🇺🇸 Bridges

Hello Adventurers, 

Art is nothing more than an exercise in catch and release. How so? Well, the flytrap mind of the artist-as-conduit somehow snares an idea from the aether, and then releases it back into the wilds of the world as amber. And yes, there is some transmogrification involved…because the creative process yields form (e.g. brush stroke, musical sound, camera still, et al.). But art is fossil; it is the remains of an impression first made on the creator…which ideally makes a second impression on us when we consume, experience or further ponder the art-as-offering.

Sure, art may be created with intention, but the interpretation is all ours (like, we may be told what it means, but art ultimately means whatever we individually feel, sense, or think it does). This dynamic makes the creation-consumption nexus fascinating…because art is subject to misunderstanding, and such invites consequence and danger (which is the real lure of art and creation for me; it’s a grappling match between free will, chance, and determinism). Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this a lot in 2024; the naivety of intention colliding with the reality of interpretation.

For instance, I never liked The Eagles but the lyrics to Hotel California — a song about hedonism and arrogance and trappings — have been looping in my head lately. Specifically, the lines, “We are all just prisoners of our own device” and, “You can check out any time you like but you can never leave.” Why are they resonant? Well, because I left Toronto as well as the marketing industry last year to go intimately marathon and document earth…just to find myself typing this issue of the newsletter from a marketing agency office back in Toronto. So was it worth it; to live one’s art, explore the art of living, and possibly suffer dangerous consequences in doing so? I guess it all comes down to one’s interpretation.

All I can relay is what I’ve been up to this year; January was me doing Canadian media, February was splitting my time between assembling a commercial portfolio (which contains a Marathon Earth Challenge case study) and sorting out speaking stuff, March was cranking out a book proposal, April was the start of me slinging CVs out into the void (to land a senior creative and/or marketing role somewhere), and May was readying a completely unrelated film project for festival season as I had on-going “what’s next?” convos with literary agents, recruiters, and hiring parties. Within all that were overdue hangs with my missus / friends / fam (this was of max importance since I was AWOL for much of ‘23), me becoming an uncle, the audience of this newsletter nearly doubling (ironic…since I’m largely landlocked these days), and Guinness rejecting my initial application in their pre-defined category (they said my marathons had to be official races) and me — in turn — suggesting four alternate categories to apply under (and them rejecting these on title / wording alone…without letting me share my evidence packet …and me not knowing whether to challenge, pivot, re-apply differently or abandon ship altogether). Basically, everything and nothing has changed, and I’m either on the precipice of some exciting near-future developments or I’m an everyday square back at square one. But enough about me…

This issue of the newsletter covers two marathons and/or 131 kilometres by foot through Manhattan / Brooklyn / The Bronx over five lazy days in June…where I indulged in the arts to re-up my inner bank of inspo…before I idiotically Van Gogh’d my ear off mid-month by way of toxic masculinity (i.e. I never wore enough sunscreen on tens and tens of thousands of kilometres of past marathons, and paid the price for being a putz).

Also, there’s lots of new readers to this here thing…and I guess you should know that I use these wandering marathons of mine as a vantage point from which to document our world through words and photographs. I’ve essentially ‘hacked’ an athletic vessel to be a creative medium for observation…so make of that what you will.

- Ben Pobjoy

P.S. A sincere and continued ‘thank you’ to my wife Christine for her constant love and support (especially since she’s now preventing my wounded ear from rotting off), and shout-outs to my former boss Scotty for letting me ‘hot desk’ outta his office (despite the fact that I don’t add any value to his company, LOL).

TREK TRACKER

World by foot and/or footnotes

• Countries marathoned to date: 75-ish

• Marathons completed this year: 24

• Kilometres trekked by foot this year: 2,447.7

• Marathons completed since 2015: 868

• Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 77,004

• Next stops wish list: Ashgabat, Hawler, Pyongyang

RAPID RECAP

A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers

• The Wildest Thing: My eyesight fell off a cliff this year, and everything is now blurry…so I’m eternally thankful that I chose to see the world clearly — and as it really is — last year, while I still could (and while I still could focus a camera lens)😵‍💫

• The Biggest Obstacle: I recently got a skin cancer diagnosis and had to have some of the back of my left ear removed / fixed with a skin graft. I’ve been instructed by the doctor-cum-surgeon to avoid the sun — and I can’t marathon outdoors anytime soon — so life is currently meh and I don’t feel like me🤕

• The Lesson Learned: Make. Send. Pray. And repeat…until something finally sticks🫡

