Philadelphia

Faces

Yeah, Another Blogger166 Comments

A week and a half ago, Philadelphia Museum Of Art opened its arms nice and wide when my wife Sandy and I entered the building. Then, with feeling, it embraced us. “Yeah,” I thought to myself, “this is going to be a good visit.” And it was. How could it not have been? I mean, over the years I’d roamed through PMA’s galleries more than 100 times, coming away invigorated each trip. The museum rocks.

Arriving with no advance plans as to what to see, we took a look at the museum’s website after showing our PMA-membership cards at the admissions counter. Any number of special exhibits listed on the site, ranging from small to large, piqued our interest. An hour and 45 minutes later, we’d toured them all, plus other gallery spaces. Whew! Had we covered too much ground a bit too quickly? Probably, but little matter. In any event, the museum was readying to close at that point, so off we went to retrieve our car in the museum’s parking garage. The visit, though, didn’t fade from my mind.

Sketch of The Potato Eaters, by Vincent Van Gogh. (This image belongs to Philadelphia Museum Of Art)

Faces! I’m still thinking about some of the face-centric artworks I saw at the museum, more so than the landscapes, seascapes, town scenes and city scenes, and abstractions. Maybe that’s because Sandy and I began our trek at a mini exhibit whose centerpiece was a privately owned, seldom-shown-in-public sketch by my favorite artist, Vincent van Gogh. The drawing, from 1885, is a rendition of The Potato Eaters, an oil painting Van Gogh was working on at the time in the Netherlands, the country of his birth. That painting is now generally considered to be one of his most important pieces.

The five folks in the sketch are Dutch farmers, a hard-working family that never had, and undoubtedly never would have, more than the minimum necessities needed to get by. Van Gogh didn’t try to portray them in exacting detail. He wasn’t a precisionist. His intent was to get to the heart and soul of these people. Hell, getting to the heart and soul was his intent in every one of his works, no matter what the subject matter. And he almost always pulled it off. His enormous popularity developed largely for this reason, I think. Posthumously, needless to say, as the general public was unaware of Van Gogh during his lifetime. (Van Gogh moved from the Netherlands to France in 1886, and died there, by his own hand, in 1890.)

Portrait Of James Baldwin, by Beauford Delaney. (This image belongs to Philadelphia Museum Of Art)

On the opposite side of the museum’s ground floor, hundreds of feet away from the Van Gogh sketch, Sandy and I admired a portrait of James Baldwin, the American writer, social activist and deep thinker. Painted by Beauford Delaney, a devoted artist whom success mostly eluded, the work, painted in 1945, depicts Baldwin in his early twenties. It captures him brilliantly, with bold strokes and an expert disregard for photographic-like realism. As a result, Baldwin comes alive on the canvas. Van Gogh would have approved.

Many other faces greeted us from PMA’s gallery walls that day. I’ll comment on only two of them. They are the visages, as some of you will recognize, of myself and my better half. Man, there was no way I was going to let pass the opportunity to snap a photo when I noticed our reflections in a mirror designed by Stephen Burks. The mirror was part of a dazzling exhibit of Burks’ modern interior-design items.

Somewhat amazingly, it is the only picture I took in the museum that day (the other two pix in this story are from the PMA website). That’s because, while at PMA, I had no intention of writing about Sandy’s and my visit and illustrating the story with photos captured by my phone’s camera. I just wasn’t in a reporter-on-the-scene mood. And yet, this essay emerged anyway. Well, all I can say is, “You never frigging know.” Ain’t that the truth!

Art On Wheels, Part Twelve (Thanks, Philadelphia)

Yeah, Another Blogger155 Comments

It had been half a year since I’d hauled my scrawny ass around the streets of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, searching for handsomely decorated trucks, vans, buses and other wheeled objects. I was itching to track down another bunch of those bad boys, photograph them, and then compose and publish a new installment of Art On Wheels, a series I’ve grown quite fond of. And so, amidst favorable weather conditions, I hopped aboard a train in my suburban burg three Monday mornings ago. One hour later I arrived in downtown Philly. The game was set to begin.

However . . . I didn’t slip into game mode as effortlessly as I’d expected, because, from the start, some of Philadelphia’s many charms began to distract and seduce me more than slightly. For instance, 19th century townhouses as stately as anyone might wish for. Rittenhouse Square, a perfectly designed neighborhood park. Skyscrapers whose glass facades, in daylight, flaunt fabulous reflections.

