Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Neighborhood: Lower Manhattan
I was attracted to this particular one because of the way the text (WSNY - MADE IN INDIA) matched the pattern of the manhole. While doing this painting, I explored different colors and changed my color scheme to yellows, oranges, browns, and golds. Colors that are maybe closer to a land I often long for...India.
(When I had finished the first part of this painting, I looked around for a place to buy milk for the cereal I had brought with me. I was tired, hungry, and completely splattered with paints. Without thinking, I walked into a kosher butcher shop and asked for milk. I will never forget the strange looks I received.)
(Painted in Midtown)
The cars are more connected then the people that ride them. All try to avoid human contact but most wouldn't forfeit a ride at any cost. Slide along this vibrating horizontal line beneath the vertical ones above. Find your way out in search of your own space.
(Painted on the Upper East Side)
Warm, dusty, and dry. Walking miles to find something that cannot be seen on the West Side. Dig, scrape, sweep, clean, and hope for an artifact that has no date or time in a place where history classes always end up. (sold)
(Painted near Hells Kitchen)
"I know this manhole with your name on it that I've been wanting to do." He signs a two-dollar bill, gives it to me, and says, "I want it. It would be cool if you could use tie dye colors like in the Sixties."
As soon as the mercury hit 50 degrees, I hit the pavement. Totally relaxed, I was painting near an old, dilapidated bar. By 10 A.M. my canvas needed wetting but I had run out of water. I walked into the bar to fill my water bottle. "Good morning. Do you think you could put some water in this bottle for me." "No." "Do you think I could fill it in your bathroom sink?" "No. The bathroom is for customers only." "OK, may I have a juice? " No" "Very well, have a good day."
I left and still relaxed and peaceful continued painting on the dry canvas. Here comes Mr. Bartender. "What are you doing out here? "Oh, I'm just doing some painting and it is going really well" "You can't be doing this here. People are complaining." I look around expecting to see angry faces, but there is not a person in sight! "Will you let those people know that I should be done soon and out of their way." He storms off and returned five minuets later declaring,
"The boss says you have to go." "Will you see if your boss wants to take a look at this? It is almost done and he might really like it." Five minutes later he storms out and angrily says, "You can't just paint wherever you want. This ain't the Sixties, man." I smiled, looked down at the finished painting, and said. "Yea it is but thanks for your opinion." He growled once more. "No, you don't understand. This ain't the Sixty's man!"
I cleaned up, entered the bar once more, and said "Thanks again for all your help. You have a good day."
(Painted outside Battery Park)
Drop in mid-August and let me know if it will be a scorcher tomorrow. Is it possible to wear less than I wore today without offending some obsolete NYC decency act? Take a wrench to the hydrant and wish that I could dance in the street like the two year old wearing only a diaper. (sold)
(Painted in the West Village)
How did I end up here? Put me where I belong so everyone can slap a
title on my neighborhood: Nolita, Alphabet City, the LES, whatever. Can they just make up their minds? Wait a second. Who is the they that seem to claim these blocks: the Puerto Ricans, the Jews, the Italians, the Russians, and everyone else. I don't care who they are, but will someone just take me back to the hood. (sold)
(Painted in the West Village)
How did I end up here? These people can never make up their minds
whether they want to leave this island or not. At least my people know that Brooklyn is the place where they want to stay. My home has everything that this place has and there are more places to park. Take me back to my crib! (sold)