#garth gratrix

[apexart-journal]

Garth Gratrix, apexart NYC Fellowship

Day 20 – Space, Bonds & Better Questions

Today offered a bit of a pause. A reprieve, if you will, from the daily assault on the senses that is this Fellowship's magnificent and relentless itinerary. First up, scheduled as a guest at an AA meeting. Now, given the echoes of my own lived experience—childhood shaped by the ripple effects of alcohol—I knew instinctively this wasn't for me. I’ve listened. I’ve unpicked. I’ve evolved. And more than anything, I’ve put enough weight into that story already. It’s not a door I need to walk back through, especially not here, especially not now, and especially not in a city I’m navigating mostly solo.

Advance notice wouldn’t have gone amiss. Sometimes it’s not about what you’ll learn by showing up, but about knowing what you no longer need to learn again. And today was one of those days.

That said, I wasn’t angry. If anything, I surprised myself with how calm my “I’m good, thanks” came. A quiet marker of distance, and perhaps even healing. But it did raise thoughts on how we hold space for others—how we navigate shared experience while respecting very different emotional entry points. Not all disruption is generative, after all.

Next came a reassuring counterbalance: an online session with the one and only Rita (yes, she of the earlier financial adventures). Today’s gospel? Municipal bonds. Reader, I’m not built for bonds. I’m built for paint, textile, movement and meaning. Can someone just handle the investments for me while I get on with shaping the soul of a new body of work? Rita would probably tell me that’s exactly what I need: a team. Progress isn’t always about the lone genius—it’s often about shared effort. The invisible scaffolding. The ones who hold you up while you’re busy holding space for everyone else.

It made me wonder—do I need to call in a new cohort for my next chapter?

From there, across to Long Island City for a meeting with Greta Lin at ACE (The Association of Community Employment Programs for the Homeless). Their mission: job training, experience, and long-term support for New Yorkers affected by homelessness. It's vital work. And Greta, warm and assured, was open about the organisation’s aims and challenges.

But as I listened, I felt something familiar stir—curiosity, and a pinch of unease. We’re often good at helping people function. But how often do we help them dream? Are we creating pipelines back into society, or pathways forward into self-defined purpose?

And what of those who live outside the normative scope—gender-diverse, queer, neurodiverse individuals navigating homelessness in a country lurching rightward in policy and rhetoric? Where do they go, and how do they grow, when the system is designed to measure duty, not desire?

This isn’t a dig at ACE—they’re doing vital work. But as an artist, I’m trained to notice gaps. To squint at the edges of the picture and ask: what’s missing? Because people are more than their eligibility for support. They deserve stories, not just statistics.

So yes, today was lighter on the doing, but rich with questions. And maybe that’s the work right now. Making space not just for action, but for interrogation.

Today's pic for those in need of visual, yasss for you folks. Hmmm, let's see. I'll drop some various things in. You're Welcome.

[apexart-journal]

Garth Gratrix, apexart NYC Fellowship

Day 19 – From Cyclones to Claps to Correctional Capitalism

Straight outta Washington and back into the NYC shuffle with a trio of wildly different experiences today – like a tasting menu for the overstimulated.

First up: a seminar by Ning Lin, Professor of Civil and Environmental Engineering at Princeton. Urban Science and Risk Management were on the menu. Tornadoes – terrifying. Thankfully, not a UK staple... yet. But hurricanes, now those we’re familiar with. Ning’s models made clear how climate risk isn’t just about the weather, but what happens after: housing displacement, public health pressure, long-term economic strain, and cracks in the care systems we rely on most.

Two things stuck with me especially, perhaps because they hit close to my own (coastally planted) doorstep:

1. Sea level rise + storm surge = saltwater intrusion — already creeping into drinking supplies in some US areas.

2. Infrastructure vulnerability in lower-income coastal zones — where resilience isn’t a retrofit you can afford.

We call it “a bit of a breeze” back home, but what happens when that breeze picks up a shipping container and chucks it through your allotment?

After some climate doom and a black coffee, I wandered into what I now know is a global movement: Toastmasters. I’d imagined a tidy hour of public speaking tips and friendly encouragement. Instead: 2.5 hours, a pop-up fitness class (room set-up duties, me sweating like a post- gym tidal wave), and a cascade of applause when each of us speak.

