Walking in Manhattan

Strolling in New York City is a world tour. The street fairs of Spanish Harlem mesh into college town Columbia. Columbia gives way to the shabby chic of the Upper West Side. A few blocks farther and I am drowned by the tourists of Times Square. Even further, and I reach the mindless bustle of Wall Street brokers. There could be no more fitting a place for the United Nations.

I stroll and try to identify  the passing languages. Spanish in the outer boroughs. Polish in Greenpoint. Russian in Brighton Beach. Cantonese in Chinatown. French and German in SoHo.

Reading “Here is New York” by E.B. White, I realize how little New York has changed in the past sixty odd years. Sure, the streets, cars, and tenements are different. But the essential spirit of dynamic and diverse urbanism remains. Here is New York.

Click here to learn more about my New York walks. Or, click on the images below for full resolution.

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Day One: Chinatown and Lower Manhattan

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Lower Manhattan

City Hall Park and the Financial District

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Chinatown

View of Chinatown towards Lower Manhattan

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Day Two: SoHo

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Mercer Street

Mercer Street in SoHo

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Day Three: The East & West Villages

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Day Four: The High Line

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Day Five: Madison Square

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Day Six: Midtown

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Elderly man approaches and extracts a crumpled and blurry image of a dollar sign from his bag.

Hey, can you draw me some money bags.

Me: Sure.

You know, it’s for my product. I’ll pay you well. What’s your name?

Me: Myles Zhang

You Chinese? You parents from China?

Me: No, America.

No, China…!

He walks off.

 

An Latin American immigrant drives up  in Midtown in his pickup truck.

Him: How far is the statue of Liberty from here?

Me: Oh… About seven miles.

 

Jurgen from Germany

Jurgen from Germany

A homeless musician approaches and observes my painting of Grand Central.

Jurgen: You are an artist.

Me: No, that is a title I have yet to earn. Are you from Germany? You sound like the director Werner Herzog.

Jurgen: Herzog? Him? His films put me to sleep. [Jurgen shows me his noteboook.] If I lived in Nazi Germany, the Nazis would burn my work, maybe even me. My grandfather, he used to go to rallies to give the Nazi salute. I still don’t know why he did that. I don’t think he even knew.

 

Jihadist proclaims that "America will soon be destroyed by fire!"

Convert proclaims that “America will soon be destroyed by fire!”

Convert preaches the impending doom of America on Sixth Ave and 34th: “The US government, they invented this virus that will kill off all the black people.”

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Day Seven: Central Park

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Day Eight: Riverside Drive

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Waterfront

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Day Nine: Morningside Heights

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Columbia University's Campus

Columbia University’s Campus

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Cathedrals of Industry

Cathedrals of Industry: Saint John the Divine and the 125th Street Viaduct

For more about Saint John the Divine, click here.

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Day Ten: Harlem

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Golden Rectangles Superimposed

The composition of the watercolor below is based on the spiraling arc of the Golden Rectangle.

The Viaduct

The 125th Street Viaduct

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New York City..

“The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive.”

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Here is New York by E.B. White

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Golden Rectangles Superimposed

Little Boxes on the Hillside

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Working with my hands is liberating. By folding, cutting, pasting, and assembling, a creation emerges. From sheets of paper and with pen and knife in hand, I build something out of nothing. And in the end, a small box or building stands as testament to my miniature effort… (Inspired by the 1960s song Little Boxes on the Hillside)

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Rome: The Eternal City

Roma, te amo

Roma, te amo, labeledFor a labeled map of Rome, click on the image above.

 

Rome, the Eternal City, the city of a thousand jeweled churches. Each church a treasure trove of glistening gold and baroque drapery cascading over its roof and walls. Each street a channel to and from some unexpected street side treasure: A Roman coffin turned public fountain, a marble column turned city wall, or a dark alley where the sound of water drips eternal.

Rome is the city of reinvention with each subsequent structure built on the physical and symbolic history of Greece, Rome, the Middle Ages, and then the Renaissance and modern era. Physicist Isaac Newton once proclaimed that: “If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” Rome too can remind herself that: If I stand more powerful and majestic, it is not thanks to current accomplishment but to the bedrock of history that accumulates treasures through time and value through age. Rome too stands “on the shoulders of giants:” The Roman Empire gave Rome her aqueducts and temples, the Renaissance gave Rome her churches, and the hand of Mussolini gave Rome her fascist monuments and boulevards sliced through the urban core.

