That being said, I always found the street sign leading onto MacDougal Street perplexing. It read, “Unnecessary Noise Prohibited.” Knowing the street as well as I did, I wondered what qualified as “unnecessary.” Almost every night I went to bed listening to music blaring from the club across the street, glass bottles breaking against the sidewalk, drunk men and women arguing or singing together, depending on their moment, dogs barking in response and the never ending stream of cars inching their way down the street, hoping to get a taste of the excitement without actually having to park.
Many years later this theme emerged again. I was at The University of Michigan and Lawrence Kasdan came to speak to my graduating class. He spoke about the noise in the Universe and how sometimes it was hard to hear yourself think because of it. He told us how important it was to shut it out so that we could stop and hear the ticking of our own hearts. I will never forget his words and how they resonated within me.
What I have come to realize is that noise is a relative. What invades my space might actually be welcomed by someone else. MacDougal Street was a refuge for my mom. She felt safe and welcome there. It was where she was able to breathe and be herself. I would venture to say that is not the case for so many others. But that is not the point. What is important is knowing what constitutes noise for you. Only now, 43 years later, am I beginning to understand what that means for me.
Your work is stunning, Mac.
Thank you.