It almost got to the point where I considered putting Art On Wheels on hold and writing a piece about the magnificence of The City Of Brotherly Love instead. But that wouldn’t do! Hell, I was on a mission, and I needed to see it through. And so, refocusing, I doggedly looked here, there and everywhere for noteworthy vehicles. Even though I didn’t spot quite as many as I’d have liked during the two hours I spent pounding the pavement, I found enough of them to quench my thirst quite thoroughly. In all, I took portraits of 17 specimens. The six that rang my bell more artistically than the others illustrate this article.

Yes, things worked out well in the end, as they always have in Philadelphia. Being a natural-born worrier, though, I had my doubts at times that day, since each Art On Wheels expedition is in fact a bit of a crapshoot. The odds, of course, were in my favor. You’d think that past experience would have proven to me emphatically that more than a few enterprises making deliveries or providing services in Philly want their vehicles to stand out. That’s just good business sense, right? In fact, it’s surprising, when you think about it, that the exteriors of a high percentage of commercial trucks, vans, etc. are pure vanilla. Flair isn’t in their vocabulary, but it sure wouldn’t hurt if it were.

Do you have favorites among the six vehicles pictured in this story? My top three are the ones promoting Junk In The Trunk, Orbit Water, and Budweiser beer (the slogan “official beer of the shift change” is meant to honor hard workers, such as Shayna Raichilson-Zadok, the chef who is proudly pictured).

Choosing among those three isn’t easy. However, I’m going to go with the candidate that makes me the happiest. Namely, Orbit Water. The truck’s artwork is oh so refreshing. And the smiling guy in the design is the epitome of good cheer. He would make an ideal salesperson for almost any product or service. Excepting cemetery plots and colonoscopies, needless to say, and a handful of others. Orbit Water, you are A-OK in my book.

Let me conclude this opus with a sidenote: For several years I’ve been issuing, without fail, a story every other Tuesday (Tuesday in my time zone, that is). However, seeing that Chanukah has begun and will continue for a few more nights, and that Kwanzaa, Christmas and New Year’s Day soon will arrive, this is a good time for me to step back for a short while. Thus, I won’t be publishing on what would have been the next scheduled date (December 26). But, assuming I remain above ground, I’ll return with fresh material on January 9, 2024. Happy New Year, everyone!

The City Of Brotherly Love At Night

Yeah, Another Blogger127 Comments

As readers of Yeah, Another Blogger know, I do a fair amount of walking. Many of the walks take place in my suburban neighborhood, whose pavements I pound for 25 or 30 minutes per session in the hopes of maintaining a decent level of cardio fitness. I would describe those outings as meh, because suburbia ain’t exactly crammed with interesting things to look at.  

Pretty regularly, though, I head into Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, which is close to my town, to walk for pleasure. There, sometimes by myself, sometimes with my friend Gene, I cover a bunch of miles, avidly checking out multitudes of this, that and the other thing, many of them fascinating. I never get tired of spending time in The City Of Brotherly Love.

Now, just about all of the Philadelphia hikes have been in daylight. So, when the notion popped into my head recently to stretch my legs extensively in Philly under darkened skies, I gave it the thumbs-up. After all, I hadn’t indulged in a lengthy nighttime stroll in the city since the one I wrote about in 2018.

Thus, on a balmy Tuesday evening earlier this month, I rode a train into central Philadelphia, and then spent two hours wandering all over the place. I took nearly five dozen pictures along the way. A selection of them illustrates this story.

A bit to my surprise, none of the city sections I visited were anything resembling deserted. The sidewalks weren’t crowded, but they were busy enough, with folks popping in and out of stores and eateries, going about their business in other ways, or just plain hanging out. Not bad for a Tuesday night. I was glad about all of that in terms of my personal safety, and also because it showed that the hard hits delivered by the COVID pandemic have been reversed substantially.

A group of locals on a Chinatown street corner.
The China Gate, in Philadelphia’s Chinatown section.

When it came to hanging out, nobody I saw that night did it any better than a group of folks chatting away on a street corner in Philly’s Chinatown neighborhood. I’d have liked to have walked right up to them and ask if it would be okay for me to take an ensemble portrait. But I’m a chickenshit when it comes to approaching strangers for photographic reasons. My loss, of course, as I’ve missed out on any number of revealing pix over the years. Nonetheless, I like the snapshot in which, from a distance, they appear. The mural on the side of the TeaDo tea house anchors that scene with pride. And I like even better the picture of The China Gate, the magnificent welcome-to-Chinatown arch that straddles 10th Street a block from where I blew my chance to get up-close and personal with the locals.

A guy on a blanket in Rittenhouse Square, one of Philadelphia’s best parks.