Despite being grounded in history, Rome is very much a city of the present. The human fabric of this city may have left the urban core with waves of gentrification and tourism, but the spirit of a living and breathing city endures. North African immigrants peddle their umbrellas and selfie-sticks in the shadows of the Coliseum. Mass with the Pope continues in Saint Peter’s beneath Michelangelo’s majestic dome. Tourists may come and go. Time may pass. But, the Eternal City will endure and evolve.

When I returned home, I painted a map of Rome from memory (seen above). The streets of the city radiate from its center. When I gaze at this map, framed in my room, I am reminded of the generations of architects who passed before me. And, I wonder in what way will I contribute to this architectural legacy, adding the language of my structures to that of generations before me. Rome still appears in my dreams, when I walk through the city streets on the cobblestone path that guides me forward. When I awake, I have an image in my mind of where I traveled. I dream and envision paths and cities, unbounded by the limits of reality.

 

 

 

Pantheon Facade

 


 Rome: The Eternal City


 

 

 

 

New York Walks

The following video lecture contains paintings and photos I compiled while walking in New York

(Dedicated to Professor Brendan O’Flaherty)

Strolling in New York City is a world tour. The street fairs of Spanish Harlem mesh into college town Columbia. Columbia gives way to the shabby chic of the Upper West Side. A few blocks farther and I am drowned by the tourists of Times Square. Even further, and I reach the mindless bustle of Wall Street brokers. There could be no more fitting a place for the United Nations

I stroll and try to identify  the passing languages. Spanish in the outer boroughs. Polish in Greenpoint. Russian in Brighton Beach. Cantonese in Chinatown. French and German in SoHo.

Reading “Here is New York” by E.B. White, I realize how little New York has changed in the past 60 odd years. Sure, the streets, cars, and tenements are different. But the essential spirit of dynamic and diverse urbanism remains. Here is New York.

To read more about my walks in New York, click here.

Love and Longing in New York


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Walking is my form of enlightenment.

I live in Newark.  My city is generally ten degrees hotter than its neighboring environment.  The airport.  The port.  The downtown.  All are blanketed in asphalt that turns my city into a hot desert.

Tens of thousands of cars, and one of the largest garbage incinerators in the country, spew their fumes into my city.  Returning home, the smell of burning garbage often greets me.  As a child, I had asthma.

At night, I am alone.  Nobody my age lives in my neighborhood. From my front window, I see a parking lot for corporate commuters. From my back window, I see a vast parking lot for university students.  Both are desolate after dusk. As an infant, my first words were “demolition” and “truck.”  As a child, I never had play dates; my suburban “friends” feared my city.  As an adult, I hope to see my city’s vacant lots developed.  I keep on dreaming.

The streets of my city are not made for walking.  They are made for driving.  I walk.  I stop.  I wait.  Speeding traffic and interminable stoplights hinder my progress.

But I love walking in New York City.

When I walk, I am free to choose.  Each street guides me forward.  Each intersection is a choice.  Each destination is irrelevant.  When I walk, I sometimes choose a random order of directions, left, right, left, right, right, left, left, straight.  I see where they lead me.  I know not where.

When I walk, I am free to move.  I love walking on the High Line.  I float above the cars that prevent the city from realizing itself as a community.  I see the crowded streets twenty feet below.  I see the gardens on either side of me.  I let the verdantly landscaped path channel me forward.

When I walk, I am no longer alone.  I walk in the footsteps of the millions who passed before me.  I am one among millions, all of us on our separate voyages.  Lawyers.  Butchers.  Tourists.  Homeless.  We all walk alone.  Yet, we are together in walking alone.

When I walk, I see the world.  In Spanish Harlem, street fairs sell traditional Mexican foods.  In college town Columbia, well-dressed university students amble on their way to class.  In the Upper West Side, the shabby chic push their grocery prams.  In Times Square, tourists lug their large shopping bags from theater to theater, store to store.  Finally, after many neighborhoods, I reach the ceaseless bustle of Wall Street.  Tired after many miles of walking, I descend the subway steps.

When I walk, I achieve tranquility. I am happy.

One of my recent projects is painting New York City, neighborhood by neighborhood.  Each day, I choose a new district to stroll through.  Then, equipped with my miniature watercolor palette and notepad, I walk and paint.  I discover the city block by block.  I aim to capture a fragment of what I see through painting.

