The Loud Silence of New York

I didn’t go to Green-Wood Cemetery looking for Jean-Michel Basquiat. It's more like a peaceful and private feeling park in a busy city... rolling hills, old trees, wide paths... a place for wandering. I liked going there to slow down... to watch the tree blossoms fall.

And yet, New York has a way of redirecting you. Somewhere between the monuments... I found myself standing at Basquiat’s grave. A simple and unassuming resting place for someone whose voice was anything but small.

Across the city, in Manhattan’s NoHo neighborhood, stands 57 Great Jones Street... the building where Basquiat lived and worked from 1983 until his death in 1988. The loft was both his home and studio and was was rented from Andy Warhol, another unmistakable New York voice now also gone.

Today, the street itself bears Basquiat’s name: Jean-Michel Basquiat Way. A quiet but permanent acknowledgment... how the city remembers.

Around that same time - I encountered two of Basquiat’s works in person at the Philips Auction House.

One was Flexible (1984) and the other, Per Capita (1983).

Basquiat’s work doesn’t sit politely on the wall... it confronts you and demands you come in close for a look at all the details. Even when you don’t think you have any time to give.

The City That Still Speaks

It leads me to think about how New York is crowded with voices that are technically gone but functionally everywhere. Its artists, writers, musicians, architects, and thinkers. Their homes become landmarks... streets and parks are renamed. Their work circulates through museums and galleries like an echo. Basquiat is one of those echoes.

Some voices don’t fade... they just change how they’re heard... if we just keep listening. ✨