A similar situation presented itself an hour later in Rittenhouse Square, one of Philadelphia’s stellar parks, where a guy was seated on a blanket. He was as content as can be under tree branches that smiled down upon him lovingly. Once again, a close-up would have been cool. On the other hand, the park’s calm vibes wouldn’t have been as evident in a close-up as they are in the picture I took instead.

City Hall (left) and skyscrapers.
A block of Sansom Street, not far from City Hall.
Hard Rock Cafe, Philadelphia.

Calm vibes, in fact, filled the air everywhere I went. The city was quieter, more welcoming than it is during daylight hours. The semi-darkness helped bring that about, and I was under its spell. Hell, just about everything looked good to me. City Hall, smack dab in the middle of central Philadelphia, and the modern skyscrapers just beyond it dazzled in an understated manner. Streetlamps and store signs bathed narrow blocks, such as the Sansom Street corridor west of City Hall, gently and warmly. A giant guitar sculpture, lit up like a Christmas tree and hanging from the facade of Hard Rock Café, never looked better.

But all good things must come to an end. A few minutes after admiring the guitar I entered Jefferson Station, within which I hopped aboard the train that took me back to my little town. It had been a big night in the big city.

Yeah, long solo walks in stimulating places are my cup of tea. I live in the moment during these mini adventures, enjoying the heck out of being able to go here or there as I like, answerable to no one and curious to see what’s around the next corner. They make my cares and woes disappear, leaving me with a sense of freedom that normally I don’t experience all too deeply. Man, I’d be golden if I learned to incorporate that orientation much more fully into my everyday life. Will it ever happen? Well, . . .

Happy Birthday, Sandy!

Yeah, Another Blogger150 Comments

Seeing that a person’s birthday comes but once a year, celebrating it in a substantial way is a damn good idea. Even though my wife Sandy and I don’t always follow that philosophy, a couple of weeks ago we did. Having booked a hotel room in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA for Sandy’s birthday (the big day itself, plus the two days bookending it), we dipped into The City Of Brotherly Love’s many offerings and, as is almost always the case when we’re there, had a fine time.

Jules Goldman Books And Art, an eye-popping store.
Empty building that once housed the Painted Bride Art Center. Isaiah Zagar’s mosaic mural covers the building.
A portion of the mosaic mural at the rear of the building.

What did we do? We had two great restaurant dinners, for one thing, meals that we won’t soon forget. We took in a movie (Barbie, which Sandy, unlike me, liked a lot). We wandered into Jules Goldman Books And Art, one of the most mind-blowingly jumbled stores I’ve ever seen. And we gazed in wonder at the mosaic mural (by Isaiah Zagar) covering all sides of the long-vacant building that once housed the Painted Bride Art Center. Sandy and I saw loads of terrific music and dance performances at the Bride, and truly miss it. (The Painted Bride Art Center still exits. It’s at a different location now, and is but the merest shadow, arts-wise, of its former world-class self.) The building’s and the mosaic mural’s fates, tied up in litigation for a number of years, are uncertain. Demolition is a real possibility. If that comes to pass, Philadelphia will lose a treasure.

The painting popularly known as Whistler’s Mother.

The birthday girl and I also went to the Philadelphia Museum Of Art. In that enormous institution we viewed hundreds of artworks, including the world-famous painting popularly known as Whistler’s Mother, on loan from a museum in Paris. I was expecting to poo-poo the picture, but the more I looked at it, the more I liked it. It’s a well-designed creation, quite riveting, whose true title (Arrangement In Grey And Black No. 1) is a good description of what the artist James Whistler was going after, and accomplished, when his mother Anna posed for him in 1871.

The building in which I once lived (Clinton Street, Philadelphia).

I could mention plenty more activities, but I’ll limit myself to one. A very personal one. Namely, our visit to a central Philadelphia neighborhood we both were familiar with, and within which we very likely crossed paths many years before we formally met in 1990.

I moved to Philadelphia in 1974, taking up residence on Clinton Street, a leafy block with any number of fine old houses. I lived there for 14 months in an apartment building, the one nondescript structure on Clinton, during which time Sandy worked two blocks away. Did we pass one another, maybe more than once, on the street? Did we chow down in a neighborhood eatery at the same time? We’ll never know, but I’m guessing yes. On the day before her birthday, we reminisced about those long-ago days as we strolled along a bunch of blocks in the Clinton Street area.

To continue: As noted above, our paths crossed in 1990. Meaningfully too. This occurred at a singles event near Philadelphia’s Delaware River waterfront. Sandy and I, each of us far removed from our Clinton-Street-neighborhood days, clicked right from the start and have been together ever since. I don’t believe in fate or anything like that. But it’s cool that, unbeknownst to us, we were part of the same picture all those years before, in a sense just waiting for our stories to entwine.