Like a pianist who memorizes music by heart, the flâneur (or urban pedestrian) embraces the street symphony with his soul and feet.  People’s voices and buildings serve different, but equally important, clefs in the symphony.  As le Corbusier wrote, “… first to look, and then to observe, and finally to discover.”  My countless urban walks enhance my passion for cities, their architecture, their history, and their planning.

Living in Newark inspires me to dream.  Walking in New York City enlightens me to walk.  I am ready to walk my next journey.

(Selected from college application essay)

Chinatown: A Living Neighborhood

Chinatown is both static and dynamic: Static in its resilience against gentrification, dynamic in its cultural interplay between past and present, immigrant and American.

Everywhere in Chinatown, past and present intermingle. Dusty and decrepit Jewish textile stores struggle onward; their elderly owners wait to close up shop and sell out for many millions. By Division Street rests a former synagogue with an AT&T outlet on one side and an immigrant job agency on the other. Bustling bakeries and bodegas abut reminders of past immigration. Lyricist Ira Gershwin’s birthplace is still inhabited, red paint flaking off its brick walls. Weathered brick tenements, serving successive waves of Germans, Italians, and Irish, still serve elderly Asians and urban “hipsters.” Streets are still chronically dirty, as they were a century ago. Chinatown is still a living, breathing being in constant flux.

On select corners sprout feeble tendrils of gentrification: a pricey café, a garishly painted crêperie, a chic souvenir shop advertising “I love Chinatown” tote bags. This neighborhood is devoid of its youth; little children and wizened elderly remain. The rest have left to work in the America beyond. Beneath the Manhattan Bridge a sign reads, “Chinese-American special carrier to return infants to China.” The shabby A Train rumbles on above.

On the neighborhood’s fringes is the touristed Tenement Museum. The cycling documentary chronicles life on the Lower East Side. Black and white imagery flickers across the screen: Italians and Irish, Germans, and Jews, the immigrant experience, dreams of coming to America. It is all too convenient to reflect on the past and to falsely conclude: That what was New York no longer is.  That its immigrant travails have now vanished. That overcrowding and grime is no more. Problem solved. Case closed.

Much has changed. Much has not. The city awaits the next tide of tired, poor, and huddled masses.

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IMG_6173This high-density tenement on Eldridge Street is home to a myriad of businesses including: 

Third Brother’s Fuzhou Snack Bar

Green Forest Internet Bar

United Express and Lottery Tickets

Universal Phone Cards

Everything OK Job Agency

International Job Agency

Twinkling Star Job Agency

.Field Chicken

These frogs, marketed as seafood and known as “Field Chicken,” are sold for $5.19 each.

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All Purpose Flower Shop and Funeral ServicesThis all purpose establishment advertises the following services:

Weddings

Conferences

Concerts

Gatherings

Ceremonies

Western Chinese Music

Performing Arts

Potted Plants

Floral Arrangements

Funerary Flowers

Funerals and Birthdays

Windmobiles

These sculptures made of paper, wire, and wood are powered by the wind. When placed before a light breeze, their pinwheels spin and power the sculptures’ cyclical movements. The bird will soar. The horseman will eternally charge forward, lance at the ready.

This series explores movement. Each sculpture physically and symbolically invokes the purity and lightness of moving elements.

 

Pinwheel is the simplest in this series. A light breeze spins a three-pronged pinwheel, which vibrates a wire. The following sculptures are variations on this mechanism.

 

In Ocean Voyage, the pinwheel gently rocks a sailing boat. Wind movement translates into wave movement.

 

Liberty explores the search for freedom. The pinwheel connects to a wire that flaps the dove’s white wings. Ironically, the dove flees from the source of its movement.

 

Similar to Liberty, Don Quixote’s Windmill explores the interplay between source and recipient of movement. The pinwheel powers the horse’s legs as it charges forward. Ironically, Don Quixote attacks the windmill that powers him.

 

In Cityscape two pinwheels power rows of zigzagging traffic. In this “snapshot” of urban life, movement is choreographed along mechanical lines. A black paper cutout contrasts the white sculpture, which is illuminated from beneath.

 

Time employs movement as a metaphor about life and death. A crank rotates a wheel and powers a walking skeleton. On the wheel, silhouettes of infant, child, worker, senior, cripple, and coffin symbolize the stages of life. While the skeleton depicts death, the wheel depicts continuity. In juxtaposition to the series, the human hand, not natural wind, moves the sculpture and completes the metaphor.

Vanishing City

Vanishing City is a visual documentary about redevelopment in Newark, my birthplace. While my city’s industrial past slowly succumbs to demolition, new buildings grow from old lots. Through this series, I document the beauty behind decay, destruction, and rebirth.

