How to Be Outside, Inside Featuring Olalekan Jeyifous

An artist at the intersection of architecture and imagination, Olalekan Jeyifous has work in major museum collections and public art around the country. Most nights, though, he keeps it local, logging 8-10k steps through Crown Heights, Fort Greene, and Bed-Stuy, cataloging street ephemera, and ending with one quiet drink.

Okayplayer: When you want to be “outside” without being OUTSIDE, where do you go in NYC?

Olalekan Jeyifous: I’m an ambivert-leaning introvert and creature of the night who likes to log at least 8 thousand to 10 thousand steps a day, but I rarely leave home before evening. So that means anywhere from 9 to 10 p.m. on, I step out of my crib for one of my nocturnal pilgrimages around Crown Heights, Fort Greene, and Bed-Stuy. This happens four to five nights a week.

I’ve got my earbuds in, I’m drifting through creative ideas, imaginary conversations I’ll never have, and the usual loop of past regrets and small triumphs. All the while I’m capturing ephemeral details of the streetscape on my iPhone: dilapidated storefronts, light pole sticker art, a cluster of traffic cones wound with caution tape, graffiti, and posters on the temporary architecture of sidewalk sheds.

I usually end these walks by slipping into one of a handful of neighborhood bars for a filthy gin (Beefeater) martini. The places change and evolve regularly, but recently it’s been Bar Laika on Greene, where I can get pork dumplings before the kitchen closes if I get there by 11 p.m. It’s a Spartan wood-clad spot with a solid playlist. Otherwise, I rotate between recent neighborhood faves like Kissa Kissa, the Japanese-style record bar off Franklin Ave., and most recently Milly’s Neighborhood Bar, a Black-owned joint with a semi-upscale feel but down-to-earth crowd on Bedford and Greene. It’s a simple circuit, but it’s been an important nightly ritual that has disrupted my cabin fever since the pandemic.

Where do you go when you want to be around people, but not overwhelmed by crowds?

When I want to be around people without getting overwhelmed, I lean on the generosity of a loose-knit social circle that operates as my “novelty engine.” These are the folks who invite me to art openings, plays, dinner parties, lectures, and random oddball adventures. I’m always grateful for those invitations, especially when they come with full rights of refusal. It’s how I get coaxed out of my little iridescent bubble.

Because of them, I’ll find myself at things like Will Rawl’s experimental dance performance “Siccer” at Performance Space NY, followed by dinner at Lil Frankie’s in the East Village, playing darts at Moot Bar on Myrtle Ave., or housewarming dinners hosted by friends in Ocean Park and Harlem. I think of myself as a sort of tag-along Fresh Air Fund kid, because I’m rarely the one making the plans, and I almost never take advantage of the city’s cultural offerings unless someone asks me to roll.

What does your perfect NYC day look like, from morning to night?

I’d start out running an errand or two, like dropping off a package at UPS, which everyone and their mama seems to be doing on Saturday morning. Then, instead of going straight home, I just keep walking and enjoying the weather. I run into a few people I know: acquaintances, sometimes even good friends, but typically the familiar faces one collects from living in the same hood for years.

We decide to grab food somewhere and post up alfresco-style at a spot off the beaten path but solid enough for people watching. Maybe brunch at BKB Brooklyn Brasserie (formerly Mama Fox), catching up/talking shit. One or two folks may peel off to go do something, but a few stay put on this semi-busy/semi-quiet street with enough foot traffic that more people we know drift by and join us. Suddenly, 8 hours have evaporated.

We get up and decide to move somewhere else for dinner, like Laziza on Malcolm X. After that, we step back out into the evening, and somehow the night keeps extending itself. Someone pops up with an invite to a rooftop thing, and we roll with it. Maybe those few people who peeled off at brunch emerge again at this time. Next thing you know, you’ve gone from a 10/11 a.m. errand to a rooftop at midnight, and end up grabbing a super-late-night bite at a 24-hour spot like Neptune Diner II before heading home around 3 in the morning. Everyone wakes up hangover-free and oddly well-rested.

None of it planned or forced, just that smooth and organic chain of moments, riding the wave from morning to twilight to morning.