NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK šŸ—½: VACANCY IS THE NEW BLACK

ā€œSpace for Rentā€
NYC – East Village, Chelsea, Greenwich Village – Familiarity is disappearing. Vacancy is the new black.
Anger towards Cuomo and De Blasio
Jan2021

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK STREET ART: RBG by ELLESTREETART

š‘…šµš’¢ šŸ‡ŗšŸ‡ø
@ellestreetart
šŸ£šŸ©šŸ© šŸ£š“ˆš“‰ š’œš“‹š‘’
East Village
š’©š’“š’ž šŸ—½
šŸ¦š’暝’¶š“ƒšŸ¤šŸ£

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK: OLD SKOOL by OS GEMEOS

Hanging in there.
Old Skool.
@osgemeos
145 W. 14th St
Chelsea, Manhattan
NYC
2jan21

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK STREET ART: NATIVE by TITO FERRARA

ā€œThe idea is to bring through art a reflection on the peoples in Brazil originating in Brazil and all the Americas, and how actions that happened here in the US and ended native civilizations are being repeated in Brazil.ā€ (sic)
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~ Artist: Tito Ferrara
Address: MacDougal & W. Houston
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New York City – SoHo
2jan2021

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK STREET ART: MAYBE THIS YEAR WONā€™T SUCK??? by CITY KITTY

ā‚˜ā‚ybā‚‘ ā‚™ā‚‘ā‚“ā‚œ Yā‚‘ā‚įµ£ Wā‚’ā‚™ā€™ā‚œ ā‚›įµ¤cā‚–? . ā‚™ā‚‘w Yā‚’įµ£ā‚– Cįµ¢ā‚œy ā‚ā±¼ā‚ā‚™ā‚‚ā‚€ā‚‚ā‚