 

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I am witness to the frighteningly beautiful decay of my city’s cultural heritage.  An abandoned barge slowly sinks in murky waters.  A former factory tumbles before the wrecking ball.  A sea of weeds lays siege to a vacant home.  An empty lot is a gaping hole, a missing tooth, in the urban body.  As a wall crumbles to the ground, a tree, firmly anchored to the wall, reaches to the sky.

But, behind this slow decay, there is a hidden beauty in the ephemeral.  It is the realization that what was built to last forever, will not last.  It is the expectation that the destruction of the past could contain the seeds of a better city.  And, it is the hope that someday the past will become cherished in its entirety because a culture without history is like a body without life.

Yet, to replace this storied past, the flashy future promised by developers and politicians is hardly a substitute.  The so-called “Gateway Center” skirts the city with its corporate skywalks and backdoor facing the city.  The blinding glass monoliths that rise in the graveyard of history are alien and indifferent to their city.  The proposed casino, in a city where 32% of children are in poverty, speaks to blatant inequality and the excesses of capitalism.  The shoddily built strip mall, gated community, and superhighway hardly convey a culture of urbanism and civic consciousness.  Developers and politicians promise progress, but bring troubled change instead.  The promised rebirth of tomorrow does not justify the ongoing destruction of today.

The ephemeral nature of my environment compels me to examine and re-examine my sense of place before it vanishes in the protean vortex of memory.  Years from now, my city will continue redefining its identity.  Years from now, I will assess my memories with fresh experience and nuanced perspective.  And, although today’s present may become tomorrow’s past, the present will survive through our collective consciousness.

 

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When one visits the ruins of past civilizations, such as Greece, Carthage, and Rome, one sees them not as whole structures, but as shards of memory and as the detritus of what once was.  Their grandeur stems not from seeing them intact but from imagining them as they once were; grandeur lost is more moving than grandeur still extant.  These ruins are powerful because of their decay, not in spite of it.

The battered past should remind the proud present of its transience.  I look at the built world of today and ask: Will the monuments we erect to culture and capitalism endure?  What will the future remember us by?  Roman roads lasted millennia; will our potholed highways last as long?  Obelisks of stone withstood the elements for centuries; will our rusty skyscrapers of steel last as long?  The Greek forum became legendary; could the same destiny await our “forums” of today, the strip mall, the grocery chain, and the drive-thru?  The Renaissance aspired to the grandeur of Rome; what society will aspire to the “grandeur” of our society with its twisted piles of fallen metal and the troubled environment our children will inherit?  Maybe the question should be different: in a culture of blind “progress”, what past will there even be to preserve?  Time will tell.

 

Downtown Newark

Growing up in Newark, I’ve been inspired and saddened by my inner city environment. I am inspired by Newark’s hope of renewal after decades of white flight, under-investment, and urban neglect. But I am saddened by the loss of my city’s historic architecture and urban fabric to the wrecking ball of ostensible progress. “Renaissance City” depicts the Newark of my childhood with garish signage blanketing my city’s architecture in a medley of color and consumerism.

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To see a film featuring the work above: click here

Murphy Varnish

Murphy Varnish, built in 1886, is one of Newark’s oldest factories still standing. Its elegant brick walls and detailed brickwork reflect a time when industrial structures served more than just utilitarian purpose. They reflect a time when industry was central to Newark’s wealth and key to its future success. Murphy Varnish is not just a factory; it is a monument to industry and beauty built to endure (historically landmarked by the National Park Service). Recent renovation efforts promise to turn this derelict structure into a community of apartments.

The summer after my first year at Columbia University, I had the privilege of working with Studio for Urban Architecture & Design (SUAD), the firm hired to redevelop this derelict factory into some 40 apartments. During my time at SUAD, I observed firsthand the workings of a small architectural firm and the inspiring conversion of an old factory into something viable and living. As my internship neared its end, I photographed the historic factory and created a detailed watercolor rendering of the finished conversion, both featured below.Murphy Varnish B&W

During these formative three months, I learned that architecture is more than the creation of art and beauty for their own sake, but a means to build a stronger city and more stable society through inspiring architecture. For decades, Newark has seen architecture that does not connect to the city’s rich history or value aesthetics. Prefab, cookie-cutter homes are often built here, but do not respect their historical or urban context. They are set back from the street with little more than driveways and vinyl siding for decoration. Large corporate monoliths rise in the downtown, but through catwalks and the absence of entrances on public streets, their occupants need not engage with the city. Every morning and every evening, they can ride to and from Newark without setting foot outdoors or on city soil. Even in terms of historic preservation, the city has seen so much of its old architecture lost to parking lots, urban renewal, and urban blight.