There was an energy, an optimism – people facing their fears, giving it a go, encouraging each other. TED talk style speeches. And while I’m all in for anyone finding their voice, I realised something humbling: I’ve already put in the hours. I’ve got my voice – shaky at times, but grounded. Not everyone's cup of tea, but mine nonetheless. So after a few rounds of listening and clapping, I slipped out with a smile and let them continue as a regular residential group to build those ongoing relationships.

The day ended more quietly, horizontal with my legs up, tucking into cheap ramen and watching 13TH by Ava DuVernay – a vital, haunting, fiercely brilliant documentary. It charts how the U.S. prison system didn’t appear out of thin air, but evolved from the loophole in the 13th Amendment:

“Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude... shall exist, except as a punishment for crime.”

Except. One hell of a loophole.

The film maps a clear line from slavery to Jim Crow to mass incarceration – with the war on drugs, political fear-mongering, and private prison profiteering all playing their roles.

One quote hit hard:

“People say we have a criminal justice system. What we really have is a criminal legal system.”

Another:

“The prison industrial complex is not just a system of punishment – it’s a system of control.”

I sat there with ramen going cold, deeply stirred. The language of oppression evolves, but the machinery remains disturbingly intact. And somewhere in that, I think about art again. What do we do with what we know? How do we make it visible, visceral, and un-ignorable? Also that in being an artist is a social and professional resistance as to how things go or are encouraged to go in life.

So, yes, today I thought about hurricanes, handshakes, and handcuffs. A curious triangle of themes, but somehow, they all asked the same thing:

Who is protected? Who is heard? And what role can we each play in answering that? What structure and or infrastructure needs to be built that is not yet having value placed upon it?

Today you can have the Chrysler Vs Empire State. Whose tip is more desirable? You're Welcome.

[apexart-journal]

Garth Gratrix, apexart NYC Fellowship

Day 17/18 — Washington= Meatloaf, Megabuses and The Mall

Early start today, boarding the Peter Pan Megabus to Washington DC — a name far more whimsical than the reality of public transport. Still, it got me there, and I had a brilliant afternoon meeting Casey, a former Fellow, with a background in English and Publishing, now running a not-for-profit.

Over coffee and a sampling of my first meatloaf (somewhere between a deconstructed cottage pie and a Faggot for my 'British' sensibilities), we dived deep into conversation. Art vs non-art, political climates, sustainable working models — some gentle agreements, some playful debate, all fuelled by mutual curiosity rather than needing to "win". A rare and welcome space to think and exchange, rather than simply react.

Took a stroll through the Library of Congress. It's a beast — beautiful, grand, but about as quiet as a street market. Any poor resident scholar hoping for contemplative silence is up against daily camera flashes and groups on field trips.

Loved seeing the reconstructed Thomas Jefferson Library — its circular, almost Warhol-esque installation feeling more boutique fashion house than traditional archive. America does love a good spectacle.

Later, the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts served up an eclectic musical buffet. Sat listening with slight disbelief, knowing that Trump himself now chairs the board after firing all previous members. Something about "making it great again"... again. Strange times. I wondered what 'culture' will be served here after.

As I sat listening to music, I continued to wrestle with some inner tension. How arbitrary boundaries (or designed discouragements) restrict engaging with 'art' Vs 'other'. Perhaps it's to do with cultural engagement as opposed to sector specific. I then thought, why music, of not visual art, why dance of not music and so on. Surely there's some intersectionality to be explored. Food for thought in my reactions to not engaging with my artform. I'm creatively homesick.

Day 18

A full walking and back back kind of day. Full tourist vibe, soaking up a very Truman Show version of Washington DC. The Mall stretched out endlessly, sun-drenched and serene — monumental in scale but somehow small in spirit, knowing the tensions and censorships bubbling underneath.

In a quiet moment of gentle rebellion, I carried one of my Beach Towels artworks with me. A private act of feeling both part of and apart from the great American theatre of culture.

No art galleries were on my official itinerary, but I couldn’t resist the pull of very visible and large sculpture gardens as I walked, so I may have detoured to fall into a moment of recalibration amongst Elsworth Kelly, Roy Lichtenstein, Claes Oldenburg, Louise Bourgeois, Henry Moore, Sterling Ruby. They called out like stubborn old friends refusing to be ignored: "Garth, we’re here!". The path of least resistance and all that.....

Sometimes you have to honour the 'shoulds' while quietly sneaking your own 'musts' into the day.