Now, this being a piece about a special occasion, I’ll conclude the proceedings with blasts of good cheer and high energy. And I’ll turn to The Beatles to handle the honors. Their hard-rocking song Birthday appears on what has come to be known as The White Album. John Lennon and Paul McCartney wrote Birthday quickly in the recording studio in September 1968. A few hours later, the band, McCartney handling lead vocals, put it on tape. Man, in no time at all a classic was birthed.

It’s inarguable that Paul McCartney calling Sandy and singing Birthday over the phone to her would be better than my presenting her with The Beatles’ recorded version. Maybe one day, in an alternate universe, that will happen. But for now, the original, in all its glory, will suffice beautifully. And so, once again . . . happy birthday, Sandy!

Six Pix For The First Six Months Of The Year

Yeah, Another Blogger137 Comments

During the 1970s and 1980s I enjoyed walking around Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where I lived at the time, and around many other places, snapping photos with my Kodak Pocket Instamatic of whatever caught my eye. I took a lot of family photos too. I haven’t looked at most of those pictures in . . . forever. Save for a relative few, they reside, way too many unlabeled, inside a large box or two or three somewhere in my house. The attic, most likely. I’d do well to locate and gaze at the pix. Who knows what good memories they’d bring back? Yeah, one of these days I’m going to get off my lazy ass and do just that. One of these days.

Anyway, fast forward to the tail end of 2015, which is when I purchased my first smart phone. Man, after 25 or more years of not being involved with photography — my wife Sandy had assumed the photographic duties — I took to the phone’s camera like Donald Trump takes to undermining democracy. In no time I was having fun shooting digital pictures and marveling at how easy the camera was to use.

And I couldn’t have been happier that the phone dated each shot and listed information about where the picture was taken. Even better, the photographs had no desire to leave the confines of their cozy quarters within the phone. They wouldn’t even consider wandering off to the f*cking attic or anywhere else. I love them for that, because I drop by now and then to take a look.

Sculpture outside a Mexican restaurant. Hatboro, Pennsylvania. January 2023
Artwork at Philadelphia Flower Show. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. March 2023

Like many of us, I’ve shot a large number of digital photos. Documenting our lives on a semi-regular basis isn’t the worst idea in the world, right? A recent stroll through my iPhone’s photo library revealed that my button-pressing fingers were pretty busy during the first six months of 2023, for instance, as roughly 250 photographs from that period are stored there. Being in a jolly mood at the moment, I’ve decided to bestow immortality upon six of those pix that I especially like, one from each month (I did the same thing last year). They are included in this story, and haven’t appeared in Yeah, Another Blogger before. Scads of worthy photos are not pleased about being snubbed, however. I have this to say to them: “Tough shit! Nobody ever said that life is fair.”

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. April 2023
Keswick Theater. Glenside, Pennsylvania. June 2023

I didn’t venture very far from home during the months in question. The photos herein, therefore, are restricted to the Philadelphia suburbs, which has been my home base since 2005, and to Philadelphia itself. And now a few words about two of the pictures.

Willow Grove, Pennsylvania. February 2023

I’ve witnessed numerous sunsets in my time, most of them in areas blessed with natural beauty, such as Cape Cod, Massachusetts. My town doesn’t come close to matching that description. However, my hilly neighborhood is good for sunset-watching from certain high points, like the one that is half a block from my front door. The view of the sky is nicely open there, not obscured by many houses or trees. One early evening in February I ventured out, and 15 seconds later was admiring a sunset whose yellows, oranges, pinks and greys, all delicate as feathers, made my day. A beautiful sight it was.

Willow Grove Park Mall. Abington, Pennsylvania. May 2023

And on a May morning I headed to Willow Grove Park Mall, an enclosed space not much more than a hop, skip and jump from my abode. I occasionally go there to engage in a cardio workout, walking the mall’s avenues and byways at a good clip. Such was the reason for my visit that day.

Hoofing around the mall’s second level, I approached a GAP clothing store. The posters in its windows always have impressed me, touching as they do on the positive aspects of the human condition. During the May walk, one of the GAP posters brought me up short. After staring at it for a few seconds I whipped out my phone. There was no way I was not going to photograph the poster, because its depiction of parental love was more vivid and pure than any I’d ever seen. His arms wrapped around his baby, a young father could not be more certain of his role in life than he is at that moment. Love radiates from him in gentle waves. He’s the luckiest guy in the world. And he knows it.