IG: @citykittystreet for @amartstop

Address: #7 2nd Ave & Houston, East Village, NYC

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK STREET ART: CURB YOUR EGO

į““įµƒįµ–įµ–Źø į“ŗį“±įµ‚ Źøįµ‰įµƒŹ³
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į¶œįµį“æį“® Źøį“¼įµį“æ į“±į“³į“¼.
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ā€œį“ŗįµ’įµ‡įµ’įµˆŹø Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰Ė¢ įµƒāæŹøįµ‡įµ’įµˆŹø įµ—Ź³įµ˜Ė”Źø įµ‡įµ˜įµ— įµƒĖ”Ė” įµ—Ź°Ź³įµ’įµ˜įµŹ° įµ—Ź°įµ‰ į¶ Ė”įµƒŹ·Ė¢ įµ’į¶  įµ—Ź°įµ‰ā±Ź³ įµ’Ź·āæ įµ‰įµįµ’Ė¢. įµ€Ź°įµƒįµ— ā±Ė¢ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ Ź·įµƒŹø Ź·įµ‰ įµƒĖ”Ė” Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ ā€¦įµ‰įµƒį¶œŹ° įµ’įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³ ā±āæ Ė”ā±į¶ įµ‰. ā±½įµƒāæā±įµ—Źø, į¶ įµ‰įµƒŹ³, įµˆįµ‰Ė¢ā±Ź³įµ‰, į¶œįµ’įµįµ–įµ‰įµ—ā±įµ—ā±įµ’āæā»ā» įµƒĖ”Ė” Ė¢įµ˜į¶œŹ° įµˆā±Ė¢įµ—įµ’Ź³įµ—ā±įµ’āæĖ¢ Ź·ā±įµ—Ź°ā±āæ įµ’įµ˜Ź³ įµ’Ź·āæ įµ‰įµįµ’Ė¢ā»ā» į¶œįµ’āæįµˆā±įµ—ā±įµ’āæ įµ’įµ˜Ź³ įµ›ā±Ė¢ā±įµ’āæ įµ’į¶  įµ—Ź°įµ’Ė¢įµ‰ ā±āæ Ź³įµ‰Ė”įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæ įµ—įµ’ įµ˜Ė¢. į“¬įµˆįµˆ įµ—įµ’ įµ—Ź°įµ’Ė¢įµ‰ įµˆā±Ė¢įµ—įµ’Ź³įµ—ā±įµ’āæĖ¢ įµ—įµ’ įµ’įµ˜Ź³ įµ’Ź·āæ įµ‰įµįµ’Ė¢ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ į¶œįµ’Ź³Ź³įµ‰Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµˆā±āæįµ įµˆā±Ė¢įµ—įµ’Ź³įµ—ā±įµ’āæĖ¢ ā±āæ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ‰įµįµ’Ė¢ įµ’į¶  įµ’įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³Ė¢, įµƒāæįµˆ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ Ź°įµ’Ź· į¶œĖ”įµ’įµ˜įµˆŹø įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµĖ”įµƒĖ¢Ė¢ įµįµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµ‡įµ‰į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰ įµ—Ź°Ź³įµ’įµ˜įµŹ° Ź·Ź°ā±į¶œŹ° Ź·įµ‰ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµ įµƒįµ— įµ‰įµƒį¶œŹ° įµ’įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³. įµ€Ź°įµƒįµ—’Ė¢ Ź°įµ’Ź· ā±įµ— ā±Ė¢ ā±āæ įµƒĖ”Ė” Ė”ā±įµ›ā±āæįµ Ź³įµ‰Ė”įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæĖ¢Ź°ā±įµ–Ė¢ įµ‰Ė£į¶œįµ‰įµ–įµ— Ź·Ź°įµ‰āæ įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³įµ‰ ā±Ė¢ įµ—Ź°įµƒįµ— Ź³įµƒŹ³įµ‰ į¶œįµƒĖ¢įµ‰ įµ’į¶  įµ—Ź·įµ’ įµ–įµ‰įµ’įµ–Ė”įµ‰ Ź·Ź°įµ’ Ė”įµ’įµ›įµ‰ ā±āæįµ—įµ‰āæĖ¢įµ‰Ė”Źø įµ‰āæįµ’įµ˜įµŹ° įµ—įµ’ įµ‡įµ˜Ź³āæ įµ—Ź°Ź³įµ’įµ˜įµŹ° įµƒĖ”Ė” įµ—Ź°įµ’Ė¢įµ‰ Ė”įµƒŹøįµ‰Ź³Ė¢ įµ’į¶  įµ’įµ–įµƒį¶œā±įµ—Źø įµƒāæįµˆ Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ įµ‰įµƒį¶œŹ° įµ’įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³’Ė¢ āæįµƒįµįµ‰įµˆ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³įµ—Ė¢.ā€
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ā€• įµ€įµ‰āæāæįµ‰Ė¢Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ įµ‚ā±Ė”Ė”ā±įµƒįµĖ¢
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į“ŗįµ‰Ź· Źøįµ’Ź³įµ į¶œā±įµ—Źø
Ā¹į“¶įµƒāæĀ²ā°Ā²Ā¹

ORLANDO, FLORIDA GRAFFITI: FELT AWESOME…

š™š™šš™”š™© š™–š™¬š™šš™Øš™¤š™¢š™š š™©š™¤ š™¬š™–š™”š™  š™™š™¤š™¬š™£ š™– š™”š™¤š™£š™œ š™”š™žš™£š™š of š™„š™–š™§š™ š™šš™™ š™©š™§š™–š™žš™£ š™˜š™–š™§š™Ø š™©š™š™–š™© š™š™–š™™ š™—š™šš™šš™£ š™©š™–š™œš™œš™šš™™.š™š™ź«€ąŖ”ź«€ źŖ–š•£ź«€š™©š™š™š š™›š™žš™§š™Øš™© š™„š™žš™˜ąŖ” źŖ®į » š™œš™§š™–š™›š™›š™žš™©š™ž š™„ā€™š™«š™š š™©š™–š™ š™šš™£ š™žš™£ over š™– š™®š™šš™–š™§. š™„ā€™š™«š™š š™¢š™žš™Øš™Øš™šš™™ š™œš™§š™–š™›š™›š™žš™©š™ž š™–š™£š™™ š™Øš™©š™§š™šš™šš™© š™–š™§š™© š™Øš™¤ š™¢š™Ŗš™˜š™. Iā€™m š™—š™–š™˜š™  š™–š™£š™™ š™–š™¢ š™£š™¤š™© š™”š™šš™–š™«š™žš™£š™œ š™žš™© š™–š™œš™–š™žš™£. š™„š™©ā€™š™Ø š™£š™šš™˜š™šš™Øš™Øš™–š™§š™® for š™¢š™® š™Øš™¤š™Ŗš™”… šŸ›šŸ˜š™™š™šš™˜š™šš™¢š™—š™šš™§šŸššŸ˜šŸššŸ˜ źŖ®š™§š™”š™–š™£š™™š™¤, š™š™‡

