untitled (blue threads) 2009

Yesterday I spotted this section of a sad, somewhat unsound wall which had been assembled around a large vacant lot on Grand Street in Williamsburg. These bright blue tarps, blowing in the wind and buoyed by the February sun, would hardly present any barrier to the curiosity of even the most casual passerby, but as a brilliantly-lit, flapping bauble they managed to relieve the drabness of the dull flat plywood boards they interrupted with their play.

Will their gambolling last until the day the sober speculators return with their cranes?

The picture may be a bit colorless and slightly shaky, since there was almost no light off the corner of Wooster Street near Grand at 6:30 tonight, and no tripod in sight, but I still wanted to try to capture the mystery of this doorway. It's on the side of a building which has attracted (almost literally) tons of street art over the years.

I had heard some time ago that it was slated for demolition, but who knows what's going to happen to it now?

The image I got makes me think of one of those spooky shadow boxes crafted variously out of feathers, seeds, shells, hair and cut paper that were so popular with the Victorians. When I lived there I used to see them all over New England in shop windows and at barn and estate sales, preserved inside framed glass boxes or cabinets, but now I can't find a single pictorial relic of their weird vogue on line.