It's Not Too Late

let's take 5Pointz for example. yes, it no longer exists because it was destroyed. yes, it was whitewashed—painted over in primer white. yes, whatever remained has been subsumed by the glass high-rises and the change in populations and culture shift that inevitably follows.

but it also doesn't exist, in part, because we let it's memory slip away. too few of us tell stories about how it used to be, fewer acknowledge that it might've been saved (though, not to dismiss the impressive efforts of the artists and their community, it might've demanded the whole borough to turn out to convince the city to change its decision or defend it from the sudden and unexpected middle-of-the-night paint over) or that the new neighborhood which took its place could be different than it is now, or even—and perhaps especially—that we can remake it in our own way. and only an outnumbered and ostracized batch will bother to do anything about it.

there's a social pressure to forget and move on, and any remembering is perceived to be naïve or childish even. paradoxically, it's as if we want to remember and relieve 2019 over and over again—or as if we're being told that's what we want.

"things were bumpy this year in 2019, but next year, 2019, things will be better. 2019 will be our year."

we can break this spell, though it's going to take all of us. we'll have to unlearn & relearn. we'll have to trust in each other again. and, most crucially, we'll have to be willing to get spray paint on our hands again.

(Originally written 27 August 2024)