Canal Street was once a canal, filled in centuries ago. For a long time it has been a busy street of industrial shops and honking trucks, every inch of asphalt and grimy facade worn by no-nonse commerce. I soften the brooding street of dark edges with soft steam and a damp atmosphere.
The foreground is still, hardly a sign of life, the layup rail yard nearly empty of trains. Is it early in the morning, or late in the afternoon? The view is from the Pulaski Bridge, which connects Brooklyn and Queens. The immense energy lies across the river, where the vanishing point of perspective points to midtown Manhattan. Yet more energy hovers above in the background, the heady clouds ready to congeal into a humid summer storm.
This, my most recent painting, shows a view of Broadway outside the Strand Bookstore. The Empire State Building looms above the angling, one way street.
8th Ave is awash in winter slush and the glaring light of Gray's Papaya, a shop known for its cheap, standing-room-only hotdogs. It's harder to find such places these days, real estate prices favoring corporate chains.
Beware of Dog
This fence, based on my old neighborhood in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, would probably not hold a determined guard dog.
The lights of Harlem's Apollo Theater warm 125th Street. Up here the sky is larger, and crisper, as Autumn sets in.
Christmas lights adorn Little Italy, a famous, but very small neighborhood.
Coney Island Projection
If you see this from an angle you will see a portrait of a sideshow personality.
A bright patchwork of signage downtown.
A wild west mural festoons the side of a trash collection truck on its runs in the garment district. It is interesting to contrast the myth of the west, with its wide open space, with the closed-in urban windows in the background.
The Seven Line, an elevated train, runs out to Flushing, Queens. It's a very long ride, passing through dozens of countries, each stop marking a different ethnic neighborhood.