polis: a collective blog about cities worldwide
artists

Terror Defused as Public Art

by Gabrielle Lipton

"Moloch! Moloch! ... monstrous bombs!" – Allen Ginsberg, "Howl"

On a plot of soil in Manhattan's Tompkins Square Park, a bomb sat in plain view. Four large tubes painted fire engine red stood wired to a digital timer that counted down from 99 minutes. It beeped, reset and started again, never harming anyone. It was fake.

Creative Gravitation

by Vivien Park



Artists and bohemians have been flocking to Berlin since the wall came down in 1989. Affordable rents and vacant spaces allowed room for experimentation, as diversity in numbers created a dynamic infrastructure for cultural exchange.







Today, many creatives in Berlin face the struggle of earning money by selling to other creatives who earn just as little as they do. Some have successfully used the city's cultural appeal to attract global sales. For those who simply seek appreciation, Berlin is still a good environment for creating and expanding their oeuvre.



"In the Belly of A Whale," a documentary by Andreas Lamoth and Frederic Leitzke, provides a close look at the creative gravitational forces of Berlin, where culture producers of many different kinds have found a place.

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Credits: Images captured from the film "In the Belly of a Whale."

Abandoned Homes: An Interview with Eve Morgenstern

by Katia Savchuk

Photographer and filmmaker Eve Morgenstern has been traveling throughout the United States documenting abandoned homes — monuments to the human impacts of financial crisis. Her "Facades of Crises" photographic series recently appeared at the Bildmuseet in Sweden. She also makes videos on the aftermath of foreclosure for the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) and the Federal Reserve Board. Her current project is a documentary about an Ohio town bought and bulldozed by a polluting power plant. I interviewed her about her experience as a documentarian of foreclosed homes, and about the role of art in periods of economic crisis.

Scenes from an American Nightmare

by Rebecka Gordan

Over the past three years, photographer and filmmaker Eve Morgenstern has been working for the U.S. Federal Reserve to document homes lost during the foreclosure crisis. Her pictures from cities like Phoenix, Detroit, Buffalo and Las Vegas offer striking testimony to abandoned dreams.



In an interview on the Swedish radio program Kulturnytt, Morgenstern said that visually documenting foreclosed homes provoked her to "rethink what the American Dream really means."



She noticed that boarded-up windows and for-sale signs became catalysts for decline, explaining on Kulturnytt:
What I learned going to all these cities is that as soon as a home becomes foreclosed, the bank puts up plywood, the wood over the windows. And as soon as this happens, it is amazing: It becomes an eyesore in the community, and it completely shifts things. The value of the houses goes down, crime goes up, vandalism. It becomes this domino effect immediately as soon as the front of the home begins to change.


Empty houses create a sense of despair that influences the fate of entire neighborhoods, as the dream of home ownership becomes a nightmare. Each facade is surprisingly human in its unique condition, calling to mind its former owners. What became of them?

Morgenstern's pictures are currently on display at the Bildmuseet in Umeå, Sweden.

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Transitory Art in Public Space

by Vivien Park

Radya is a Russian street artist known for work that makes strong political statements with striking ingenuity. He and his collaborators alter their surroundings in ways that bring creative, thought-provoking and often humorous imagery into public view.



Their portraits of six fallen solders from World War II were created by throwing Molotov cocktails onto canvases covered with bandages. The portraits graced the exterior of an abandoned hospital in Yekaterinburg until the rain washed them away.



In "Stability," riot police shields form an enormous house of cards topped with a throne-like chair. It was eventually toppled by a slight gust of wind.



More examples of Radya's work can be found at t-radya.com. Vividly documented in photos and video, their transitory physical presence lives on to reach a broader public.

This is part of a collection of featured artists from around the world. We welcome you to feature artists in Polis guest posts any time you feel inspired.

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Portraits of a City in Extreme Transition

by Peter Sigrist

Igor Moukhin is an ingenious photographer of life in cities, especially the parts that don't appear in branding campaigns. His work reveals the glamorous in the mundane, and the mundane in the glamorous, never striking a false note. He shows how fascinating a city is, without idealizing it.