46,000 steps later, blisters blooming, body aching but spirit a little lighter. I was given transport information, but sometimes walking gives you a more grounding sense of place, people, atmosphere. I appreciate the moments of being healthier whilst here as well.

Madonna, FKA Twigs, and Self Esteem became the unofficial soundtrack to my midnight Megabus back "home" to NYC.

A day less about capturing every detail and more about absorbing fragments. Snapshots, impressions, leaving room for a little magic to linger between the notes. Some snapshots for the eyes below...

"Lovely Jubbly" as we would say back home :).

Below: Two silver tarpaulins in conversation on a sunny windy day

[apexart-journal]

Garth Gratrix, apexart NYC Fellowship

Day 16 — Socks, Tiles, and Tired Legs

Today's itinerary: Juggling, observing, hobbling.

This morning I went to a juggling practice in Bryant Park. You know, the library where Carrie Bradshaw wore a Vivienne Westwood wedding dress and a bird on her head. A handful of people were tossing balls and other things into the air with varying degrees of success — and the markets were on around the lawn with groups of tourists pretending not to be watching. I admire the simplicity yet control of juggling: coordination, patience, letting go. There's something satisfying about focusing entirely on a repetitive movement until your brain finally stops trying to run the world. My dad was a Clown called Rainbow back when he was my age. Opening up Christian bookstores, with his juggling balls, spinning plates and balloon modelling. A closeted gay teens dream day out with dad 😂.

From there, I made my way to the Islamic Cultural Center of New York. A stunning building — deserves its own service.

I entered the mosque respectfully, clean socks and all (thank God I’d remembered). I'd read ahead that makeup was acceptable, I had a spot! I love the acoustics in places of worship. How can we give creativity the same acoustic amplification for its future sustainability?.

I attended as a quiet observer, not as a participant — not as a statement, but because, as I’ve mentioned before, it feels disingenuous to mimic rituals that hold deep meaning for others. Sometimes the best thing you can do is simply listen, watch, and hold space without inserting yourself into the frame.

In the evening, there was meant to be a dance event, but my legs had other plans. Cramping fiercely, they firmly voted "no". Spasms and Mambo might have formed a new dance craze though 🤔

Instead, I accepted that tonight's choreography would be me getting horizontal as soon as humanly possible.

Early start on a Peter Pan bus to Washington ahead. Whose faster, Peter Pan or a Greyhound? ...

[apexart-journal]

Garth Gratrix, apexart NYC, Fellowship

Day 15: Liberation, Limits & a Cheeky Surprise

Today I sat in on a talk at Columbia University about resistance, liberation, and the messiness in between. Nadia Urbinati and David Forgacs didn’t sugar-coat it: Italy’s post-war “liberation” wasn’t a clean break. It was three wars at once—against occupation, against each other, and against class divides that still linger.

They dug into women’s roles too—how rights didn’t just magically appear with freedom. They had to be fought for, clawed at, and are still being defended. It was a reminder that “liberation” is often a headline written by those who benefit first.

Listening to all this, I could feel a low hum of frustration inside me. Some old triggers feel a bit louder: the worker, the caregiver, the fixer. I’m good at giving energy out. Less good at reserving it for myself. I'm thinking about value and how it isn’t in how much you can carry—but maybe in how much you can create when not weighed down.

While navigating the provocation between art and non-art here, I keep circling around three elements: time, money, and space.

Time is needed to offer care and volunteer energy to others. Money is necessary to sustain yourself, regardless of how generously you wish to give your time. And space—both physical and psychological—is vital, not just to manage the other two, but to claim a place where your own value and belonging are acknowledged.

For those of us from poorer socio-economic backgrounds, the constant risk can lie in the fact that these three elements rarely align securely. Privilege, here as elsewhere, makes a world of difference in who gets to take that risk—and even who can be afforded status as risk-taking.

And yes, money thoughts are creeping back too. The future, the costs, the to-do lists piling up quietly at home. I’m irritated. But honestly? It feels like a good irritation—the kind that signals something's about to shift if I let it. Radical candour with myself: stop ignoring what needs to change. Nor does change need to be huge to have impact. Take life's itinerary as suggestions, not as law.

Unexpected bit of joy as the day came to a close. My Norwegian friend now lives in Brooklyn. Full cheeky grin. We’re hitting Coney Island on my next free day. I can’t wait.

A small, needed reminder: life still knows how to surprise you, even when you’re having a knee-deep moment in existential maths.