COCOA BEACH, FLORIDA: RAYS REACHING

It feels like each ray is touching me. Theyā€™re darting from everywhere. You canā€™t go untouched.

December 2020. Banana River. Cocoa Beach Florida.

COCOA BEACH, FLORIDA: TO FLY…

ā€œš“‰š‘œ š’»š“š“Ž š’¾š“ˆ š’¶š“š‘œš“ƒš‘’ š“Œš’½š’¶š“‰ š“‚š“Ž š‘’š“ƒš“‰š’¾š“‡š‘’ š“Œš’¾š“š“ š“Œš’¶š“ƒš“‰š“ˆ, š“‰š‘œ š’»š“š“Ž š’»š’¶š“‡ š’¾š“ƒš“‰š‘œ š“Žš‘œš“Š!ā€

~ š’Æš’½š“Šš“ˆ š’®š“…š‘œš“€š‘’ š’µš’¶š“‡š’¶š“‰š’½š“Šš“ˆš“‰š“‡š’¶, š¹š“‡š’¾š‘’š’¹š“‡š’¾š’øš’½ š’©š’¾š‘’š“‰š“š“ˆš’øš’½š‘’

Cocoa Beach, Florida 16dec2020

SYKESVILLE, MARYLAND: SCRAMBLED MEMORIES / GOOD SOULS NEVER DIE

My childhood home. Actually, my maternal Grandmother’s home, but she essentially raised me and I lived a majority of my young life in this house. My soul is in that house. My Grandmother’s soul is in that house. Unfortunately, it is no longer in the family, but it will forever be in my heart.
Today, I received this picture from a relative and memories came flooding back. I felt like I could almost ā€œseeā€ the soul of my Grandmother, as well as my own soul, as I gazed at the picture.

Sykesville, Maryland.
December 2020, šŸ“·: R. H.

In the picture, there was the front lawn. What I saw were mounds of autumn leaves šŸ that I would rake up and then jump into. In the picture, the window at the very end of the house was visible. What I saw was my childhood bedroom with two twin beds, where my Grandma would rub Vickā€™s VapoRub on my chest before I went to sleep, at times when I had a cold. Through those bedroom walls I could see my Grandparentsā€™ bedroom with their king size bed and the drawers where my Grandma kept her Elvis Presley memorabilia. The books ā€” all that I would devour in the summers when I stayed there. I was definitely the most knowledgeable 8 year old on the subject of Elvis. Gladys, Vernon, Priscilla, Lisa Marie, Colonel Tom Parker, Graceland…I had read it all.

Then, through those walls to the backyard, past my Granddaddyā€™s manmade TeePee ā›ŗļø made out of chicken feed bags, to the chicken šŸ“ coops. Ah, the chicken coops ā€” the hens, the rooster, the fresh eggs šŸ„š, the pre-dawn walks my Grandma would make to those chicken coops to reach under those hens to retrieve the warmest of eggs. Iā€™d eat some variation of eggs almost every morning when I stayed with her.

Her scrambled eggs were the best. Nowadays, weā€™d go lighter on the salt and butter, but at the time, the way she made them ā€” scrambled, practically minced, with absolutely nothing like ketchup or anything needed to be added. Perfect from her pan to my plate.

Feeling nostalgic this morning, I made a plate of my Grandmaā€™s eggs. A reminder that our bodies may leave this world, but our spirits and our essences never depart from the hearts of the people who have loved us. People remain alive to us. Physical is just one form. Remember that. Good souls never die.