Since the mid-1980s, Moukhin has been capturing many sides of Moscow — youth to elders, monuments to benches, days to nights. His work spans one of the most extreme transitions in modern history, as Soviet society gave way to a new reality.







Moukhin photographed "samizdat" (self-published) rock musicians and worked on a project called "Youth of the Big City" from 1985 to 1989. He eventually left his job at a security apparatus to make his way as a freelance photographer.



Even as he gained worldwide recognition, Moukhin kept photographing his surroundings in Moscow. The pictures here are from his new monograph "My Moscow," which vividly documents the city from 1985 to 2010. You can find more of his frequently updated work on Flickr.

This is part of a collection of featured artists from around the world. We welcome you to feature artists in Polis guest posts any time you feel inspired.

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‘Calligraffiti’ on Found Maps of Cities

by Vivien Park


Graffiti-calligraphy by Jurne on a found map of Paris.

Bay Area graffiti artist Jurne has been creating large public art throughout North America and Europe since the late 1990s. "Portrait of Oakland | Jurne" (below), a short film by Lea Bruno, offers an enchanting view into his life and work.



Jurne’s recent paintings blend geometric abstraction, calligraphy and traditional graffiti letterforms on found vellum maps. The result is a unique form of writing within writing.

Keys to the City,” a solo exhibition of Jurne’s map-based paintings, will be on view from Nov. 10 to Dec. 1 at Klughaus Gallery in New York City.

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Documenting the Construction of a Monument

by Vivien Park


"Untitled (Cobble Constellation)" by Barney Kulok. Source: ArtCat

After a 40-year delay, Louis I. Kahn's design for the Franklin D. Roosevelt Four Freedoms Park is finally being realized. In the fall of 2011, photographer Barney Kulok was granted access to observe and photograph the construction. Rather than trying to capture the monumental quality of the project, both in scale and historic significance, Kulok opted to focus on the details of materials and how the building blocks were arranged on the site. The results are photographs that make the viewers part of the building process, which is monumental in itself.

Barney Kulok's "Building" exhibition will be on view at the Nicole Klagsbrun Gallery in New York City from Sept. 13 to Oct. 27.

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Parting Shot: A New Mural in the Old Neighborhood

by Vivien Park

Last week, after four months living in the Bay Area, I returned to the apartment in Chicago's Pilsen neighborhood that I called home for the past four years. I’d been gone just long enough to lose my everyday familiarity, but not long enough for nostalgia to kick in.

Everything was in place: the still-new paint on the bank parking lot near the back alley, the fifth (or was it sixth?) taco restaurant to open in the storefront across the street during my time there, the stray cat I named "Funf" observing me from a distance as I removed my old couch. But the colors seemed more saturated than before. I noticed several new murals painted while I was away.


Mural by RAE. Source: gravitymax

I was drawn to an especially colorful painting along the wall of the Metra tracks on 16th and Ashland. Painted in bold jagged strokes, a reclining green figure reached between two tree trunks that extended toward real trees peeking from behind the wall. Although the figure appeared to be sleeping, the word "AWAKE" boldly unfurled from his lips. I later learned that the piece was created by Brooklyn artist RAE as part of an ongoing mural project organized by Pawn Works Gallery, the Alderman’s Office, the National Museum of Mexican Art and The Chicago Urban Art Society.

I'm planning future visits to my old neighborhood, where new murals enhance the colors of their surroundings, leaving their impression like a gift in parting.

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Painting the Furtive Utopias of Omaha, Nebraska

by Hector Fernando Burga


"Placemats (Charrette)" (2011), acrylic and oil on panel.

Neil Griess is an artist living and working in Omaha, Nebraska. He received his Bachelor of Fine Arts from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln in December 2011. His work has been included in group exhibitions in Omaha, Lincoln, New York City and Kansas City. In this interview Neil describes the interests, processes and methods behind his work.

How does your hometown influence your work?

