For the first few years I lived in New York, I spent so many Sunday afternoons alone on the grass by the weeping willows in Central Park. Camera at hand and blades on my side, I photographed myself besides old men, runners, gates and castles. There have been tales that some things seen once were never to be found again, yet I always seemed to find my way back to Harlem.

I partied at Moby’s soon-to-be-sold penthouse in the Upper West Side tonight and from the terrace high up there, the city seemed quite different. A perfect sky on Manhattan – we overlooked the twenty-two acres body of water that is the Lake, pulsing right in front of my eyes and voiding all reflexes of digitalization.

Like Santogold would say: I can say I hope, it will be worth what I give up.

Viv xox

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