On Houston, pronounced How-ston

When I walk home from downtown I usually opt for sidestreets with some illusion of an older New York, the New York of my father - who claimed he walked from NYU through Central Park every day of his three years there; of my grandfather and uncles who ran a wholesale business on lower Broadway.

But today, instead of heading uptown on Elizabeth - which from Houston to 1st - Elizabeth's last leg or little toe - isn't all that interesting, with its corrugated door to a greasy garage and other miscellania, I walked east on Houston - the north side - to Bowery. Thought I might drop in on the Bowery Poetry Club. See if a mysterious coffee-drinkin' poem had my name on it.

I stopped short at looming yellows, blues, greens, too many to move on from, definitely not too much color to soak in or want to keep soaking in up down through. There's a new mural there by a tag team (literally), from from Sao Paulo, Brazil, identical twins, Otavio and Gustavo Pandolfo, also known as Os Gemeos (The Twins).

Os Gemeos tell stories submerged in folklore, mthology and hue. There's rhythm and song in the mural, movement, shadow, promise, magic, enchantment. Keith Haring's mural that was, I believe, on the same corner for a month in the early eighties - until it was painted over - and later reproduced by the Deitch gallery is more than well-served.

Public art - art that's accessible in the most democratic sense - to all passersby. Although it's launched and sometimes eroded long before a passage of time yields a verdict on its esthetic durability, its success is measured in velocity and amplitude of immediate reaction.

The images above are from Google image.