FIELD NOTES: NEW YORK, AMERICA

The greatest, still

I took a five year absence from marathoning mainland America ‘cause it was sorta doing my head in; the incivility of the two party dictatorship there, subpar presidents arguing about golf pars, post-materialism giving way to the body politic cannibalising itself, the culture war as distraction from the unprecedented wealth transfer and consolidation, and the widespread intolerance for how freedom works (pro-tip; it has more to do with being able to stomach plurality than it does with trying to force-feed uniformity onto others). But then I missed my Yankee friends, and a film I worked on got accepted into Tribeca…so I had to return to the one kooky country that’ll send bombs AND a slapdash, fall-apart humanitarian pier to the same conflict (because Uncle Sam is def on that traumatising ‘tough love’ tip / always confusingly ‘keep ‘em guessing about your next move’ with regards to brand strategy). ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Madness and meddling aside, I’m sophisticated enough to be able to separate government from germs and geography (because us earthlings are a complicated bunch with regards to complicity); like, Americans are the best at innovation, entrepreneurialism, opportunity making, upward mobility, and cultural export…and they’ve got some stunning lands too (the nature in Utah and Arizona always comes to mind for me). In aggregate, the USA is perfectly imperfect and her self-acceptance / rejection / navigation of such is Lady Liberty’s true superpower.

But ya, New York has always been its own world within greater Americastan, but I was still nevertheless sorta apprehensive to return. Why? Well, because I’ve always loved New York deeply — and I have a lot of personal history there — and because it has been a hot second since I was there last…so I was worried that the now could be lesser than the then, and that today’s moment may not live up to yesterday’s memories. But my irrational rationale proved to be absurd. A second after stepping foot back in Manhattan, I was like, “This gritty, piss stinking, trash strewn, frenetic, aggro melting pot of peoples is still the cultural centre of the universe.*”

*If you’re a weirdo goofball like me who gets a boner for books and bookstores, art fart crap, history and pop culture, long strolls, and observing the full spectrum of the human condition.

Anyhoo, I principally went to New York because I helped produce a short animated film called The Brown Dog that premiered at Tribeca, and because I wanted to go show my wife a good time (because I’m mindful that she has to put up with me…so I try and regularly take her on nice trips as consolation). We actually did an advance screening of our film at The Roxy before the festival; doing so for our friends, the media, and some members of the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences (as a ‘for your consideration’ pulse-check regarding the Oscars). Not only did I foolishly expose half of my citizenship by wearing a Canadian Tuxedo to the event — big hoser vybz — but I was also the least qualified player on our film’s star-studded team; The Brown Dog was co-directed by my celeb-snapping bestie Jamie-James Medina and his powerhouse missus Nadia Hallgren (who directed ‘Becoming’ about Michell Obama and ‘Civil: Ben Crump’), it stars the late Michael K. Williams as well as Steve Buscemi, and was scored by the Pulitzer Prize winning composer Tyshawn Sorey. The Brown Dog is now making the festival rounds worldwide, so check it out if you care to see what I make with my friends / are curious about what I make outside of the documentation I make on my marathons. But more importantly, back to New York…

New York City is dead, empty offices have gutted the city’s soul, migrants are marauders, and collegiate campuses are rife with encampmental breakdowns. However, if marathoning has taught me anything, it’s that generalised headlines like the aforementioned — as well as the silly hot takes that kicked off this city-dive section — rarely jive with the reality of what you experience when you walk ‘round a place at length. Is some of that stuff true? Yes, no, maybe and/or it’s possibly hyperbolic stuff. The truth is, is that the humdrum of everyday life rarely makes the news — or enters the popular conversation — because day-to-day life is largely uneventful, and not worth mentioning. No matter the conditions anywhere, everyday life goes on…and it mostly looks the same everywhere (i.e. we labour and we leisure, if we can afford the latter).

New York? On the ground, it’s still the same as it ever was; non-stop bustle, busy bodies moving with purpose, hooping on ball courts, double parked cars with dented bumpers, metallic food carts on street corners, road grates steaming skyward, graffiti on top of graffiti, ugly scaffolding everywhere for the never-ending building repairs, chillers talking shit out front of bodegas, sudsy sidewalks getting hosed down by shop staff, and pedestrian East River bridges to a sledgehammer of a skyline that’s smashing; morning, noon, and night.

The only thing that changed there is me. Dunno if it’s because of the forty-something life stage I’m in now…or whether it’s from having spent the last five months in architecturally-challenged Toronto, but I found myself looking up in New York like never before / more than ever, and marvelling at the grandeur of some of the bygone buildings. The old endures amidst the new, and there’s so many details to appreciate in terms of period-specific design choices. What was once background to me is now foreground, and it’s funny what comes into view when you become an old fart / stop chasing tail.

