Central Park Sheep Meadow

Behind the Painting

I took off my headphones outside the train stop in Brooklyn and overheard a woman talking next to me.

"We're gonna do Central Park tomorrow. But I can't do this cold! I'm from Miami."

I was going to the park myself that morning. I'd been tipped off to the existence of a banner with my name on it.

I walked out of Columbus Circle, navigating winding paths, crossing over bridges, dodging cyclists. I found the banner hanging above Sheep Meadow.

Well, there I was again, alone but in the company of the city. I was drawn to paint from some rocks I'd stopped at years ago.

I crossed the wet grass, careful not to interrupt the games of soccer, volleyball, and frisbee.

A boy to his dad. "Are we there yet?"

"Not yet. We have to go all the way across the field. But once we go across the field, that’s where the merry-go-round is."

A guy to his girlfriend. "We should’ve brought a football."

I waited a few minutes until my rock was free. The sun was coming out but the wind was cold. The Higan cherries were blooming. I dreamed about visiting Japan. I painted the green lawn and the pink and white flowers.

Cyclists in bright uniforms rested after riding the loop. Someone whistled "Oh, Susanna." A couple who'd been lying in the sun in front of me got up to leave.

"That’s a good rock."