Art On Wheels, Part Eleven (A Philadelphia Story)

Yeah, Another Blogger151 Comments

It was a fortuitous moment for yours truly when the idea for Art On Wheels popped into my head in 2017, as this series, now comprising 11 stories, has brought me plenty of pleasure. An admirer of good-looking objects, I have become semi-addicted to tracking down attractively decorated trucks, vans and other wheeled vehicles, snapping their portraits and writing about the adventures.

This is especially true for parts eight through eleven of Art On Wheels, which are the four most recent episodes, because I initiated them by roaming the streets of Philadelphia on foot in search of prey. Prior to that, my main modus operandi had been to drive all over the frigging place in the Philadelphia suburbs (I live in those burbs), where I located vehicles in strip malls, loading docks and other non-descript places. I doubt if I’ll ever return to that method. I’d rather walk than drive, for one thing, and Philadelphia, unlike the burbs, is made for walking. What’s more, Philly is fascinating and full of energy. My suburban area doesn’t come close to fitting that description.

There I was, then, on a recent Friday morn, boarding a train in my sleepy town. Forty-five minutes later I bade the train farewell within Jefferson Station in central Philadelphia and headed outside to begin my mission. Past experience had shown me that lovingly adorned vehicles, some in motion, some parked along curbs, are not uncommon on Philadelphia’s streets. But would I encounter enough of them on my wanderings this day to illustrate a story? Was a dud of a day in store?

It wasn’t! Man, within three minutes of exiting the train station I saw, and photographed, several vehicles that passed muster: a delivery truck, a delivery van and a tour bus. I’m worried that the truck and bus might sue me or physically confront me, as I’ve decided that only the van, belonging to the Mini Melts ice cream company, is worthy of immortalization on my site. I tell you, being a beauty contest judge is cool, but there’s a darkish side to the gig.

Long walks and I agree with one another. And it was a long, zigzagging walk I took through a multitude of neighborhoods in Philadelphia, the city I know better than any other. After six and a half miles of pavement-pounding I decided to call it a day. I likely would have continued the expedition for another hour or so, but at around the six-mile mark, from out of the blue, my calf muscles cramped up outrageously. Shit, those f*ckers hurt like hell! I could barely move and had to lean against a building to prevent myself from sinking to the sidewalk. Amazingly, the pain soon mostly went away, but I wasn’t about to push my luck. So, I made my way to Jefferson Station and returned home. I’ve never had leg cramps like those before. If they ever decide to pay a return visit, I’m going to be royally pissed.

I’ve poured over the pix of the vehicles that posed for me during the trek. I’m avoiding overkill by presenting but six of the nearly 20 photos I snapped. They are the portraits I like best. My top two votes go to the trucks belonging to Allspec Construction and to Vision Furniture. They took my breath away when I crossed paths with them the other day, and their pictures continue to do so. The airiness and lightness of their designs make me say “ooh la la!”

Still, I have a clear favorite. Vision Furniture, in my book you are numero uno! Your chairs are the embodiment of happiness, barely restrained by gravity’s pull and delighted to be with one another. And your power goes beyond that: When I look at you, I hear piano music — melodies as carefree as kids at play — accompanying the flying chairs.

Well, maybe I’m getting carried away a bit. But hell, I can’t help myself. It’s the way I roll. Been doing it for decades. One thing I know for sure, in any event, is this: If Vision Furniture had been the only stellar vehicle I saw during my urban safari, I’d have deemed the day a success.

Flora Galore!

Yeah, Another Blogger155 Comments

I’m fairly certain I’ve mentioned in at least one or two earlier stories that I ain’t an ace when it comes to gardening. I garden, but only in a utilitarian sense. That is, I mow the lawn surrounding my house as needed. I gather up shitloads of fallen leaves each autumn and winter and put them out for collection. I pull out weeds. I prune shrubs and trees as best I can to keep them from becoming crazily overgrown. And . . . well, that’s about it.

In other words, I don’t plant or transplant. I don’t fertilize or otherwise nurture. I don’t attempt to expand or reconfigure the placements of flora on my grounds. Thus, the grounds look more or less as they did in 2005, the year my wife Sandy (who is not a gardener at all) and I bought our house, except that several shrubs and one tree have bitten the dust since then, as have numerous flowers. Still, things look okay overall. To my eye, anyway. A facelift definitely wouldn’t hurt though, or a few changes simply for change’s sake.

So, what’s holding me back from engaging in meaningful gardening? Indifference, for one thing. And a bigger factor: It intimidates me. Meaning, I’m afraid I’d mess things up badly were I to thrust my hands into the soil. Yes, where gardening is concerned, I’m a f*cking wuss.

