TUNNEL VISIONS

Recently, I've been trying to remain conscious, awake, and open to artistic inspiration during my morning commute. This has proven to be very hard for me, considering I dread descending into the City's subway system. The constant crowding in the trains, in particular, derails any effort on my part toward a Carpe Diem optimism. Not surprisingly, the daily rush and congestion incite a fair amount of rider resistance, as each commuter seeks to preserve a modicum of personal space. Usually riders postpone their pent-up frustration until they exit the train, whereupon they push or shove anybody in their path. Outbursts erupt occasionally from inside the train, trapping everyone in the vicinity and putting all hairs on end. Frankly, I had no idea that people could become so aggressive at 8:30am. In the city, however, the dimension of time is amorphous and basically irrelevant. Someone's morning commute could be another's return from an evening out.

In any case, this cycle of congestion and contention occurs every morning. I often wonder: does the frustration I witness point to an evolutionary need for elbowroom? Or is frustration a socially-conditioned effect of forced invisibility and the cancellation of personal identity?

Known as the quintessential "salad bowl," New York City welcomes all variations of race, class, culture, and religion. The city endorses personal expression within all public domains, endowing each individual with visibility and a strong sense of self-importance. The subway system, however, seemingly contradicts city ordinance: this anomalous public domain forces riders to shed individuality and personal space in order to increase transportation efficiency. In essence, riders enter as Capitalists and travel as Socialists. Perhaps the frequent pushing and occasional outbursts reflect riders' efforts to assert themselves before the "system" completely erases them. Or does this phenomena simply point to the general complacency and entitlement of all New Yorkers?

Psychoanalysis aside, the congestion, tension, and aggression in the subway system are staples of everyday life for most people in the city. Ironically, much of this underground activity goes completely unnoticed by artists characterizing the city in film, novels, or television. In my opinion, phenomena not deemed glamorous or sensational by today's standards must still be documented and considered for aesthetic value. The sensory stimuli on the train alone provide incalculable amounts of artistic inspiration.

Consider the dynamic visual dichotomies: people entering or exiting, concentrating or daydreaming, sleeping or resting, begging or donating, standing or sitting, listening to music or reading a book; people that are clean or dirty, rich or poor, black or white, beautiful or ugly, fat or thin, formal or informal, single or married, sane or mentally disturbed; people with children or with pets, with shopping bags or shopping carts, with city maps or city trash. Consider all of the various nuances inbetween. I am constantly surprised by how much beauty exists in a 25-minute commute.

This morning in particular, I noticed that my train was traveling parallel to another moving train. I watched with acute self-awareness: I was not only a passive rider in public space, but also an active voyeur peering through a private window. I could see every passenger in the train across from me, and all of the dynamic stereotypes I described before were at play. I realized that for better or for worse, these people reflected my own hopes and dreams, my own generation, my own existence. They embodied the redundancy of corporate life; the desire for something invariably out of reach; the tendency to follow a routine because it's comfortable; the inexpressible need for fulfillment, love, affirmation, and respect. I realized that we are all connected. Despite our differences, we are very much the same. We are actors of our fates, subjects of larger institutions, and voyeurs into our souls.