Living as artist

On the north end of Manhattan Avenue in Greenpoint Brooklyn, Newtown riverside, there is a five-story large factory building that more than 14000 square feet per floor.

Our couple, who used to live in Soho, Manhattan, moved to this low-rent building in 1984 because it was difficult to cover the rental fee. The building owner drew line with chalk on the floor of the 5th floor warehouse. It was the size of about 1000 square feet each unit with two big windows. It was rent contractual condition that artists must choose a location and set up a wall on the chalk line to create a space where they can work and live.

Most artists chose a space with a clean floor and a ceiling. Although the floor and ceiling were not good, my husband choose a space near the joint bathroom at the entrance. Most of the tenants had to use the common toilet, but we could have our own bathroom and shower room by connecting the pipe to the nearby common toilet.

The Manhattan night view outside the large window was so romantic. But ending up as an overnight dream was waiting for us. I couldn't recognize my husband's face in the morning because he was bitten by a swarm of mosquitoes swarming in a dirty river! So our first summer was just waiting for winter to come, fighting against a swarm of mosquitoes.

The winter we had been waiting for greeted us in a totally different way than we expected. The gale through the big old windows made our space a freezer. I'd rather miss the mosquitoes. We made a vinyl house at the corner of the space and spent it shaking away from our favorite window, saying, "It's romantic."

I lived wearing all the thick clothes at home. When I went outside, it was rather warm. I could understand why homeless people were wearing winter clothes even in the summer. Not only was it cold, but also it was also cold in mind. After the warm spring, I still couldn't take off my thick winter clothes.

I have been lived in a building like a refrigerator for three years. My body became a structure that adapts well to get cold place. I was pregnant in this building, where could not use an elevator. My husband pulled at me or pushed me to go up to 5th floor.

If we hadn't had child, wouldn't we still be living in the building where the rent was cheap? Having a child was like the whip of a mentor who spirits. Where such strength and courage came from, we flew high, fluttering hard towards a new place for the child.

It may be a reckless thing to live as a artist. Artist doesn't have time to make money because of the time to draw. Artist needs to work in a large space even if they can't make money. It is the lives of the artists who have to pursue only what is impossible and not realistic. Most of the artists do not receive the reward even after holding such a few decades. Nevertheless, why not being able to abandon the brush is similar to the reason for not giving up the cocaine?

My husband and I are still working without giving up the artist's path. We are in the strange mood that the sad memories of the old days and the happiness of now intersect.