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The only artform left in Manhattan is Graffiti. street art, not ‘gallery’ art, rocks.
On my way into DUMBO, under a scaffold, in a mouldy corner, was this little bit of wall. Check out that mini-cairn of rocks on the ground, giving the image a 3-D, shrine-like feel.
a shrine to the only un-gentrified corner left in DUMBO?
Nice.
Perfect for place where it was sited. Dark. Not a place you’d want to linger; indeed, something I passed, feeling lost, but ‘on my way.’
(the BlackBerry camera just doesn’t do it justice.)
Listen, I need to confess. I am just hating art in galleries right now. What feels vibrant to me? The serendipitous “see”: the art I don’t expect to find, and find, anyway. It feels right. Creativity seems irrepressible, when I encounter it On My Way.
I saw this on the way to a studio visit with the lovely and talented Gregory Montreuil in the East Village a month or so ago. Poster/poetry:
The Word on the Street. That’s what I’m after.