Some places change so rapidly.
It's often like this:
Artists move it some place 'cause it's cheap, and they can have space for their artistic freedom and murals and whatnot.
When they come into this place, shortly after - it's hip.
It's up and coming. It's the place to be.
Because they made it a creative hub, an inspirational home, they made it the place to be.
And that's when people start noticing it. And the developers come in. And then the investors. And when enough gentrification has occurred - then the young couples move in. And the chains. And the big brands - the Macdonald's, the Nike, the Madewell.
And the in-laws of those young couples. And their aunts, their uncles, their whatnot.
And then this place is not as hip as it once was. It's not as weird. It's not as elusive. It's no longer artsy. Heck, artists can't even afford it anymore! So they move to the next place that nobody had heard of. The place that later on will also be up and coming, thanks to them. And they say goodbye to this place they made. It's bitter sweet, and how they wish they could have stayed longer, but this place is not for them anymore. It's everyone's, sure, except it's not theirs.
This all happens very quickly.
The change hits fast like a millenial. Nah, like it's generation Z - On to the next thing without wasting a breath, without looking up from the phone.
In a short few years, this place goes through a metamorphosis. And YOU, an innocent bystander, a visitor from out of town, you come through the years and you see the change, and you tear up with the artists, and you enjoy the restaurants and the convenience but you also wonder: 'what will the next place be? Where will the artists go? Who'd keep THAT PLACE weird?'
In April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling.
Header Art: Daniel Landerman