It is in this context that Murphy Varnish is a unique endeavor in Newark’s redevelopment. In a city once home to thousands of small factories, Murphy Varnish is one of the few that remain. Old maps of the Newark will reveal the presence of dozens of factories in the vicinity of Murphy Varnish and comparable to it in scale. In the past few decades, all of these industrial structures have been demolished and replaced by empty lots and distasteful prefab homes. Now, Murphy Varnish stands alone in a now largely residential neighborhood; it serves as a unique reminder of the past and hopeful beacon for how old industry can be converted into residential. The process of renovation might not be as easy as demolition, but it is in the longer run far more respectful to the neighborhood’s and city’s history.

As I begin my second year of college, I return to campus with a greater appreciation for historic preservation. I return with deeper admiration for the tireless efforts of Newark activists and architects to preserve the city’s rich architectural heritage for future generations. Thank you!

Digital Signature

 

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Permaskin is God.

This project was made possible by a generous grant from Columbia’s Center for Career Education.

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The Finished Conversion:

(As Proposed)

Murphy Varnish Color

Watercolor rendering completed for SUAD of the restoration project.

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A Work in Progress:

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Scenes of Murphy Varnish before Work Began:

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Murphy Varnish

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Neighborhood resident Angel and his dog Tigressa stand before Murphy Varnish.

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South Bronx

Strolling in the Bronx, one aspect arrests me every time: Homogeneity. Block after block, street after street, a never ending treadmill of bodegas, tenements, hair salons, C-TOWN supermarkets, strip malls, and laundries. I ask myself, “Wasn’t I just here before?” I become an explorer lost wandering the Sahara; I retrace my footsteps.

And then . . .  There is the ceaseless cacophony of Spanish speakers, buses, and autos. The chaotic maze of streets leads me to fantasize walking thru a painting by de Chirico. The copious signage for SHOES, SHIRTS, PIZZA, etc. hints at shabby decadence. The never too distant fast food joint hints at obesity in a quality food desert. The din of distant cars on the Cross Bronx or Major Deegan hint at childhood asthma. I momentarily immerse myself in the urban grid.

After many hours, I spy an elevated subway stop in the far distance. I take the next southbound train back to Manhattan. I must return to the Bronx soon. The outer boroughs beckon.

To read more about my walks in New York, click here.

Detroit: Year Zero

Detroit is living misery. It is the very antithesis of urbanization and a victim of America’s senseless auto culture. Thousands of homes lie vacant and decaying. Copious infrastructure built to serve millions serves only thousands. Highways slashed through decaying neighborhoods serve a city devoid of life in many parts. Downtown is a skyscraper graveyard full of empty storefronts and a labyrinth of rotting art deco architectural gems.

During WWII, Detroit was dubbed “the arsenal of democracy” for all the military equipment it rolled out. Planes from Detroit went on to bomb European cities (like Dresden) to smithereens. In a form of fitting, yet ironic, justice Detroit has been bombed to smithereens. Except this time, it isn’t a B-27 doing the dirty destruction, it’s a culture of decay and the very society that erected this metropolis.

After Detroit’s 1967 Riots, over 200,000 whites fled Detroit for good. They left behind a racially divided city. They wiped their hands clean of decades of corruption and let the “blacks manage themselves.” White corruption became black corruption. Out with the old rascals and in with the new. And the birthplace of the automobile plummets ever lower.

Attempts to rectify Detroit’s fallen stature make a mockery of progress. An empty monorail endlessly circles a downtown devoid of life. Renaissance Center soars above downtown, secluded from the helpless city. Renaissance Center is a corporate Death Star accessible only by car. The ominous Greektown Casino abuts the city jail. Whites commute to Detroit for sports games at Comerica Field and then flee afterwards. Everywhere there is parking, parking, parking . . . Detroit billionaire Dan Gilbert even proposed creating a demolition countdown clock that listed the number of vacant buildings to be demolished.

Detroit is a failure on countless levels. It represents the failure of government to stem the victorious forces of suburbanization and cars. It represents the failure of short-sighted planning and American industrial might. It represents the failure of democracy to level the playing field of racial divides. De facto segregated Detroit has become de jure segregated Detroit. Detroit is by all means a failure. Then and again, the forces causing the downfall of this metropolis are just as guilty. Government. The free-market. The auto industry. Capitalism.

