I ended up at the Society of Illustrator's club house.
"On February 1, 1901 a group of nine artists and one advising businessman founded the Society with this credo: “The object of the Society shall be to promote generally the art of illustration and to hold exhibitions from time to time”. The first monthly dinners were attended by such prominent illustrators as Howard Pyle, Maxfield Parish, N.C. Wyeth, Charles Dana Gibson, Frederic Remington, James Montgomery Flagg, Howard Chandler Christy and special guests like Mark Twain and Gloria Swanson."
It's been so long since I've made a trek up there. Tonight was crinkly with inspiration and dedication to craft. I forget how beautiful it is there.
There's no way you can walk along those walls and not recommit to dream and desire and drive. It's a place to remember why you're in New York, and why your art is worth it.
Stand in front of it. Take your dominant hand and strike your cheek as hard as you can. Take a good long look at the print it has left. If you haven't left a mark you've done it wrong. Feel remorse.
Then do yourself a favor. Get up there. Soak it in. Love it. Walk among greatness.
listening to right this second: "Talking Bird" -- Death Cab for Cutie