[apexart-journal]

Garth Gratrix, apexart NYC Fellowship

Day 14: Goose Gazing, Ghosts, and the Grit of Greatness

Today was about islands—literal and metaphorical.

I started with the Roosevelt Island Tramway, which gives the feeling of hovering above the city like a hesitant superhero. It’s wild how just a cable car away from Manhattan can feel so quiet, so stripped back. Roosevelt Island has had many names—Minnehanonck by the Lenape people, then Welfare Island, and now Roosevelt Island, after Franklin D. There’s rich and complecated LGBTQIA+ history here too—rumour has it the island was once a quieter meeting point for queer communities before safer spaces opened up more visibly in the city. More recently, Roosevelt Island hosted events for Pride and remains a site where conversations about marginalised voices are being re-rooted.

I walked the whole island. Four miles of contemplation, not exactly a feat of endurance, but still gave me that satisfying ache of steady solo discovery. The island carries its past like a whisper. The Octagon—now luxury apartments—used to be the entrance to the island’s asylum, journalist and absolute badass Nellie Bly infiltrated the system to expose the mistreatment of patients in the late 1800s. Think about the risk of that. Of going undercover not knowing if you’d ever be believed or let out. Her monument, The Girl Puzzle, stands proudly at the northern tip of the island and also depicts an LGBTQIA woman. Bly's revelations specifically exposed society to the blurred lines between diagnosis of insanity versus closing the doors on marginalised members of society.

Across the island at the southern tip, the Four Freedoms Park honours President Roosevelt. It’s poetic and telling how Eleanor barely gets a nod, despite being arguably the more progressive Roosevelt when it came to human rights.

Somewhere along the path, I met a goose. We shared a moment. They didn’t respond to my pronoun check, but they did let me film them twice. One video with Brooklyn and Manhattan as a backdrop, another on the path itself—just a goose being a goose, and me trying to be still for once, even if others move (in this instance the Goose.

In a full New York swing, I ended the day in new shoes—hello HOKA, goodbye blisters—and headed to the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts for a screening of a new documentary about choreographer Jane Comfort. What a woman. Her work spans decades, cultures, ages—experimental, relevant, and human. She’s been out here building community and spirit through movement, not just preserving past greats but creating new energy. A particular joy for me as someone who’s often more comfortable building for others, or perhaps seeks collaborative experimentation and nourishment.

And then, the kind of moment that NYC throws at you like confetti. I was sat beside Muna Tseng—dancer, choreographer, sister of Tseng Kwong Chi, and custodian of his estate. She told me stories of her collaborations and life around Keith Haring and Tseng’s iconic “East Meets West” photo series. These are the artists who truly painted the city with courage, joy, and grief in equal measure. It made me wonder: what am I building now that I’ll want to carry in 10 years? What am I risking?

Now as per residency 'rules', I didn't seek out the art, the art found and sat right next to me. Glorious.

Might not sleep tonight. Mind’s wide awake and honoured.

And sending love, posthumously, to Keith Haring (31), Tseng Kwong Chi (39), and all those lost to AIDS far too soon. Your spirits and creativity still hum through this city. 🙏

[apexart-journal]

Garth Gratrix, apexart NYC Fellowship

Day 13 – Sunburn, Spent, and soothed by the sounds of Harlem.

Less words today. Tired. Sunburn's gone full tomato and sleep’s been patchy. I’ve realised the itinerary’s been quietly steamrolling through seven straight days—last Tuesday to this coming Thursday. A lack of mapped out visible downtime starts to weigh. The body doesn’t just want rest—it wants permission to self -direct what it's learning it needs. My hip and lower back are narrating an audiobook of complaints in real time. Or maybe more comedic ASMR. I'll be joining them in the New Jewish Home for Bingo again soon, but as a resident.

First up: magnetic archery and foam axe throwing.

Very much the “children’s party” energy. Mildly amusing but not quite the tension release I was hoping for. Less “warrior focus,” more “funfair side quest.” I left with all stress intact and a faint craving for candy floss.

Later: Parlour Jazz at Marjorie Eliot’s apartment in Harlem.

She’s been opening her home every Sunday for thirty years—offering free live jazz in honour of her son’s memory. A gift to the people, a ritual of sound and soul. No bookings, no tickets. Just turn up. Which, in NYC, means turning up very early or missing out.

