The cacti are gone from the alley art gallery. The gentleman who hangs paintings and such along fences and doors says another neighbor removed them. Their property, their choice.
That doesn’t mean they oppose the hanging work, and he refreshes the art from time to time, such as the mutt masterpieces that I shared nearly two months ago.
This afternoon, while walking along an alley in our neighborhood of University Heights, my wife expressed delight seeing some dog art hanging from a fence door. I initially passed by the display, then thought that her reaction deserved acknowledgement.
So I pulled out Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra and took four quickies of varying compositions. The Featured Image is the best for presenting singly. Vitals: f/1.7, ISO 12, 1/1050 sec, 23mm (film equivalent); 2:18 p.m. PDT.
At the house where lives Daniel Tiger, one of the “Cats of University Heights“, the kids have put up drawings for Halloween. I am a big fan of spiders and the black putty-tat’s expression is irresistible—as is the uninhibited artistry of a child.
The family also keeps chickens and puts out a jar of food for neighbors to feed them. There had been three birds, but recently only two roam the yard. What happened to the other one? I must ask sometime.
Why wait for Halloween to show off how San Diegans go nutso decorating all things ghoulish for October 31st? Our attention turns to seemingly innocuous street art (graffiti by any other name) scrawled on a utility box along El Cajon Blvd at 30th Street in North Park.
Perhaps, like me, “spoopy” is unfamiliar to you. Or perhaps you caught the 60-seconds of meme-fame a dozen years ago, when a single Flickr photo purloined and reposted on a Tumblr blog set off a frenzy of trick-or-treat wordplay.
For the third day in a row—and possibly many more for awhile—I present another placeholder post. I used Nikon D70 to capture the Featured Image on March 12, 2005. Vitals: f/4.5, ISO 200, 1/60 sec, 70mm; 5:51 p.m. EDT.
I believe that our daughter made the penguin thermometer during school art class. Location is my basement office, where we all shared computer space. She had her own PC but activity was monitored by the best parental software available anywhere: Me. She had unrestricted Web access because I monitored her with a glance. Besides, the Internet was less dangerous (and pornographic) to youngsters 18 years ago.
If there were alternate realities, in another my wife and I would have purchased what we call the Schoolhouse nearly five years ago. Location, nearby Alice Birney Elementary, was one of the appealing attributes—that and misguided speculation San Diego would never allow any type of overdevelopment nearby the kids.
A block-long, multi-residence high-rise is under construction across from the school and SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 restrictions kept away students for more than a year. Both are ambience-killers. We’re better off with the decision made in this reality.
I don’t know what to make of this thing. Do you? There is something about the, ah, artwork that conjures images of animal idols worshipped by ancient cultures. As such, I am somewhat hesitant to share the Featured Image, captured today using Leica Q2 Monochrom. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 200, 1/800 sec, 28mm; 12:44 p.m. PDT. I took another at f/2.8 but prefer this shot.
My understanding is that goats are often associated with the occult or Satan worship. For sure, there is a whole lot of potential symbolic imagery to associate with this thang—and all of it beyond my knowledge to decipher. For example, what’s that emblem on the metal stake through the skull? Are those hanging cogged machine wheels supposed to represent overly large testicles? Or do I make something out of nothing—someone having merely cobbled together junk to make a personal showpiece?
I vaguely remember when, a few years ago, one of my neighbors created this lawn art over the course of several days. Chainsaw comes to mind as main tool, but my recollection is sketchy. Until shooting the Featured Image, though, I didn’t understand that a massive, magnificent tree reached skyward several stories above the roof. Google Street View reveals what was.
The stump sculpture has aged quite nicely, baked in the San Diego sun.
Honestly, if not for the storytelling value, you would not be looking at the homage to narcissism that is the Featured Image. While walking in the San Diego neighborhood of University Heights on Sept. 6, 2021, my wife spotted something in the middle of the intersection at Georgia and Meade. She fetched what turned out to be a mounted print laying face down on the asphalt. Somewhat shocked by the strangeness of the find, she set the abandoned art against a utility poll, pulled out iPhone XS, and snapped a photo. Vitals: f/1.8, ISO 25, 1/530 sec, 26mm; 6:13 p.m. PDT.
I find the thing to be rather repulsive. Near as I can understand from standard web searching, the print is “Armed Forces” from the Hat Series by Chinese painter Yue Minjun. His works depict himself—so, yeah, he is each of the seven smiling weirdos that you see. There’s something oh-so unsettling and insanely appropriate about his style at a time when social media and smartphones propagate narcissists like mold in the damp walls of a leaky house.
My artistic talents peaked in first grade and never improved. That school year, I won my one, and only, award for them—and decades later I doubt doing better, if as well, as the ribbon-winner that is the Featured Image. I vaguely remember making this drawing, with the teacher looking over my shoulder either to offer praise or suggestions; perhaps both.
The next clear recollection is my mom talking on the party line to see who would win, my anticipation, and both our excitement at the news. Gosh, I felt so proud. The next day, the second-grade winner and I basked in the limelight and awaited our prize. What would it be? Speculation killed me. Then, with modest fanfare, the teacher presented each of us with a proper drawing pad and black marker. I was crushed. How boring.
The day after seeing some “politically incorrect” art left for scavengers to take, my wife and I came upon a gallery in the adjacent alley, separating Alabama and Mississippi between El Cajon and Meade. San […]
Yesterday, as my wife and I walked along the alley separating Louisiana and Mississippi, between Meade and Monroe, she stopped, then said: it’s “not politically correct”, referring to a framed poster that I hadn’t seen. People put out giveaways all the time, and art ranks low on my interest meter; hence my blind disregard for an object worth inspection. Not only is her statement accurate, it could explain why someone discarded the thing. With all the hubbub about systemic racism, the caricatures could offend someone. Perhaps raised awareness led the owner to let go the wall hanging. Click through to the Featured Image, and you tell me.
I used Leica Q2 to make the moment, choosing to leave the framed poster leaning as we found it, rather than repositioning for the shot. Composition intentionally reveals some of the alley, for context. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/4.5, ISO 100, 1/500 sec, 28mm; 9:29 a.m PDT.