BY AMY RUSSO | The doctor is in and the copay is free. All it takes is a trip to one of the “Subway Therapy” walls. Ever since a couple of weeks after the presidential election, the Union Square subway station has been awash in fluorescent post-it notes with sentiments of hope, fear, sadness and strength. It all started with artist Matthew Chavez’s first message on the wall in the 14th St. tunnel between Sixth and Seventh Aves.: “Express Yourself.”
With the post-it writing thriving even after the election dust has settled, Westbeth Gallery, at 55 Bethune St., on Dec. 10 opened “Write Now,” an interactive installation that may best be described as smaller-scale “Subway Therapy.” The gallery’s white walls ask two questions of participants: what they’d like to leave behind in 2016 and what they wish to see in the year ahead. Tables of pens and paper allow visitors to leave their responses.
Karin Batten, the director of Westbeth Gallery, explained, “The mission is that people can voice, can really say how they feel about what’s going on in the country because a lot of people are very angry and scared.”
“Write Now” opened in place of a holiday show for Westbeth’s artist residents, a decision that admittedly was not popular with everyone. However, Batten said “We wanted bring Westbeth together.”
The gallery space is typically used strictly for painters and sculptors. But through this exhibit, Batten and others seek to share the space among an artistically diverse group of poets, writers and musicians.
Roger Braimon, a member of the Westbeth Artists Residents Council, echoed Batten’s message.
“It was a way to harness all the energy of the tenants in the building, not just the visual artists but the performing artists, the dancers, the musicians, the actors,” he said of “Write Now.” “Since it’s a visual arts space, it was somewhat exclusionary to the other disciplines.”
Like “Subway Therapy,” “Write Now” gives participants an outlet through which to express anything on their mind. However, a read of the first messages showed continuing concern in the aftermath of the election.
Braimon said the political climate has hit home with Westbeth residents, causing them to worry about government funding of their Section 8 affordable units.
“We’re at the cross of affordability and feasibility,” he observed. “It’s becoming more and more expensive to get a unit at Westbeth, so the idea of affordable housing to artists is dwindling.”
Chavez, known by his artist name, Levee, began “Subway Therapy” for this very reason — to try to help people deal with the weight of their problems, whatever they may be. He was at the Westbeth opening on Dec. 10, seated at a table with a “Subway Therapy” sign on it.
“I want to give people an opportunity to have stress relief, a place to express themselves and to create dialogue amongst a community of people that believes many different things,” he said.
Chavez’s project originally began nine months ago as “New York Secret Keeper,” an exercise in which participants were encouraged to jot down thoughts in a small book for quick anxiety relief. But rather than writing, people wanted to talk, and “Subway Therapy” was born in its first incarnation.
Chavez set up a small table and chairs and invited passing straphangers to chat, a service he’s been providing each week for the past six months. After election night, Chavez realized he couldn’t speak with many people in the space of a few hours, so he brought post-its and pens to encourage art therapy. Since then, the notes can be seen around the city — and now, too, at Westbeth, where anyone may leave a message until Dec. 31.
“There’s so many things that happened that I never intended but that have been really wonderful because it helps people to grow and learn and talk to each other,” Chavez said. “I see more of that happening in the future.”
“Write Now” continues through Dec. 31. After the closing, the notes with wishes for the new year will be “archived for future use.” The notes about what people want to leave behind from this past year will be shredded and recycled.
