod Sterling standing across from me, the subway doors behind him wobbling until they became a hypnotic whirl pool of black and white, narrating to the viewers in a Transatlantic accent as crisp as the lapels on his suit, You’re moving into another dimension. A land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You’ve just crossed over into—

—Sixth Avenue. The next and last stop is Eighth Avenue—

The female recording of the MTA pierced into my fantasy, momentarily bringing me back into reality. But if you’re familiar with zoning out, or it’s cousin, falling asleep, it’s easy to slip back into the reverie once you’ve found its grooves. My pupils pulled back again inadvertently, blurring my view of shins and shoes, like a camera lens widening.

I would worry about how slack and expressionless my face appeared except that’s the beauty of this trance: you don’t care. There are many benefits to zoning out, daydreaming, and letting your mind wander. Studies have shown that it’s a healthy brain function that allows you to continue processing information such as—wait

wait

wait

did she say Sixth Avenue?

Well, shit. That was my stop.

---

If you’re in New York, I invite you to come see my new art works at The Other Art Fair next weekend! Details below.

The Other Art Fair
Oct 17-20th

ZeroSpace
337-345 Butler St.
Brooklyn, NY 11217

Use code 20EMILYP or this link for 20% off tickets.