Bailey Powell

Category: New York City

A Year and a Half in Summation

One of my favorite pastimes is having juvenile life realizations and, with my self-righteous stock of words, attempting to convey the seemingly profound to any readership I may have. My mind reels, my fingers fly across the keyboard, and I think, “I want this excitement to be infectious, this enlightenment to be liberating!”. Meanwhile my trite discovery already sits stale in the back of every other well-adjusted adult’s mind and I’m over here betting and banking on the hope that you all find this process endearing, if not mildly entertaining. With that being said, welcome back! It’s been a while. For my next act of self-deprecation I’ll rip into how pretentious I sound in the written word.

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Interview With Pop Icon Peter Max, America’s Most Collected Artist

In April I had the pleasure of visiting with Peter Max at his studio in Manhattan. After realizing that we were both in the city our simple phone interview evolved into an entire evening complete with dinner and a tour of his Technicolor workspace. Read on for Mr. Max’s take on sudden fame, having 26 iPods, and what it means to go from the Woodstock set to a vegan, yoga-centered lifestyle. Personal swami included.

Find the interview here.

In Transit: Your Twenties Are the Junior High of Adulthood

I have these fleeting thoughts, coming and going, going and coming. I try my best to capture them in writing but in New York, this absolute epicenter of innovation, birth of new ideas, trials, errors, and massive successes, thoughts are often gone as soon as they come.

How do I match a coffee table to a rug? How do I file taxes and when? Should I pick up fresh flowers to keep in my apartment? Where is the line between being “myself” and carefully curating my words and actions to accomodate status quo and social niceties? The world’s vastness swallows me  up and the endless options spit me out. Countless books, lists of movies, schedules of art shows, and music recommendations saturate my life while I’m surrounded by the free-spirited, the uptight, and those concerned with the trivial. I’m exhausted by my mind’s massive leaping from things like what Sarah Jessica Parker and my boss have planned for tonight and how the homeless double amputee ended up where he is. I eat homemade peanut butter sandwiches so I can on some level justify wandering through Bendel’s and Bergdorf’s at lunch. I clutch my Kate Spade as I catch the JMZ, passing the stop where a stray bullet hit a seven year old last month.

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