As I walked down there it
occurred to me that San Francisco is so awash with street art and graffiti and
murals, that the idea of having a special place for it is slightly superfluous. Still, as a Hollywood walker I was extremely
taken with the sight below; not only the art on the surrounding boards but also
the name. There’s nothing like attaching
the name Hollywood to your billiard hall to give it a bit of class, though that
may not be enough to keep it in business.
But anyway Clarion Alley did
prove to be very much as advertised and was full of street art and also full of
people looking at the street art, and people photographing the street art, and people
having themselves photographed standing in front of the street art.
Most of the art was pretty good,
some of pretty great, and most of it excessive and intense and hit you in the
eye, and of course much of it was tagged with the marks of much less
accomplished wannabes, or maybe just vandals. My favorite by some way was this terrific
homage to and recreation of the art of Moebius.
As regular readers of this
blog will know I’m a big fan of what I call “feral furniture,” chairs or beds
or TV sets that look as though they’ve escaped from people’s homes and are now
living on the street. There was an armchair
where you could sit and have Moebius’s work looming over you.
I gather that the art
changes all the time in Clarion Alley, works fall into neglect, disappear, get
painted over: all is flux. But right in
the middle of this artistic mayhem were the two garage doors below, absolutely
free of art, graffiti or anything else.
I wonder how often the owner has to go out there and paint the doors to
preserve the integrity of this color field.
However often it is, it’s worth it.
Minimalism had never looked so good.
Great post. But a pig with lipstick is still a pig, in the case of San Francisco. I cringe every time I think of the Mission's phalanx of boho hipsters and ersatz politicos.
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