This is my English paper. We were supposed to describe any event.. mine really just turned into a paper about my love of New York City and the arts… For those of you wondering about my decision letter from Cooper Union, here you go!
I don’t EVERRRR share my writing with anyone, for OBVIOUS reasons! So this is really just so I don’t have to tell every single individual about what happened!
Hope you enjoy!
Stepping outside into a steaming summer day, the smell of trash and bagel joints fills your nose. The streets of New York City push plenty of smells at you, like a doctor performing an unwanted procedure, but it is necessary in order to know where you are going; you are in New York, the possibilities are endless. The boundaries are far from limited and your options are wide open. An obnoxious yellow cab honks loudly and drives directly towards you as you cross the street before the “walk” signal turns. You are a New Yorker, you are a risk-taker… at least for this week. Visiting New York, the five or six times I have, was almost hypnotic. The city is your mother, it calls you in to play when it begins to rain; this world outside of the city become monotonous, drab, and almost disappears as we take the steps of everyday life. The “rain” becomes wet and tiresome, but the city, New York City, is a breath of fresh air. For me, New York City is my go-to place, the place where I feel at home; I can be anyone I want to be, I can venture to new levels in my life, and I can feel comfortable in this city that hardly welcomes a white dove. Now I wait for an invitation in the mail; this letter that says do it or die. This letter that says you are in, and we want you here.
For my first few visits to New York City I traveled with family, did the tourist route, took the double decker bus tour, saw the musicals, did the Today Show, etc. but during the summer of 2006 I opened the opportunity for myself to go to summer school in the city. While chatting with my best friend in a ninth grade drawing class we decided we wanted to go to summer school in New York City. To most southerners, or quite frankly to anyone who doesn’t live in New York City, New York tends to be the city of dreams, good fate and love; so of course, it sounded like the perfect place to spend our summer. For the first part of the summer I worked everyday, fingers to bone in order to save my pennies, and eventually saved enough for the tuition of a Painting and Drawing summer program at the School of Visual Arts. Arriving in New York City for this summer experience rushed the adrenaline through my body. I was here, in a new place, all alone and at the of age fifteen. The city was mine. I take ownership of this city for now, just for four weeks in order to feel at home. My history with New York had been deleted in my mind at this point in time. This was my shot to make a new history for myself and this city, a time to connect, and a time to find the place I belonged.
Looking back on this “adventure” I wonder what my parents were thinking letting a fifteen year old loose in the largest city in America, but it helped me grow and mature in a way that most fifteen year olds do not have the opportunity to do. The freedom was immense and the passion was present. The sound of traffic at all hours of the night was incorporated into my “sleep machine.” The constant loud noise leant a sort of stimulus to my body, like nerve impulses in the sarcomere; a muscle contraction, a beat of this heart and I was sold. This was the place for me. I felt alive. During the time I spent in New York City I decided that there was no other career path for me, there was no other way to live my life; it was do art or die. I know this sounds dramatic, but it became a part of me. The smallest slices of my genetics pushed my body further and further into the art field, like a beautifully woven hat or scarf to keep warm. This career path would be my protection for failure. The natural balance came to me, with aid from the city, but mostly from what I am made of.
The Cooper Union: a small art school with prestige, a fascinating, talented and well known group of alumni. A school that brings about little error in the art world and pushes out students that receive the best jobs in the art, architecture and engineering fields. The school that selects sixty-five candidates each year to have the contingency to receive free tuition, gain the best education, and to bestow to them the best jobs after graduation. Over the course of three weeks I labored, like a sweating mule in a hot field; designing, sketching, and working extremely hard to finish a home test sent by The Cooper Union. How will you interpret these prompts and how quickly can you create a masterpiece? Testing the students ability to work hard and finish with excellent results in a timely manner; this may be the hardest challenge I have gone through so far in my life, but it is the one that I finished. The package has been mailed, one seal of an envelope and it was up to fate. Nothing else could be done or said, it was complete and there was nothing I could do except obsessively check the mail.
Although, I feel this city is still part of me, I am not there. I am separated from something that feeds my energy levels and fuels the movement of my bones. Longing for the inspiration, the resources, the passion, I tried this once again. One last chance before all ambition is lost.This time the step has been taken more seriously. I wait for this invitation. This letter of acceptance; the letter that offers me a welcoming hand to some of the world’s greatest designers and artist. The letter that brings me to the city I love and thrive off of. It is embedded in me, the colorful grit runs through my veins, sewer smells somehow create a redolent odor from my pits. I have become dirty because of this city, and therefore I have been cleaned. I am offered this one, last chance to make it there. Offered a chance to be something within this huge beast, this being that needs me. I may only be a single cell in this contracting muscle, but I am necessary for the life of this city.
February 10, 2011. I open the cold, stale mailbox. The letter I open reflects this color and feeling. Stale, heartbreaking, cold, and static feelings overcome me. “Unfortunately” is all I needed to see. No tears, no cursing, just silence. My ambition has vanished instantly; what do I do now? A cold rush runs through my spine. The envelope remains on the table, I deliver the bad news to everyone waiting in anticipation. Seconds go by and I begin to pursue other schools; I must succeed in this journey, I must get to New York. This city needs me, and I need it. Six months to live Mary Beth, six months before your muscles stiffen up and your body fails. Paralyzation is not an option. I keep walking in hopes of another acceptance letter, a better school, and most of all, a good health for my dying ambition for art.