I am from Omaha, Nebraska, a Midwestern city with a metro population of over 870,000. I grew up in a 50+ year-old suburb, which exists between what could be called the center of the city and the frontiers of westward sprawl. Despite it being in a good school district with a strong tax base, much of the commercial presence in the area is low performance retail, where strip malls have gone through makeovers of varying success, or in certain cases been demolished altogether. I found the existing aloofness towards these places close at hand to be perplexing as a child, particularly in relation to the radius that my friends and I could reasonably travel on foot or by bicycle. I still carry this perspective towards scale as it pertains to use and transportation, and it directly impacts my work. I find myself always asking questions about how needs can be met at the local level, and what kinds of tools people can use in order to shape the process.


"Site Measure" (2010), oil on panel.

Omaha has both the greatest number of millionaires per capita and the highest percentage of black children living in poverty of any city in the country. It wasn’t until high school that I began to recognize how divisions of class and race play out spatially in the city. I began to see the relationships between spaces that were familiar to me and those that were not due to various forms of exclusion.


"Untitled (Sift)" (2009), oil on board.

Tell us about your creative process; how do you approach your artwork?

For each of my paintings, I first build a miniature model that I arrange and photograph. The resulting photographs form the points of reference for the painting. I have been doing this for around four years. It came about based on a desire to coherently combine architectural details from various sources, sources that were largely chosen based on their affective qualities. As I sought to better pin down what this work was about, I read more about the environmental design fields, and began to be drawn to temporary and/or small-scale urban interventions. My method of working eventually became a way to represent my own landscape architecture and urban design ideas — a fairly recent development. My current body of work is centered on modular landscape design, exploring multiple facets of potential use.


"Median" (2011), mixed media.

What are the themes that you explore through your work?

In his 1953 essay “Formulary for a New Urbanism,” Ivan Chtcheglov describes a shifting city condition designed to illicit specific emotional responses from the city’s inhabitants through sounds, sculptures and other environmental factors. At the same time, the inhabitants are able to freely reorganize their surroundings as they choose. The text served as a seminal document for the Situationists. While it is a quirky, idealistic, and ultimately problematic vision, I still find it to be a compelling one, in that it suggests a democratization of urban form.

I am interested in how people interact with the built environment, particularly when those interactions are unexpected, or unplanned. These interactions often make power dynamics visible. The Occupy movement has been fascinating in this regard, revealing what physical spaces are available for public organization and expression, and under what circumstances. In the case of Zuccotti Park, the law became an asset: as a Privately-Owned Public Space, it is not subject to the usual public park curfew. What was briefly occupied was the space between property and the commons, and I love that.

The horizontal decision-making structure of Occupy is worth considering in relation to Chtcheglov and utopia-minded thinkers in general. Utopia suggests consensus, but what kind of consensus is possible when striving to provide equal representation of a multitude of subjectivities? In her essay, “Antagonism and Relational Aesthetics,” Claire Bishop asserts that visible antagonism is a healthy indicator of democracy. The utopian still has a place in her analysis, not as a stable goal but as an instrument used to envision the possible. I like to think of the spaces that I depict as existing around moments when utopia is glimpsed through some collaborative effort.


"Field" (2011), mixed media.

When and why did you start to paint?

I began to take my art practice seriously during my junior year of high school in response to the passing of my uncle — hyperrealist artist Kent Bellows. It was a difficult time to lose someone like that, as I had a lot of admiration for him, and my identity was just beginning to take shape. Although I had always been painting and drawing, I really pushed myself after his death because I felt that I had missed the opportunity to relate to him on a deeper level. Since then, I have had to shift from trying to measure myself against someone else towards focusing on my own interests, addressing them with my strengths and perspective. This is an incomplete process, and probably will be for as long as I make the kind of paintings that I do. My uncle's work was a central part of my visual culture growing up, and I can’t really divorce myself from that.


"Field" detail.

Do you consider your work mainly political or aesthetic, or perhaps a combination of the two?

