The event space next to my studio: every few nights it’s awash in well-dressed partygoers, celebrating a wedding, graduation or bar/bat mitzvah. The large windows on the ground floor make it easily visible from the street, and I can’t avoid a passing glance now and then. It’s always a variation of the same scene: disco balls, a DJ, catering, large bags of ice left sitting outside the handicap ramp, people taking a smoke break outside or posing for an impromptu group photo, security guards milling around outside the front entrance. Dancing, toasts, buffet tables, laughing and drunken shouts. The space is an ever-revolving parade of parties, each one in its own right a ‘night to remember,’ endlessly photographed for posterity, posted on social media sites, shared with friends and family. But for me it’s just the same old routine, the same piles of discarded catering supplies and flower arrangements littering the sidewalk the next day, the same space looking worn-out and empty, ready to be colonized for the next milestone event.