Autumn in the Streets

Abstract with Red Splotch and Little Green Seeds

More street art, where the red splotch

took on a batch of tiny seeds,

reminded me of the work of abstract-

expressionist artist Robert Motherwell.

Maybe its appropriate, because

I was just leaving the Herron School of Art

when I saw this tiny bit of color

on the granite steps to the building.

Beside the Sea, no. 45. 1967
Acrylic and ink on paper

A Bit of Macadam Plaid

Earlier this year, the street department worked 

to repave New York Street, just outside the Natatorium.

They made islands, installed new lighting, and

reoriented the stripes in some parking areas.

Of course, this has resulted in an area of nice gray

tweed, interspersed with a pattern of black and yellow

bars at right angles.It makes a fine clan tartan

for the families of all street workers,

spiritual descendants of John McAdam,

inventor of the method of paving

that led to the asphalt surfaces that now

cover our streets and highways.

July Theme Day: Look Down

The street maintenance department of Indianapolis

may not be so great at making sweet, 

tidy repairs, but they somehow manage 

to be sublime street artists 

in the Abstract Expressionist manner. 

Compositions such as these exist all over the city; 

I've taken enough of these sorts of photos 

to be able to mount a large exhibition. 

Consequently, today's theme, Look Down 

was right up my alley, so to speak.

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A Splash of Red

Sort of.

A work man has been turned loose near the Natatorium,

 marking utilities for future projects.

Scrub the gravel around a bit and the sprayed

blotches would be disrupted, and who knows what

to make of the markings in the plants?

They'll die off long before the project is started.

Street Art: Blue Spots

Never mind that there's a painter out there, 

someone assigned to delineate the water lines, 

who can't quite hang on to his bucket.

This is a person with a unique skill, one who 

is able to strew sapphires across

the barren moon surface of a local sidewalk,

bringing depth and beauty to what would otherwise 

be ordinary blue paint and concrete.

Oh, Good Grief ...*

Other than the varied shades of yellow, 

what excited me most about this image 

was the contrast between the comparatively 

straight edge made by the last painter, 

and the squiggly edge made

by the earlier painter.

Pure fucking genius.

*Sometimes I get so excited about 

small things that I'd probably chase 

a red laser dot around the room.

Street Art: Too Blue

This time, it must have been the water utility guys, 

marking their lines along the Speedway streets.

A few feet away, traces of a spot where the blue paint 

was spilled marks the intersection.

And this should be imprinted on all 

of our minds by now, and we should make

certain it is the last time it happens.

Jean Dubuffet in Speedway

I was walking through a Speedway neighborhood 

a couple years ago when I noticed 

a driveway that had been repaired with slurry seal 

in a manner resembling the artwork 

of French Artist Jean Dubuffet (1901-1985).

Since then, it's as though the long-dead painter

has taken up summer residency here

to paint the streets and driveways with easy,

drippy strokes to form interesting

compositions on the grayed asphalt.

 Jean Dubuffet. l'Hourloupe. 1966. Ink on Paper

Street Art

Beauty appears in the oddest places;

from puffy clouds in the sky, to flowers in garden beds,

then to a storm's detritus in cracks in the parking lot.

Both the street pavers and the forces of Mother Nature 

collaborated to create some beautiful abstract art.

The earth has heaved over the winters to make cracks

in the pavement, which are then filled with

chips of yellow paint from the surrounding curbs.

Swashes of slurry seal add contrast to the

nubby surface of the asphalt.

Art in Speedway: Ikat Fence

Long strands of telephone cables, strung between tall poles, 

cast shadows on the privacy fences.

Surrounding the back yards of residences 

on West 25th Street, the fences are usually very dull,

bland affairs, unpainted and poorly installed.

These sorry panels are, however, acquiring a patina

that reveals the cut lines of the saw blade

that made them,as well as creating a contrast between the

knotholes and the parent tree.

 The patterns reminded me of ikat dyed

fabric, draped in long, wood curtains along

the street.

Speedway Street Painters: At It Again

How could I have ever missed this gem?

OMG! It has smears, craquelure, and tread marks.

A bit of sun has even taken the time

out of its busy morning to mark the spot where 

the paint was spilled with an aura.

It is golden, the color of an egg yolk,

and it has been blessed with a halo

from Mother Nature.