Detroit’s Latin motto is: “Speramus Meliora; Resurget Cineribus.”

We Hope For Better Things; It Shall Rise From the Ashes.

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New Jersey Meadowlands

The meadowlands nestled between New York City and Newark is a strange sort of interstitial zone. It belongs to neither nature nor to man. The grasslands and birds of nature are abundant. Yet, so are the derelict factories and warehouses of yesteryear. The unwanted detritus of civilization is cast off into the meadowlands, ranging from garbage to industry.

Through this region of indeterminate identity pass millions of commuters on their way to and from work. Many look out the windows of passing trains, planes, and cars. Yet few care to observe the lapping tides and bizarre beauty of this unwanted strip of land. The meadowlands are simultaneously omnipresent yet strangely absent. It is something one sees but does not recognize (as Sherlock Holmes would note).

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Dino-Ville

In the New York of my imagination, dinosaurs emerge from the Museum of Natural History to haunt the city “that never sleeps.” They roam the streets doing things only dinosaurs do, namely haunting and eating. For one night, the fabled city is theirs.

My Little Neighborhood

When I look at old pictures of my neighborhood, I realize how much of my city has disappeared in the past forty-some years. This sad trend will inevitably continue. If not in the form of my city’s physical destruction, then in the form of my gradual loss of childhood memories. To reconcile this sobering thought, I have constructed the below model as my very own souvenir. This keepsake will forever remind me of identity: Newark, NJ.

 

Newark Model Small

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New York in Miniature

The impressive range New York’s architecture, from the humblest home to the slenderest tower, powers my inspiration to create. I aim to capture my perceptions of bustling New York in this model. With a base measuring only 28 by 36 inches, I have built an intricate model replete with subway entrances, lampposts, and people. Whenever I glance at my tiny creation, I rejoice in knowing that my love of New York is within the breadth of my arms.

To see a short film about this model, click here.

NYC collage small

 

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Paper Cutout Models

Essex County Jail

 

 

The former Essex Country Jail sits forlorn and abandoned amidst desolate parking lots and lifeless prefab boxes. In the so-called University Heights “neighborhood,” the jail is testimony to the past. Listed on the National Register of Historical Places, this 1837 structure is one of the oldest jails in America.  Abandoned for over thirty years, no successful preservation efforts have materialized.

Gradually, the urban jungle of junk trees, vines, and garbage conquers the veritable old fortress. The warden’s garden that zealous prisoners formerly pruned and weeded is now overrun with weeds. Used syringes line the cell-block floors. Not a single window is unbroken. Not a single wall is straight or strong. The rigid geometry defined this urban castle is now blanketed in decay.

Yet, this fortress of old is still a home. A constant trail of homeless squeeze through the rusted barbed wire fencing. They carry with them their few odd “valuables,” cans to be recycled or shopping bags of discarded clothes. Every night, they sleep in the very cells their luckless brethren slept in decades before. Every day, they aimlessly wander city streets. Ironically, the physical prison of brute force and searchlights has evolved into a metaphorical bastion of poverty. Both prisons, new and old, are refuges for the luckless. As its occupants have changed, so has the prison. Both are ghosts. Both are vanishing.

 

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To see a film featuring the work above: click here

Space Age Imagery

When I gaze at the night sky, I wonder, “What does that infinite darkness contain?” I imagine a plethora of other worlds I can only dream of. I see worlds where gravity and inertia vanishes. I see worlds devoid of directions and natural geometry. It is a world of my own fabrication, superimposed over the pitch black sky.

Chirico

Stage Sets

Community service in the “standard” sense of aiding the homeless or preparing lunches does not appeal to me. But I must apply my artistic skills toward helping my community. So, I design and execute customized stage sets for school plays. I try to express myself before my audience of peers and teachers, providing a “visual” service. Below are a few of my designs.

Each set is divided into two, 8 by 16 foot panels.

.Pirates of PenzancePirates of Penzance (2015)

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Uncle Philips Coat

Uncle Phillips Coat (2014)

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stage set finalParadise (2014)

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Wizard of Oz Set

Wizard of Oz (2013)

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Death Set Final

Death (2012)

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The Nightmare Before ChistmasNightmare Before Christmas (2011)

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The Nightmare before ChristmasNightmare Before Christmas (2011)

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Crazy for You SetCrazy for You (2010)

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Stage Set Sketches