‘Gotta be real’: What it’s like to be a Canadian artist and live in Toronto

A few months ago, I wrote about how a recent surge in new art in Toronto led me to think of Toronto as “the new York of the arts.”

Now, as I drive back to the city from my home in the suburbs, I am reminded that there is a city beyond the city, and it is one that, for me, is both a reflection of my own place in the city and also a city that has, to some degree, lost its way.

It is a place that has been able to grow, thrive, and grow in ways that no other city can, despite being geographically close to the West Coast.

It’s a city, I’m sure, that has become the new New York of our time.

Art, for most people, is a temporary place.

A visitor to New York will be greeted with the sight of an artist on the sidewalk.

In many ways, New York is a much more temporary place than the city I grew up in.

I know that many people here, both outside and inside of New York, take pride in their city’s status as the center of the world.

And in this way, the city’s uniqueness is what keeps it so special, especially for artists.

But it is not only New York that has its unique features, even though most of its people may not be aware of it.

In a way, New Yorkers have become the city of the future.

I had a chance to visit New York in September.

It was a hot summer day, and I was sitting on a subway platform in Manhattan, where I was a frequent visitor to my art-loving, art-watching city.

“You are such a great city,” the conductor said.

“You have the world’s best subway system.”

“Yes, but I live in the Bay Area,” I said, looking at the train platform.

He looked down at the city.

“It is a great place to live,” he said.

The conductor nodded, and continued on his way.

I had never been on a train before, so I was surprised to learn that the train I had been on, the R Line, runs every two hours, which meant I had only an hour and a half to see the city that I had come to love.

As we boarded the R Train, I was looking around at the other passengers.

The first thing that caught my eye was the people on the platform, mostly young people from small towns and towns with fewer than 500 residents.

A few of them, like me, had been here for a few months and had seen how beautiful New York had become.

They were a bit older than I am, I said to myself, so it was a little awkward to talk to them.

But they were very gracious, and they seemed to understand my curiosity.

When the R train came to a stop, I asked if I could see the art on display.

A man, a woman, a couple of kids, and a dog walked up to me and introduced themselves as the New York City Museum.

We went into the gallery and the next thing I knew, I had the best view of the city in a long time.

The man asked me if I was in the right place.

I told him I was.

It was a bit weird being at a museum, I thought, and he was cool about it.

I was going to have to go back and tell my friends.

In New York art can be seen everywhere.

It has been so visible in this city that, as a young man, I could barely believe that it was there.

One of the best things about New York was the abundance of art galleries.

The city has some of the most diverse collections of art in the world, and the most accessible.

I have no idea what artists were making during the Depression, but when I went to see my art during the 1980s, I felt as if I had stepped into a new world.

After the R-Train stopped, we walked along the shore of Lake Ontario, which is a favorite destination for tourists.

It seems like every year someone is out on the water.

Somehow, the landscape here seems to have taken on a very particular meaning.

At one point, I passed through a parking lot filled with giant sculptures of people.

The sculptures were made of marble, the colors of the ocean.

It took me a minute to understand what this meant.

I thought it meant something profound.

The landscape seemed to be moving in a very deliberate way.

When you think about the way the city has been transformed, it seems like something really profound is happening in this area.

Later, I found a plaque commemorating the life of Roberta Flack, the first woman to be awarded a Nobel Peace Prize.

It reads: “The first woman