However, I’m happy to report that both Sandy and I are keen appreciators of other people’s efforts to create and maintain attractively designed grounds. Who isn’t? Those endeavors, after all, are artistic enterprises and expressions. It almost goes without saying, then, that we had a fine time earlier this month at the annual Philadelphia Flower Show, a famous event organized by the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society. The show began quietly in 1829 and has, over time, become a big deal. Out of ignorance, I used to thumb my nose at the Flower Show. I wised up in 2016, the first year I attended. Our visit this month was my fourth and Sandy’s fifth.

We arrived at the show, held in Philadelphia’s cavernous convention center, on the third day of its nine-day run. The show’s theme, which changes each year, was The Garden Electric. As that name implies, bold lighting was woven into many of the sights. I think that the show organizers also opted for the word electric in order to get folks psyched for the upcoming spring season’s unfoldings and blossomings.

The premises were plenty crowded. I was happy to see that mobility issues didn’t keep some people away, as canes, walkers, wheelchairs and motorized scooters abounded. Babies in strollers and carriages were on the scene too. All of which made for a welcoming environment, though the size of the crowd meant that long lines awaited Sandy and me at some of the special exhibits.

The waits were worth it, as the special exhibits, for me, were what the event was all about. (I had no interest in the sections of the floor where potted plants, sitting on tables, had been judged and awarded ribbons, or the enormous section where plants, horticultural tools and tons of other products were for sale.)

Tulips, daffodils, hyacinth
Dense vegetation near the winding path

Many of the special exhibits were either gardens or less-structured landscapes, all of their flora anchored in soil. It was easy to forget that these displays were mounted on a concrete floor. I immediately took a liking to the swath of lawn blessed by hundreds of tulips, daffodils and hyacinth, whose punchy colors rocked. And I was an even bigger fan of the mini-woods, which was dense with vegetation and alive with fragrances. I ambled along its winding path, my blood pressure dropping with every step. Soothing, man, soothing.

Part of the exhibit of wispy, tendrilled sculptures

Other special exhibits left the world of reality pretty much behind, such as the display of wispy, tendrilled sculptures, behind glass and bathed in black light. That exhibit, in fact, pleased me more than anything I saw during the three and a half hours Sandy and I spent at the show. It was very cool. Yes, there is no doubt I’ve become a believer in the Philadelphia Flower Show. If all goes as planned, Sandy and I will return for the 2024 edition.

I’m going to conclude the proceedings with a nod to a blog I enjoy: Paddy Tobin, An Irish Gardener (click here to view it). Unlike me, Paddy and his wife are masterful gardeners. The grounds of their home look great, due to their hard work and artistic vision. A stroll through Paddy’s blog will show you what I mean. Enjoy!

Philadelphia Delivered Once Again: Art On Wheels, Part Ten

Yeah, Another Blogger126 Comments

So, what we have here is a Philadelphia story. It is one of many I’ve penned in which The City Of Brotherly Love has starred or played a supporting role. Were it not for Philly, the contents of Yeah, Another Blogger would be pretty damn scanty.

For employment reasons I moved to Philadelphia in the mid-1970s, taking a liking to the city right from the get-go. I resided within its boundaries for about 30 years. And when my wife Sandy (whom I met in 1990) and I moved away in 2005, we deposited ourselves in a sleepy town not far at all from Philly, because we wanted to be within the city’s magnetic field.

Yeah, I absolutely dig Philadelphia. Even now, deep into my retirement years, I do one thing or another there anywhere from two to six times each month. Concerts, museums, parks, restaurants . . . the city is loaded with them and with other enticements, and I can’t resist.

One of my favorite activities is to wander around Philadelphia on foot, exploring many of its sections, not just the downtown ones. I become invigorated when pounding their sidewalks and other walking paths, no less so these days than I did during my young adulthood and middle age. I might be older than dirt, but my shoes were made for walking!

A recent Philadelphia walking adventure took place on a mid-September summer day. The weather was mild, guaranteeing that I wouldn’t sweat like a frigging pig, and the skies were a friendly shade of blue. I boarded a train in my town at 9:36 AM and found myself, 45 minutes later, inside a station in the heart of Philly. After taking care of business in the station’s men’s room, I headed for the streets. My mission was to keep my eyes open for, and to photograph, enticingly decorated vehicles. Yes, the time had arrived for me to begin creating the tenth installment of a project I’ve become enamored with: Art On Wheels.