I arrived just late enough to be on the outside looking in. Music spilling through the cracks, down the steps, onto the sidewalk. The crowd outside was calm, respectful. I joined them. Tapping my foot to a rhythm I couldn’t quite see, but could still feel. Thought about my nan, her love of jazz. Thought about this music—Black jazz and classical—isn’t just performance in Harlem, it’s history. Resistance. Sanctuary. Community.

It would’ve been nice to be hugged by the atmosphere from the inside, but something about that outside communion felt special too. Shared longing. The idea that culture doesn’t have to come with a price tag or velvet rope. Sometimes it lives in an apartment, offered freely.

Thinking maybe when I get home, I’ll take my nan somewhere that plays Lena, Ella or Nina. Somewhere where we can sit inside the music, not just beside it.

Then I remembered a 10pm zoom in the diary with a former Fellow. I took the initiative to reschedule that directly with them so as to not activate fresh thinking and get to bed on a warm Easter Sunday evening.

[apexart-journal]

Garth Gratrix, apexart NYC fellowship

Day 12 – Cannons, Carousels & Capitalism

History tour today at The Battery.

Disclaimer: I deliberately came to NYC under-researched. Part choice, part artistic method, part refusal to fall into Google black holes. So, as I walked toward The Battery, I spotted this swirly architectural thing and genuinely thought it was some kind of Iron Man charging portal to protect the city from future EMP warfare. Turns out… a sea glass carousel as a ride. So close.

The Battery? Named for the cannons once commanded by Hamilton—yes, that Hamilton. (Queue every musical theatre fan’s pelvic floor giving way.)

I listened quietly, anonymously, as the tour guide proudly relayed stories of territorial wins and noble battles. I withheld my Englishness, until it felt pointedly obvious that this whole “ownership of land” narrative was as fictional as some West End scripts. The land belonged to the Lenape—Algonquian-speaking people who didn’t draw imaginary lines on maps to assign worth. “We” did that. And whether “we” wore red coats or blue ones, none of it was truly ours to take.

It got me thinking about how we pass on history. How much of what we teach is “fact” laced with personal bias? Maybe guides—maybe all of us—could do more in offering perspectives rather than certainty.

I redeemed myself (if only to myself) by correctly answering the guide’s trivia: Who built the internal structure of the Statue of Liberty? Eiffel, of course. The man also inspired our very own Blackpool Tower back home—incidentally, taller than Lady Liberty by 200 feet. Sorry love, size isn't everything but… they do love a height contest here.

I also might’ve hijacked the guide’s sales pitch by loudly reminding the group that the Staten Island Ferry is FREE and has the same view for your photo opps. The guide looked wounded. But I saved people money better spent on overpriced caramel corn and foam hats. You’re welcome.

Later: off to Staten Island with apexart’s Nia for… fencing!

Except, plot twist: fencing doesn’t run on Easter weekend. So instead, we embarked on a 1hr 30min suburban stroll back to the ferry. Passed through sleepy streets, grabbed some water and books, and I got my first blister and sunburnt—new hairline zone exposed. Apparently, my scalp now needs SPF.

It was a gentle, warm, and unexpectedly long detour. And as the temperature shifts, I’m feeling that shift in energy and pace too. Slow doesn’t mean stalled, but it does ask for a different kind of attention.

Getting off the Ferry with my weary trotters I spiralled a bit into money thoughts. I’ve been thinking about what leadership looks like, and what it earns. Right now, those two things aren’t aligning. Hearing some examples of what those working in the arts make here in NYC was a bit of a gut punch. Of course context, health, insurances, taxes all different. But my calculations still present a lived experience where bills, pensions and some spare cash to dabble with investment are optional here at an early age. Not my reality currently. I’m spending double my usual outgoings just to be here—and earning zero while I do it. Many artists rent out their places to offset such risk in NYC. Not quite my reality in a less desirable destination for the arts.

So yeah—my night was restless. Looking at my profit/loss forecasts, not just creatively but logistically in how to sustain taking risk and being ambitious for yourself. The toll of time isn’t just emotional or physical. It’s economic too.

How do individuals or communities identified as working class, or below poverty get access to understand the culture of investment and mitigated risk here and in the UK? I'm kind of only seeing a wealth breeds wealth situation regardless of charitable intention and purpose.

Anyway, today was another let down with pictures, sorry. I needed sugar and comfort food. Here's my Lavender Oat Frappucino. I thought Garth (as in Brooks) would have been easier here #callmegoth