Art de streetулица
by Yuri Smirnov
Photos - Koen Douterloigne, Pэryp@tet!k Media
In New York we almost have the feeling of living in either an ambrosial world of light above ground or a murky contentious underworld. Mark Pitzke from Der Spiegel described this polarization in the context of the recent NYC elections where the winner has promised more and better services for residents outside of disneyfied Manhattan:
If Manhattan has been disneyfied, then London certainly has too. Perhaps that is why we shouldn't be laughed at for thinking that East London is a mirror of New York's underground art centers – Bedford-Stuyvesant and Bushwick:
This dilettantish cell phone photo even conveys the dark underside that investors claim to be "enlightening" by building nice condominiums such as the one we see going up toward the end of the street here.
Unfortunately for these developers, the street artists in the White Canvas Project upstaged their years of planning, development and design by simply smearing a facade in paint around the corner:
A friend once said that Hundertwasser had a similar idea for the monotone social housing in Berlin: Let every resident choose a can of paint, give them long brushes and let them paint whatever they want on the facade around their windows. Maybe they wouldn't have risen from the deep blue to soar in the ethereal white like the symbolism of the Russian flag, but imagine how stunning it would be to walk between
but with the wall rising seven, ten, twenty storeys into the sky! The Shoreditch overground stop is now, on November 23, 2013, in a debate with a side street off Brick Lane: At Shoreditch, mankind is the savior of the human race and the guarantor of peace, but when you follow the tracks and cross Brick Lane it becomes Vladimir Putin The Peacemaker (миротворец).
In Bedford, Brooklyn, Joshua Gabriel must understand something about the process – one of the central differences between the East and West or the Orient and the Occident:
His wall art rejects the idea of attaining a state of anything, be it happiness, peace, tranquility or some other permanent conditions. Fittingly, it appears on Myrtle Avenue on an industrial stretch that hardly gives the impression of stasis.
He presumably floats with the leaves from the loose limbs of the cypress, lands scattered, before the zephyr carries him to the heights of an eastern immortal, which we can only roughly imagine on earth as someone who is certainly spiritual: