Lead (Pb) Gallery

1303 1st Avenue
September 20, 1996

I sit on an old sofa near an open window in the basement where the SOIL artists display their work. I hear cars on the highway, someone talking on the phone a few floors below, and an air conditioner.

I think of city sounds like pieces to a puzzle. Each sound represents a different activity that combines to form a city: co-workers talk on the Harbor Steps about the team's most recent win or next week's company barbecue; computers printing paychecks or a 10-page report destined to collect dust or fund a P-Patch; dishes clanking in the kitchen of a fusion style restaurant; high-heeled shoes on the visiting insurance broker from New York quickly clicking up the steps; papers falling from a briefcase; loud music during a traffic jam; garbage collectors discussing their scores from the MCAT; and the sounds of cameras used by artists, journalists, and tourists.

When I piece a puzzzle together sometimes a piece won't fit on the first try. The first time I hear a new noise in the city it jolts me, shocks me enough to find the source. After many times I hear the noise it fits in my puzzle;
familiar enough for me to almost dismiss it as I
write poetry.