Cars stream past uptown without looking at the art in their midst. This is a good thing: the spray-painted walls are just a natural part of the decay and regrowth in the urban landscape of the city. The pieces here exude a calm which is unkown to the drivers, but felt by pedestrians. The writers who put these up were more than likely doing them in a calm but manic rush, in a well repeated act of getting the art onto cement walls via preassurised aerosol. You should plan for this (or maybe not) so you be stealthful before security, cops or unfriendly pass-bys bring attnetion to the act. That energy is captured here in these pieces; they are moving dancing letters and primal shapes. But there is also a stillness there. Paint on a flat wall.
Labels: East Village, Piece
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