I’m thinking of the sun. The one with beautiful rays that glisten like gold. The one that reflects all that looks upon it. The one that I bought at Praça Quinze on a very sunny day. I had been at the flea market for some time already and was taking another walk through before heading back to my apartment with a car full of finds. The bright sun hit the mirror just right and the piece caught my eye. Scientists tell us to not look directly into the sun, but I was captivated. And a moment too late.

The sun was eclipsed. Clouds rolled in. The sky turned grey. Pedro was holding one of the fantastically carved and gilt rays. Pedro was a friend as well as a dealer. The antiques business is the same wherever you go. Things are bought. Things are sold. As Pedro bargained mercilessly with the vendor, I strolled up beside him and feigned interest in some mediocre stuff on the table. “Oi Pedro. Tudo bem?” I asked in a nonchalant, but obviously desperate kind of way. “Oi gatinha. Olha isso. Que lindo, neh?”





Being this close to the sun was making my palms and brow sweat. I HAD TO HAVE IT. But Pedro wasn’t letting go. He knew I wanted it. But I knew something too. Pedro was cheap. Mão de vaca. So I waited. It was all part of the game. And I’m a player. Pedro saw that in me. It was what connected us. And what would come between us. He knew that his bargaining chip had been reduced to crumbs by my presence and his cheapness prevented him from paying the vendors price.



As he walked away with his head hung low, I grabbed the nearly three foot wide, hand carved, gold gilt, antique Italian sunburst frame with convex mirror. “Oi senhor. Qual é o preço por favor?”. He heard my accent. His eyes glimmered as I saw him mentally adding zeros to his asking price. He knew he had me. “Seiscentos reias.” I couldn’t get the money out of my pocket fast enough. With a favorable exchange rate, that price was a fraction of what I was prepared to pay. Back in NYC, the sun shone for just a day or two as it was purchased almost immediately. Maybe they had a favorable exchange rate too? ;-) hkv

“Não virá. Têm um carro atrás agentes com dóis carás usando balaclavas e segurando R-15’s.” I spoke in Portuguese to not alert the camera crew from Vice Guide To Everything who had accompanied me to City of God so I could pick up a sofa from the upholsterer.

Let me back track. In 2010 I was living in Rio de Janeiro. On weekends I would go to the flea market at Praça Quinze. This is where I met Alex. He had great inventory and I bought from him often.







Soon after he invited me to his store in City of God. I went and bought even more - tables, chairs, lighting and yes, sofas. My plan was to upholster the furniture in Rio and ship it back to NYC ready to go. Alex recommended an upholsterer just down the way from him so I walked to Roberto’s shop to introduce myself. He was happy to do the job and asked me to pick up the sofa in two weeks.



During that time, Shane Smith (Vice) got in touch to arrange filming of Vale Tudo fighters in Brazil. The crew was at our apartment and commented on needing some background shots. I told them that I’d be picking up a sofa and they were welcome to ride along to see City of God. The driver picked us up and we headed for Roberto’s shop. With the sofa now semi secure in the back of the car, hatch up and me perched on the wheel well, we headed home.





At some point in the ride, I looked back to see a car following us. That saying, white knuckle fear - it’s real. I tightened my grip and cleared my throat. “Don’t turn around. There’s a car behind us with two guys wearing balaclavas and holding R-15’s”. Turns out the guys from Vice thought it’d be okay to start filming even though they knew better - permission had to be granted from the local drug dealer.





Their bravado had just turned a trip to the upholsterer into something very different. The driver of my car waved the guys up along side us. Luckily he knew them and explained the situation. But before they drove off they drifted back to where I was sitting in the car. I flashed a smile and gave a thumbs up. They nodded and drove off.



The sofa? I sold it as soon as I got back to NYC. ;-) hkv

Have a seat. But don’t get too comfortable. For when we are comfortable we are forgetful. Forgetful of the struggle, the hardships, the long days and longer nights that we thought would grind us into dust.

But little did we know that the grind is what sharpens us. Toughens us. Tests our resolve. It is what we become. When I first moved to New York City I had $600 to my name and no job. In two short days I made my way to the flea market at 3 am on a blustery February Saturday morning and spent what was left of the little money I had. Realizing that eating at some point in the future would be interesting, I took those antique frames that I had bought and turned them into cash. The grind had begun. I was hungry. Quite literally. I got a few jobs at nightclubs, restaurants and antique shops - all concurrently. Sleep was an idea. Not a reality. I felt that time was clicking past and if I wanted to make the most of it, I had to be in every moment. The moments of self doubt, of failure, of mistakes were plenty. And I am thankful for them as they were the whetstones I used to sharpen my skills. But there came a point in my life when my blade became dull. I had settled into the proverbial La-Z-Boy and gotten comfortable. I did not merely stop to rest on my journey. I stopped. Complacency is the enemy of the hustler. For the house was on fire, but I lulled myself into a false reality of contentment in the confines of that recliner. It was easier to make excuses for my stalled career than to actually get up and do something. Those memories of the hustle had grown faint and I no longer questioned my stillness. Time had sidled up next to me and whispered, “sit, relax, you have nothing but time”... It was at that moment that I chose to awaken. To sharpen my skills once again. To fail. To succeed. To be in every moment. To be uncomfortable. ;-) hkv

No risk. No reward. But we each have own our definition of those words. I do not choose to define them in any terms. Because they are fluid. Changing as we change. I choose to ebb and flow, to rise and fall, to wave and crash. I want to jump in and see where the current takes me.

So when the time came to pick up and move to Brasil, I approached the opportunity as one would approach the ocean. Walking along the sandy shore, feeling the stability of the earth beneath my feet. Then slowly as the waves rush over my feet, enveloping my legs, I walk farther out until the ground slips away and I am supported by pure movement. And so I gave myself over to the rhythm of Rio. To her risks, beauty, power, dangers and rewards. Back in New York City I was an antique dealer buying and selling pieces I knew, in a place that I could navigate to my own clients. But in Rio I was a true risk taker, buying things I didn't know in a place that was unfamiliar and not knowing if I'd have a clientele. Weekend mornings found me at the famous flea market at Praça Quinze. I dove into the rapids without charts or guides, but always kept my eye on the shore not wanting my ego to usurp my hustle. So with limited Portuguese and limitless hustle, I met dealers who introduced me to Brazilian Modernist furniture. Who took me to their shops, brought me on house calls and sold me pieces from their private collections. Quietly and confidently I purchased a large collection of important Brazilian mid century designer furniture. Piece by piece. I shopped throughout the city, in Cidade de Deus, Tijuquinha, Santa Teresa - I wanted to explore Rio and see all that she had to show me. Each piece I bought gave me an appreciation for the designers and architects of Brasil. Those who forged a path with their passion and intellect and hustle. Ten years later I still think of the lessons this taught me. For there are those who say, stick with what you know. But I say, how can you know if you don't go. x hkv