My interest in Detroit was piqued last summer by tales of scrappy artists colonizing whole blocks of hundred dollar homes, and I have to say Detroit continues to intrigue me.  It stands today as both a monument to a glorious industrial past, and an insistent reminder of America's current malaise — our crippled imagination and attenuated sense of wonder.  But it also shows exciting signs of hope.

Here in Boston, we're at the other end of the spectrum — with our own unreal estate and a glut of leisure that inevitably leads to a sense of entitled ennui — but to fail to see the connection between death by starvation and surfeit — to fail to see the dulling of the imagination and the dimming of a grand vision of the future apparent at both ends of the spectrum, is ultimately to fail to grasp the challenge and opportunity in the moment. 

Detroit has such a rich, layered history, at the nexus of industry and art, it's hard to see it so snobbishly dismissed as post-industrial blight.  You may think it equally snobbish to suggest it has a future as a haven for artists and experimental types who are hamstrung here by the high cost of living — an American Paris waiting for its Lost Generation — but, hey, it derives its name from French (le détroit du Lac Érie — French for the strait of Lake Erie).  And it's right across the river from Canada.  Can't beat that.

I'm so intrigued by Detroit that I'm actually contemplating a road-trip come Spring to visit a few of those scrappy local artists, along with sites of the local foods movement — urban gardening at its most inspiring.  I'll keep you posted.