Long Friday. Easter's eve.
I hook up with close friend Claes Appelquist,
architect and resident on Manhattan since many years.
I'm introduced to his girlfriend and closest circle of friends.
Claes began to explain
the basics for getting around in NYC.
He spoke of different codes of conduct,
routines, behavioural patterns,
what to say, what to leave out etc.
And I've come to understand something crucial.
Everyone I'll meet is here for one thing and one thing only:
Their carreer. They're all making their way up the ladder.
Advancing, hunting, working to achieve their goals and dreams.
What you've done elsewhere is of little use.
All that matters is what you've done in New York,
who you know in New York, who introduces you
and who you're introduced to.






There was a party and opening of an arts exhibition
in a loft on Lower East Side.
The artist was a Spanish architect and some of the people there
were colleagues and friends of Claes.





In some of his works the artist had taken known photographs
of suffering prisoners in Abu Graib / Guantanamo
and turned them into icons.
I recognized some of the images from before
but they had always been fleeting, passing by.
Here they stayed put and bore witness,
challenging me to face them
and stay with them long enough
to take them in and at last let them get to me.
He explained the origins of each piece,
while sharing his thoughts about them
and letting me into his world.





The usual suspects. Feast in the free world.
But underneath the surface, cracks in the pavement.
The temple is slowly coming apart
and everywhere people talk about the recession.
Nobody is safe. All worries what tomorrow will bring.
It doesn't matter who you are or what you do.
From one week to the next people are out of jobs.
It's late on planet earth.
But for a seemingly random selection of fortunate souls
the hunt persists. The chase is still on
and we party our way through the darkest of hours.