More than anything, the New York scene of the 1960's was a concept that defied a sense of place. Seeking preservation of specific buildings from that era is the worst form of nostalgia. History has not just moved on, it has trampled on the collective memory and the physical reality of what happened. This goes beyond "you can never go home again" and encompasses the failure of narrative to adequately convey what happened. Did Bob Dylan arrive by bus or train? Who did he know when he got there? Where did he buy his first pack of cigarettes, have his first meal, pick up some guitar strings? It's all gone.
Why was Warhol famous? Answering that question would lead us into the vortex of a most pure American madness.
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