Every painting has an inspiration. ‘Jungle in Concrete’, an early work, offers a glimpse inspired by living in Manhattan post grad school. We seldom reflect that while the Boomers changed the world, it was my generation, the forgotten generation, that shaped the Boomers – Elvis, Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, Hefner, Lennon & Leary. If the Boomers went over the cliff like gerbils, we carried the flag. 1970’s Manhattan, a city alive, a window opened with young men and women fleeing college dorms & the ‘Leave it to Beaver’ constraints of the 1950’s. With a nod to Rosie the Riveter, women were forging their way into their father’s workplaces. Professionals, newly emancipated unlike their mothers and every female generation since time immemorial [see 'The Pill']. It was a time of 'carefree frolic', with drinking at 18 flooding the bars from the Village to the Upper East Side. For the fortunate few, there was New Year’s at Trader Vic's in the Plaza, Sunday brunches in the Rainbow Room atop Rock Center or Tavern on the Green in Central Park and special events at Windows on the World atop the WTC overlooking the harbor. It was also a time of revolution with one war ending and others just erupting: civil rights, gay rights, Black Panthers, women’s rights all adding to the cauldron throbbing through the city. It was marvelous time to be alive… but it had its dark sides too.

Central Park was both a garden by day with sunbathers stretched out on the green and yet a jungle dark and uncertain by night… except when there was a free evening concert on the green. As I recall a multitude of perhaps 5,000 gathered on the slope and were told by the ushers to recline in the green pastures. As they awaited the MC, a young boy, likely from the Bronx, approached carrying a basket with 3 fishes and 4 loaves of barley … oops needle jumped onto the wrong track … a multitude carrying picnic baskets of wine, cheese, grapes and crackers sat down on blankets and the concert began. When it was over, New York’s Finest Parks Department picked up a scooch over 7 truckloads full of scraps & litter.

My sister lived in the city… magna cum laude graduate in fine arts scoring a $93 a month rent controlled ‘pre-professional' railroad apartment on 83rd street off York Avenue in Manhattan.  Her parties were to die for, entering the smoke-filled kitchen [lots of smoking in those days of all types – all my high school smoker friends all now dead] awash with gays by the gas stove… elbowing off to the ‘parlor’ where people of mixed interests kept the place thumping and then into the living room of straights seeking shelter by the fire escape – eclectic for sure, but so Manhattan, so young, so vibrant. I mean, who reinvents the world every 20 years. Magic, fun, excitement – she was a world unto herself:  I lost her to cancer several years back, a gem, a dear friend and I still feel the pain. Maybe another reason like Lots wife, we are told not to look back. Time to lift the needle and get back on track…

It’s said nothing is forever so like a Sunday school preacher slamming down the Bible – wham - the window closed. The dawn of a new decade saw AIDS creeping into the city… slowly, mysteriously. It claimed the Rock, named for New York’s River, it culled countless hundreds. It created so much pain that communities came together to make a quilt so large as if to wrap the city in its healing warmth.

We all saw it; the winds had shifted; the tide was ebbing. As they say about time and tide, it waits for no man, woman or beast. A new age of ‘relationships’ and sobriety had begun to take hold…’carefree frolic’ sank into the shadows. While down in the Meat Packing District, the Glory Hole and Clit Club still had a queue… those few remaining road warriors of all stripes gave a wink to the gate keeper and departed Toyland forever. The world will never have this era again… like Woodstock, if you weren’t there, you missed it… but don’t worry, I told my priest all about it, so I think I’m good….