I first came to New York when I was twenty-four. I didn’t know anybody, which was scary, but that came with a perk: the city belonged to me alone. I soon discovered that drawing was a useless medium to reproduce its dizzying level of detail. But here’s what I found drawing can do: it can convey the rhythm and texture of New York. It can capture the disorienting, intoxicating experience of stepping out of Grand Central Terminal, or of being in downtown Brooklyn on a dark, hard February day, or of walking through the Lower East Side with dozens of layers of the city’s history visible simultaneously.