I think in terms of the political very frequently, but the fact that I am making paintings places me pretty firmly in the latter category. I am ok with that. I think it is important to recognize one’s contradictions in order to really run with them. I could address the issues that I care about more directly through a relational art practice, yet I am using pictorial space to flesh out these concerns. I am interested in the places where communities can flourish, yet I generally keep to myself, preferring isolated places (my images are devoid of people, after all). A painting should first work as a painting, and I spend a lot of time with that. Any political impact seems negligible, but there are other ways to participate, of course. For the time being, I feel that I have reached a workable balance between my divergent inclinations.

Credits: Artwork and photos by Neil Griess.

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Street Art and Photography Unite

by Vivien Park


ENX, Kimono Girl with Wolves (2012). Source: Dorian Grey Gallery

Photographer Hank O’Neal, aka XCIA, has been documenting New York City street art for 40 years. Also an author, music producer and former CIA agent, he has photographed work by famed graffiti artists like Jean-Michel Basquiat, Keith Harring and 5 Pointz.

In XCIA's latest exhibit, "Street Artists Unite!," he opened up his work to a group of street artists as a form of collaboration. Like buildings, his photographs were "bombed" by Army of One, COPE2, Fumero and many others. With the transformed photos displayed next to the originals, a dialogue between artist and documentarian is generated and presented as a collective piece.

The exhibit will be on view at New York's Dorian Grey Gallery until Aug. 5.

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Spotting a Mermaid in Staten Island

by Katia Savchuk

Stillspotting nyc is a two-year multidisciplinary project that takes the Guggenheim Museum’s Architecture and Urban Studies programming into the streets of New York. Site-specific commissions in all five boroughs identify moments of urban quiet and stillness in response to everyday issues of noise and anxiety.


Staten Island, 2012. Source: Iwan Baan

For stillspotting nyc: staten island, the fourth edition in the series, sound artist Justin Bennett and poet Matthea Harvey created “Telettrofono,” an audio walking tour that weaves history with fantasy along the waterfront. Visitors can take the self-guided walk on weekends from July 14 to August 5, setting out from a kiosk near the St. George Ferry Terminal in Staten Island.

In 1849 Antonio Meucci, an immigrant to Staten Island from Italy, became the unacknowledged inventor of the first telephone (or telettrofono), when he accidentally discovered — while administering electrical shocks to a man suffering from rheumatism — that sound could travel along electrical wires. Many of his inventions — a marine telephone, a lactometer, flame-retardant paint and smokeless candles — went far beyond the imagination of his contemporaries.

For “Telettrofono,” Bennett and Harvey combine ambient sounds from Staten Island with invented noises and an enchanting narrative. The artists envision Meucci’s wife, Esterre, as a mermaid who leaves the water for land because of her love for the sounds above ground.


Tombstone of Antonio Meucci. Source: Justin Bennett

The public walk in search of this couple meanders along the waterfront, past salt mounds and industrial sites and through historic residential neighborhoods. The route is designed as a spiral to lead visitors inland from the coast. Participants will listen to the narrative soundscape through an imagined present-day telettrofono, a phone that is “smart” in the sense that it works underwater and dials into mermaid choruses. The telettrofono will take visitors to Florence and Havana, as well as through the stories, sights and silences distinct to Staten Island.

Polis recently spoke with Bennett, Harvey and curator David van der Leer about this fascinating urban exhibition:

What do you hope to accomplish with stillspotting?

DL: Noise and anxiety have a big impact on our lives — much bigger than we realize. They affect the way we interact with others, the way we behave, and they can have a serious impact on our health. If we would think and act more consciously around noise and anxiety when we design city spaces and infrastructural systems, or when we develop legislation and economic models for cities, we could improve our everyday lives drastically. The project does not deliver readily available results, but is rather meant as a starting point for discussions on many levels.

How can sound affect our perception of space and place?

JB: We can hear the qualities of different spaces, and I think that different acoustic qualities can encourage a different use of urban space. The most important effect of sound on our perception of space is the acoustic horizon. How far can you hear? A great exercise is to make a map of all the sounds you can hear from where you are now. Start with the sounds closest to you (I can hear myself type, but also breathe), then direct your attention outwards (I hear movement in the house, a refrigerator and a clock ticking), and in the end try to hear sounds outside the physical space that you are in (I can hear something outside — maybe music from a neighbor? I live in a very quiet place!).