Philadelphia’s Chinatown neighborhood, one block from the train station I exited from, is a funky, lively area replete with Asian restaurants, produce vendors, nail salons, Chinese-American attorneys’ offices, and on and on. Within moments I was strolling its streets, positive that a cool truck or two would enter my field of vision in no time. When that didn’t happen, though, I began to get an uneasy feeling that my quest for vehicular beauty was destined not to pan out.

Not to worry! Twenty-five minutes into the walk, as I crossed from Chinatown into the city’s Callowhill section, a winner presented itself to me. Has the combination of orange and white ever looked better than it does on the Harbour Textile Service truck? I think not. Bold and confident, the design proves that simplicity can pack a punch with lasting effects. The Harbour vehicle is one of my two favorites from that day.

All in all I spent three hours, interrupted by a short lunch break, on the streets of Philadelphia, my aged legs covering a total of six miles. Besides Chinatown and Callowhill, the stroll took me into four or five other neighborhoods, including Spring Garden. That’s where I made the acquaintance of La Marqueza, a gorgeous food truck that I like as much as Harbour Textile Service and maybe more. It was parked alongside Community College Of Philadelphia. Man, I gazed upon La Marqueza hungrily, allowing its vibrancy and warmth to raise my spirits. Then, off I went in search of my next victim.

By adventure’s end I’d taken the portraits of about 15 vehicles, later deciding that only five were worthy of immortalization. Ergo, those five decorate this page. The final notable one I saw belongs to Foreign Objects, a craft brewery in Monroe, New York. That truck, far from home, is endowed with delicate and wispy artwork, not at all what you’d expect a beer truck to display. All I can say is, “damn straight, I’ll drink to that!”

In closing, I’ll mention this: The first seven editions of Art On Wheels are set in the suburbs, where I had to drive all over the f*cking place to find worthy specimens. Screw that! I’d rather locate them via foot power in Philly, which is what I’ve done since then. That’s why I’m sure that at some point next year I’ll return to the city I know best for Art On Wheels, Part Eleven. I’m already looking forward to it.

Six Pix

Yeah, Another Blogger138 Comments

As I’ve mentioned a couple of times before, in articles buried in this site’s musty archives, I know virtually nothing about the technical aspects of photography nor about the cameras, lenses and associated equipment that make serious photographers drool. Nonetheless, I get a bang from taking photographs, because I like looking at things while walking around, and often feel compelled to document what I’m looking at. Most agreeably, the cameras I’ve used over the years in this pursuit have allowed me — a lazy f*cker who can’t be bothered with complicated stuff — to snap away with a minimum of effort.

First there was the Kodak Pocket Instamatic, which served me well during the pre-digital 1970s and 80s. I took a zillion pictures with it. The Pocket Instamatic was small and worked automatically, producing a nice image nearly every time. Aim and shoot was all you had to do, a pretty perfect set-up for yours truly.

A long dry spell set in for me after that era, my wife Sandy taking over the photographic duties. However, in late 2015 I obtained my first smart phone, an iPhone, and soon fell heavily for its camera. The camera was as easy as pie to use and, no need to mention, was digital. Thus, the small hassle of getting rolls of film developed (as was the case with the Instamatic) didn’t exist. Absolutely my kind of camera!

Willow Grove, Pennsylvania (March 2022)
Goods on display in the Lids store, Abington, Pennsylvania (January 2022)

That iPhone was traded in some time ago for an updated model, which I’ve put to use a whole lot. This year alone I’ve pressed its button several hundred times. A fair number of the several hundred resultant images have appeared on this wobbly publication’s pages, but the vast majority haven’t.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (March 2022)

And so, in honor of the fact that we currently are hauling our asses through month number six of the year, I am decorating this article with six previously unpublished pix, all from 2022, that pleased my eye recently when I scrolled through the photos residing within my phone. I’ll limit my commentary to three of them.

Mt. Airy section of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (March 2022)

Isn’t the mural gorgeous? It was created under the auspices of Mural Arts Philadelphia, a quasi-governmental organization in Philadelphia that, since 1984, has orchestrated the painting of several thousand outdoor murals throughout that fair city. This one is in Philly’s Mt. Airy section. I took the picture in March as I was walking to a nearby tavern for a rendezvous with my great pals Jeff and Mike.

And you know what? I noticed while writing this article that the name of the mural, painted on the lower right corner, is Walking The Wissahickon. Well, as fate and/or coincidence would have it, my wife and I did exactly that — we walked The Wissahickon, aka Wissahickon Valley Park — about seven weeks after I took the mural’s portrait.