With My Nose at My Toes

I was crossing the street at Indiana Avenue 

and Michigan Street the other day. 

As usual, I was looking at the ground, 

mulling over some insignificant life mystery

when I noticed the paint on the walkways

not only were broken and faded,

they had craquelure!

I just knew I'd return to take pictures of 

the interesting compositions formed

by years of wear from tires and weather.

Tonight, while waiting for a bus home, 

I took my little camera into the intersection

to take a few pictures of the wonderful

shapes and colors that lay in the

middle of the street.

Of course, I did have sufficient

gray matter to wait 'til the signals

were in my favor and no cars

were turning into the intersection.

After all, how would the headlines 

have looked -- "Crack pot woman hit by

car, cracking her head while taking

pictures of craquelure"?

The Winter Lingers

Officially, Spring began in March and 

Summer is just a month away.

The cold temperatures linger on, 

the few sunny days interspersed by chilly rains.

It makes one wonder what Winter looks like, 

since it's been cloaked so well in Spring's clothing.

People, fooled by the disguise, have ventured out

without warm coats, and ended up trapped

in rainstorms wearing clothes meant for balmy

breezes and sunny skies.

Beyond the runny noses and watery eyes

lie stares, looking not so much towards Spring

and its warmth, but back -- back to promises

of easier times unfulfilled by masters 

wearing Armani suits, in whose own hearts

winter has taken root. There, winter is not a season,

but a hollow place where a soul should be.

A place where greed has cast long, dark fingers

over the sky, robbing the people 

of warmth and light.

These men, whose phony smiles

do little to mask the cold glint in their eyes,

suck the resources out of the ground. 

They continue to cut the tops off mountains 

in their quest for increasingly meager returns of coal, 

the profits from which line the pockets of Congressmen. 

And the voters, the people who need to pay for heat 

to warm their homes, stand in the cold rain, 

wondering what they did wrong.

Street Art: Black, White, and Gray

The white patches mark the pedestrian walkway, 

while the black is sealant spread over grooves 

in the asphalt pavement where electronic sensors 

are installed that (mostly) prevent the shopping

carts from being taken away from the property

Along the Gray Divide

As the sun rose over Indy on Saturday, I walked in the shadow 

of the Herron School of Art, where the rift in the sidewalk reminded me 

of a map of the Mississippi River. Or maybe, looked at horizontally, 

it could have been the remains of ocean waves, 

breaking onto the sandy beach. Or not.

Maybe one side was just shiny, while the other was not.

Gold and Salt

Last night, I left the Natatorium after a swim and 

came home with nada for today's post. For the past couple weeks, 

the weather has been hot. In the mid-90s hot. 

The light is funny, too, sort of bright and flat most of the day. 

I haven't found many nice pictures to take as a result 

and have passed opportunities because of the light - flat with little contrast. 

This morning, I took some shots of the parking lot a couple blocks away. 

At this time of the season, the trees are beginning to tire, their leaves fading 

and drooping a bit from their earlier rich, robust green selves.

Some are starting to fall away. Their tasks are done and they

cast their golden selves upon the ground, sometimes

creating little highlights on cracks in the pavement.

Treasure Where I Find It

It seems that as soon as one project is done, another crew comes through, 

preparing to dig up the streets yet again. They mark the curbs, 

intersections, and sidewalks with multi-hued codes, describing the orientation 

and path of yet another utility upgrade. Here, a Speedway curb

bears the air-brushed codes of three different utilities, with little flags

stuck into the ground.

Too often, the result is a patchwork of pavement

that is uneven, resulting in potholes and damage from 

winter thaws and freezes. On the other hand,

as an introvert who finds taking actual pictures of

actual people intimidating, looking at the sidewalks and

streets has opened up a whole bunch of other

opportunities for images. :-)

And, yes, I dabbled with the contrast

in Photoshop for these images.

Textured Tuesday: Landscape

A tree branches off to the left in the foreground

of this rainy day landscape, as the horizon line is broken up 

a bit by a grove of trees just emerging from the mist.

Otherwise, it's seams in a bit of sidewalk.

Muse: Smoke Break

Two people, prisoners to their habit,

and otherwise ill-matched, 

stand beneath smokey carcinogens 

entwined above their heads,

neither doing the other any favors

 and calling it love.