I could only sneak in two marathons while in New York — done when the missus was WFHoteling — so I dusted-off a tried-and-true route, and hit some old haunts still haunted by artists past; from Keith Haring’s double-sided mural (pictured above) to some bench I always used to see photographer Robert Frank sitting on before he croaked, and lotsa other stuff that’s too niche to mention.

However, my vibe is to always go northbound alongside Central Park (due to the free public toilets on its grounds / my small bladder), do a Hajj-like pilgrimage to Harlem to bow before the music mecca that is the Apollo Theater, I always gotta drink cinnamon-infused drip coffee from lunch counters in The Bronx, cross the Game of Thrones-y High Bridge into Washington Heights, and then dip southbound and spank everything of dopeness in Hell’s Kitchen, Chelsea, Greenwich Village, and — if time permits — cross into DUMBO using the Manhattan Bridge and return to the city by way of the Williamsburg Bridge. I was hoping to pit stop at this one bar to look at cartoons but the timing didn’t work out. Next time, bb.

Anyway, I’m now acting my baldness ala my age ‘cause the stuff I genuinely dug and re-dug the most on this trip — on leisurely strolls with the missus — were market-y things that aren’t probably considered all that cool by anyone south of 40; Essex Market (super interesting mix of food stalls), Canal Street Market (all the lil retailer booths inside of it are charming…and Magic Jewellery is across the street if you want an aura portrait), and Jean-Georges’s Tin Building (the renovation of this 100+ year-old building is chef’s kiss mwah, and the finishes employed in the interior design of the food hall are second to none). I always visit Chelsea Market too, simply because the operators program it so well.

Japan is by far the best country for books (specifically art books); because the market there loves printed matter, and because Japanese publishers are detail-obsessed when it comes to execution (such defines Japan’s masterful approach to all things craft). Anyway, I’ve bought loads of art books in Tokyo on marathons past, but the obvious kicker is that I can’t read the text (which is the only downside). This is why — for arty English readers — New York is a commendable runner up. The book quality isn’t the same, but some of the book stores really do curate a strong vision, and that sorta equalises things.

In New York, fellow nerds gotta hit Dashwood Books, Printed Matter, and Mast Books (their rare titles will make you drool). However, I’ve long loved the playfulness of Marc Jacobs’s Bookmarc because it mixes pricey books with really inexpensive — and mostly one-off — weird Marc Jacobs bric-à-brac (in the past, I’ve bought a MJ carabiner for my keys and a MJ rain poncho there; both for peanuts). And for the movers and shakers, the new Bandit Running store just opened down the road from Bookmarc.

Anyway, I’m a Graydon Carter stan — and my wife knows this / always has the goods on what’s good — so she took us to the new Air Mail store around the corner from Bookmarc — and while it is not a book store per se, the Air Mail store is the outgrowth of all things edited and literary…and thus a beautiful space full of beautiful housewares (priced for people who have second homes on Lake Como…which obvs isn’t me). I’d like to think I showed my wife the same degree of thoughtfulness with regards to her interests by taking her to the nearby C.O. Bigelow, the oldest apothecary in America (yo husbands, there’s no seating inside…so you’re gonna find yourself standing outside for like thirty mins…so arrive with a coffee, vape, doobie, pack of cigs or newspaper in hand).

And while it is a known gem, no trip to — or marathon of — New York is complete without a visit to The Strand. I personally love how the store is merchandised, and I use my visits there to note what’s trending in terms of book cover design. Furthermore, I sorta always do the same thing at the MoMA Design Store to assess the state of tchotchkes, LOL.

Summer months typically aren’t great for art happenings anywhere on the planet…and this includes New York…but I got my fill nonetheless. The standout was the Biennial at the Whitney…mostly because the curation didn’t fear controversy (IMHO the works by Eddie Rodolfo Aparicio, Demian DinéYazhi’, and Kiyan Williams stole the show). I typically hate suggesting time-sensitive stuff in this newsletter — since it may not be happening should you visit — but the Whitney is always worth a visit because the permanent collection is great, and the museum offers great views (and admission is free on the second Sunday of every month). Plus, the High Line and the new-ish Little Island are nearby, and both are imaginative in terms of third place space building.