Wissahickon Valley Park, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (April 2022)

Man, the park, which extends for more than five miles through northwest Philadelphia, a swath that includes Mt. Airy, is damn well more gorgeous than the mural, as it should be. Sandy and I were there on a lovely spring day, admiring the greenery and the robust creek (Wissahickon Creek) that flows through the park, and adroitly sidestepping the occasional piles of horse shit that bless the main trail. Not having had a true Nature experience in months, we dug the heck out of the hour and a half that we spent in what I consider to be the crown jewel of Philadelphia’s parklands.

Michener Art Museum, Doylestown, Pennsylvania (February 2022)

I’ll bring this opus to an end by talking ever so briefly about the photo of Sandy and me posing before a mirror in the Michener Art Museum, a superb institution in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. There we are, squashed within the mirror’s confines, our faces half-obscured. Yet, despite all of that, we look pretty damn good, no? Gorgeous even, no?  I think so. And those of you who don’t agree should leave the room right now!

Thanks for reading, girls and boys. Till next time!

Two Hours In Philly: Art On Wheels, Part Nine

Yeah, Another Blogger146 Comments

Writing is a mysterious enterprise, to be sure. Story ideas, characters, themes and other writerly considerations often emerge unexpectedly from neighborhoods of the mind that you barely know about. I find that to be enchanting, to tell you the truth, because the unanticipated, if of the right sort, is nothing but a good thing, no?

Along those lines, little has surprised me more, blog-wise, than the birth of Art On Wheels. Intrepid soul that I occasionally am, I said yes to the proposition when one fateful day in 2017 a from-out-of-the-blue idea — to scour my region for attractively-decorated vehicles and to report on them — came to me. It’s an oddball activity alright, but, as it turns out, has suited me just fine, as I’m into art and also into wandering around while looking at things. So, here we are at edition number nine of the series. Who’d have thunk it? Live and f*cking learn!

For the first seven Art On Wheels stories I did 90% of the wandering via my car and 10% via my feet. I located my victims in the suburbs of Philadelphia, for the most part in loading docks, strip malls and large parking areas. But for part eight of the series, and for this ninth story, I changed my approach: I explored strictly on foot, which is my preferred mode of travel, and, ditching the burbs, opted to see what I would see on the congested streets of Philadelphia.

Not being one who enjoys freezing his ass off or getting soaked to the frigging bone, I selected a sunny and mild day, the 11th of April, for my expedition. Off I went that morning, boarding a choo-choo that transported me from my little town to The City Of Brotherly Love, where I spent two hours pounding the pavement in the Old City section and two neighborhoods to its north — Northern Liberties and Olde Kensington. All three areas indeed are pretty old: Some of the buildings went up during the 1700s and loads date from the 1800s. The 20th and 21st centuries are well-represented too, including present-day creations . . . these neighborhoods have been undergoing a new-housing boom.

But I wasn’t in Philly to concentrate on the structures that cover its soil. As focused as a hungry tiger, and moving briskly along the blocks, I scanned my surroundings carefully for wheeled constructions whose bright colors and/or stylish designs couldn’t be dismissed. I found about a dozen, fewer than I was hoping for, but enough to make my day. The portraits of six of them illustrate this page. Almost needless to say, though, more than one of the fine specimens frustrated the photographer inside of me, as they were in motion when I spotted them. “Stop, you bastard!” I nearly yelled at each of those. But they wouldn’t have obeyed even if I had opened my mouth. Alas, by the time I got my phone’s camera in position to try and immortalize them, they were too damn far away. That’s the way it goes in the big city.

I’ve examined carefully not only the photos I took on the 11th, but my opinions about them too. Initially I’d have said that the Sweetwater Brewing Company truck (above) is untoppable. You don’t run across such attention to detail and such a majestic array of colors too often, do you?

Driver’s side of graffiti truck.
Passenger side of graffiti truck.

However, since then I’ve revised my evaluation. Maybe it’s because I’m in a free-wheeling mood. Maybe it’s because I have the late artists Jackson Pollock and Helen Frankenthaler, abstractionists of a high order, on my mind. Whatever the reasons, I now am awarding the gold medal to the truck, painted deliciously with graffiti, that sat on a narrow Olde Kensington street. Its driver’s side is a testament to the power of black on white. The passenger side of the canvas, partially obscured by hand trucks and wood pallets, keeps the black on white motif going, and also explodes with controlled bursts of gold and burgundy. Does this truck belong to one of the construction workers who was hammering away very nearby? Whatever the case, its owner should be proud.

That’s it for now, boys and girls. I’d be glad to hear your thoughts about the works of art on display in this story. Till next time!