2.7
April 11, 2012

I F’kin Heart NY & All of Her Dirty Glory. {Nudity}

You will search, babe,

At any cost.

But how long, babe,
Can you search for what’s not lost?

~ Bob Dylan  

An inquiry as to my route to the Art of Henna-ing as not only a career but a lifestyle, would require  that I tell a tale with details so painfully agonizing, I would certainly perturb any of the presumed peace that serve as the natural compliment to this mystical art. I know this, because, upon our first meeting, I can almost guarantee, this would be one of the first questions you ask; I’ve actually perfected the art of story telling because of this natural curiosity.

In detailing the intuitive quest aboard my own Marakesh Express, I would sound so hippy you would probably anticipate long pauses revealing deep inhalations which would confirm your notion that I was hitting a twelve-foot bong while speaking of my journey. 

I do have an affinity for Volkswagon Westfalia’s and may have even birthed my love child out of a caravan of this sort to a man who looked just like Jesus and while yes, I prefer oil lanterns to electricity and bare bones camping to the luxury of a hotel,

and yes, I am dirty,  but I’m really not a hippy. 

The truth is, I have an affinity for art and danger and I love transcending all of the precarious obstacles inherent in the mission toward acquiring the perfect vantage point from which to capture an intoxicated moment. I’ve roamed this country nine times over only to return to this realization:

Photo credit: James Ferrara 

I’m a F’kin New Yorker and I’m kind of Bad Ass! 

My vulgar conviction is the revelation I came up with only after bustin’ out of my home town all Jack Kerouac like—opting for the whole ‘road is life’  while living out of my ’75 Cadillac Coupe de Ville for like seven years and meeting some of the most creative rebels of society. It was them who taught me how to turn my talent into money and albeit a vagabond street festival side gig, I was living wild and free. I became the Henna Caravan, and I was painting my way back home. The rest of the country was too soft for me and I started to feel like I would die if I didn’t return to the place where the middle finger is actually a peace gesture, douche bag is a term of endearment and pizza is a required food staple no matter what your dietary classification.

So New York is where I lay my Henna-ing hat and I do it with terrific certainty that there’s no place I’d rather be.

Everything in New York is Art; all of Her dirty, rough and unrefined things are the most beautiful images.
 
One can’t paint New York as it is, but rather as it is felt. ~ Georgia O’Keefe
Come find me in NYC and let me adore and adorn you; I’ll be set up in the Market Place at the Yoga Journal Conference. You will love every second of the acquaintance, but please,  don’t ask me how I got started in Henna.
              ~

Editor Tanya L. Markul