We also swung by Fotografiska (which has other locations in Shanghai, Berlin, Stockholm, and Tallinn) to see the Vivian Maier exhibition (do watch the documentary film about her if you haven’t), and the exhibition was ace on all fronts; Maier was a pure artist who ‘made to make’ with no concern for fame, she warrants inclusion in the pantheon of street photography greats, her non-judgmental eye brought visibility to the invisible, all the work in the exhibition was sequenced so thoughtfully, the contextual copy on museum walls was poetic and insightful (and free of gallerist gibberish), and I loved that Maier’s cameras were on display too. But, be warned…Fotografiska can sometimes follow du jour trends — where the work lacks substance and staying power — so scrutinise their programming online before you visit IRL (especially ‘cause the admission price is sorta steep).

What else? I swung by the new Dashwood Projects space to see Ari Marcopoulos’s ‘Sumo Judo’ exhibition…merely outta curiosity to see how he tackled photographing sumos in Japan after I had done the same in Tokyo last December. This may seem weird to do, but I often learn what I may have missed by studying the images of what someone else found when we’ve shot the same subject matter. Oh, and I also went to The Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine to see Anne Paterson’s site-specific textile installation ‘Divine Pathways’ (pictured above) — to see how one church / religion navigates Pride — right after the Pope dropped a private f-bomb that went public.

So yeah, that’s my film-book-art summertime report of New York by way of some marathons. Admittedly, this issue of the newsletter is more culture heavy than usual…but that was the intent of trip. All things considered, I’ll end with the following; there’s no better urban place to stroll than New York…even though the infrastructure largely sucks. Basically, I just love how fast the sidewalks are — dawdlers aren’t tolerated, and are regularly told to effing move out the way (which offends everyone else everywhere else…except here) — and locals here jaywalk like pros / drivers and cyclists know the drill / everything flows in a flimsy balance of chaos and order. The streets of this place are a cutthroat gauntlet — which is one of the best representations of what life is really like on this animal planet of ours — and five years on, I’ll forever daydream about this city that never sleeps…especially while I contend with all the Zzzs from being an indoor house cat this summer.

BEST LOCAL THING-Y

Okay, I had the best meal with my wife at the red-hot Thai Diner, but that’s because it was a love fest where I reunited with my bestie, and because everyone’s fave pal Olivia came out…and she stole the show with her top-shelf hilariousness (she’s ‘Original Rose’ on IG and warrants a follow because she’s the most talented green thumb / caster / maker around). But the best soul-food-for-me grub? It was Punjabi Deli…which is a beloved IYKYK institution / take-out spot in the East Village.

My BFF Jamie-James first put this vegetarian deli on my radar aeons ago, and we’d always grab take-out before we’d plonk ourselves on his couch to drink a thousand Pepsi Maxs, gorge curries, and watch televised boxing late into the evening…but then Punjabi Deli became this thing that me and my wife would hit late-night — on like every New York trip — before we’d return to the hotel and binge American cable TV; which is so trashy in its programming, and now rammed with non-stop ‘side effects may include…’ prescription drug Wizard of Oz/empic commercials (which are categorically prohibited on TV in Canada).

Cash-only at the deli, I grabbed myself a trio-topped combo of chana masala / potato / lentils on rice, a duo-topped combo of chana masala and lentils on rice for the missus, and a medium bag of pakoras — dusted with a salty Indian spice blend, and with lil plastic containers of tamarind sauce thrown in — for us to share back at the hotel, and I think it was like $17 all in (the inexpensiveness-to-tastiness ratio of Punjabi Deli is unmatched in New York…short of dollar ‘za slices).

Basically, you point at what you want from the fridges in this cellar / basement-y deli joint, everything is chucked into plastic containers before your eyes, and then it is microwaved…and it just works (the crispy stuff somehow stays crispy). I know this may read as questionable via micro-plastics ingestion, but this place makes legit curries and they never ever disappoint.

POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX

This is an on-going documentation of how much things cost in different places around the world. Here are some of the things I bought in New York (all prices converted to USD):

• Five nights stay at Public: $1865.55

• A One Night Stand veggie burger and an order of fries from Slutty Vegan: $24.58 (including tip)

• An almond milk latte from Flying Coffee inside Air Mail: $8.20 (including tip)

MARATHON MUSINGS

On self-reliance and unreliability

In 2023, I took: 75 flights and 5 boats to get to 70 different countries to do 242 marathons as I walked 11,465 kilometres across earth with my luggage on my back to spend 290 nights abroad sleeping in 72 different accommodations. No support crew, no paid sponsors, everything paid for by me, and just me on the hook for my safety, my wellbeing, and the success — or failure — of the project in aggregate. In a nut shell, I was entirely self-reliant…but never once high on my own beta-blocker imaginary Alpha Lone Wolf supply (because I had the love, blessings, and support of my inner circle who created the conditions — and made the space — for me to do the Marathon Earth Challenge in the first place).

