44 Lispenard St.
I was the daughter of artist parents.
The grime, the paint, the sound of trucks loading and unloading in the middle of the night, the egg creams at Dave’s Corner, the community of artists and their kids.
I miss everything equally.
Sitting under a table of wine and cheese at a gallery opening with a friend. It was thrilling to be a kid, basically unnoticed, observing this world of art and booze and sex.
Our building had been bought and the new owners began harassing us to leave. They shut off the electricity. They even threatened my father’s life. We ended up moving to LA, where my father began a new career writing for television.
I would like to thank Yuki, an old classmate of mine from IS70, for working so diligently to preserve these memories of ours, though it’s clearly a labor of love.