Fast forward a year, and I’ve never been more pathetically reliant on others. Nurses, doctors, and surgeons fixed my ear (and a trip to ER thereafter ruled out an infection). My wife’s now tending to my ear twice daily (since I can’t even see what’s going on back there)…as she’s patiently holding down the fort (as I hold us back from buying a home…which is her dream, and the action item I’m most designing for now). Trusted advisers helped me fine-tune my CV and peer-reviewed my commercial portfolio. Former clients didn’t bat an eye when I asked ‘em to be references. An author sent me his book proposal so I could crack mine. And so many higher-ups took — or requested — meetings with me / told others about me / connected me to their network / CC’d me onto vouch-heavy emails to headhunters. Truthfully, I’m not worthy (I’m of meagre utility to anyone because I’m an ever-daydreaming dingbat)…and I believe much of this response in kind / kindness was a reaction to my marathonic reportage last year; I shared my art for free and lotsa people — in turn — freely helped me thereafter, and that’s a beautiful thing; give to give, and be surprised by what everyone unintentionally gets from it all.

All of it has been so humbling — and touching — especially since asking others for help doesn’t come easy or naturally to me. In sum, it really has deepened my faith in others (after it was already hella deepened by what I saw around the world last year; people helping people when they’re most in need). Make no mistake, the world can be fucked up — and yes, there are some bad faith actors — but overall, people still rule (at least when push comes to shove, and it really matters).

As such, my marathon practice sorta shifted this year. It has been way less outwardly observational (which has been compounded by being in Toronto…where little catches my eye since I can trek it blind after having easily stepped 50,000-60,000 kilometres through it to date). Instead, I’ve been way more inside of myself, and meditative as I’ve marathoned; immersed in gratitude for everyone who has had my back — and my ear — this year. Furthermore, I’ve been ruminating lots on the dichotomy between self-reliance and self-unreliability, or at least the external perception of the two.

Out there — alone at the far edges of earth, when I’m marathoning through the hostilities of the unknown — I can hold it down like no other, and find myself in my comfort zone of persistent discomfort (which is where I grow and thrive). However, back here in the reality of real life? My pipe dreams likely translate as pipe bombs; where living artfully is at odds with living smartfully (which is where I seem to wilt). And in that way, maybe I am unreliable — and could benefit from more critical self-editing — in order to be more normal (whatever that means). Like you, I’m always just trying to figure it out, and determine how to best fit in (or at least stick out less).

However, I lived and died a thousand lifetimes last year, and — in doing so — was reborn with a globalised worldview that is wider and wiser than I could have ever imagined…achieved by simply detonating my life to go naively trek the world true. While the world looks no different to me now, how I see world has changed drastically…because there’s a good chance I’ve been there; marathoning Israel and Palestine before the Israel-Hamas war, marathoning Slovakia before that Prime Minister assassination attempt a few months back, marathoning past that one public square in La Paz where there was a military coup attempt last week…I could go on and on. Take that feet-on-the-ground intimate understanding of so many different places on this pale blue dot of ours as well as the indescribable highlight reel of earth’s many beauties that project onto the backs of my eyelids before I fall asleep each night (like, I’ve marathoned everything from The Pyramids of Giza to The Galápagos), and I’m at peace with the decisions I’ve made (even though others may struggle to interpret them).

Canada’s now in a recession. America’s job market is soft. And Engrund’s in a gherkin. These countries — ‘cause of the passports I already have or a visa easily obtained — are my sandboxes in which to play my next move, and there’s prolly no worse a time to be doing so given labour’s short-lived pandemi muscle has been atrophied by inflation and high interest rates. Objectively, the times are tough-ish…but I’m a pervert, and these ‘not-in-one’s-favour’ conditions get me horny; I hate conflict but love a fight (especially as an underdog or if I gotta prove who wants it more). So I’m now in those ‘middle rounds’ of interviewing that come with senior role jobs, and furthering a book convo. All of this — despite everyone’s help — has been the result of cold calls, and ludicrously off-the-wall cover letters or query letters on my part; where the art of what I did last year seems to have way more resonance with the receiver than any job or book I’ve worked or made before.

When marathoning, I’m existentially on my toes for the thrills while spiritually grounded due to my slow pace and neanderthal flat-footedness, but if the Marathon Earth Challenge has taught me anything, it’s that throwing caution to the wind has some relationship to windfalls, and that there may be some correlation between releasing art unconditionally and catching opportunities previously outside of yer orbit. But, time will ultimately tell. Until then, intention — and interpretation — remains anyone’s best guess.

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