Doing this exercise in downtown Manhattan or Staten Island will give you incredibly different results. This changing acoustic horizon, created by layers of sound (in the city, usually traffic) masking sounds from farther away, shrinks our sense of social space. If you hear somebody make sounds (voice, footsteps), then you know they can hear you too — you share the same acoustic space. If you can’t hear them, you both stay in your own “bubbles,” as it were.


Concept sketch in ink, pencil and watercolor. Source: Justin Bennett

How do you envision the role stillspotting in relation to traditional museum programming?

DL: It is very important that, when speaking and thinking about cities, we don’t only do this from auditoriums, from behind university desks or in gallery settings, but do this in the actual cities that we are talking about. By taking a project such as stillspotting nyc out into the streets, we help people sense things they may have not picked up on before.

What have you learned about stillness through this project?

JB: Having lived in some noisy cities, like Barcelona and Istanbul, I know that quietness is always relative. After a while of living in a droney environment, you start to tune out the constant sounds and focus on other things. The sounds that interrupt the constant daily hubbub are the things you start to consider as “noise.” But in the end, the constant noise really affects us, psychologically and physiologically. You notice only when you leave the city to go somewhere else: into the woods or to an island. Then it’s as if the pressure has been taken off. Participants will hear a lot of sound in “Telettrofono,” but I hope they will also discover quiet moments along the route. And I think that sharpening peoples’ ears to the sounds around them is a good way of helping them notice, appreciate and deal with noise and stillness.

How does this edition of stillspotting compare with previous ones?

DL: For every edition of stillspotting, we work with people from different corners of the creative fields. We have worked with architects, composers, writers and artists so far, and now we are adding a poet and a sound artist to the mix. For visitors it will also be a very different experience. What I like about the project that Justin and Matthea have created is that it really takes your mind out of your everyday setting and transports you to this romantic world of Meucci and his wife Esterre while walking around the northern part of Staten Island. Even though this edition is addressing many things around sound and noise, I am also happy that it is wrapped in a wonderful love story for a change.


Salt mounds in Staten Island. Source: Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation

How did the site-specific nature of this work influence your process?

MH: Having to incorporate elements of the landscape was like working in a new poetic form: a 3-D sonnet or sestina, in which the sites were like rhymes that I had to write towards. The whole story of the piece was determined by the fact that Antonio and Esterre Meucci lived in Staten Island. Once we decided on the soundwalk’s route, which takes you through the Atlantic Salt Co. and its beautiful mountains of salt, I started looking out for mountains in my research. When I learned that the Meuccis traveled to Havana by ship, along with 30 tons of opera props and equipment, naturally I had to put papier-mâché mountains in the ship’s hold. Later, I researched the operas that were performed during Meucci’s tenure at the Gran Teatro Tacon and was delighted to find that the first scene of Verdi’s Ernani is set in the mountains.

What were some of the challenges you encountered while recording in Staten Island?

JB: When I’m recording, I’m usually interested in capturing the ambience of places rather than, for instance, recording isolated sound sources like a bird, car, footsteps or voice. What I found really interesting about Staten Island is that, although the residential neighbourhoods, former industrial areas and wild places are relatively quiet, there is a constant background drone from the industry in New Jersey, low flying planes, shipping, etc. Probably even sound from Manhattan and Brooklyn is audible, although it is difficult to judge direction with this kind of low-frequency noise. So, on all my recordings from Staten Island there’s this constant sound, even those from the nature reserves.


Recording in Staten Island. Source: Matthea Harvey

What have you learned through this collaboration?

MH: The project has made me think about where silence and stillness can be found in the city. Esterre Meucci, the mermaid, loves the din of the human world, but it starts to eat away at her bones — a kind of physical manifestation of noise pollution. Walking around Staten Island with Justin as he did recordings opened my ears; it taught me how to listen in a way that I really hadn’t before.

Where is the best location for mermaid spotting off Staten Island?

MH: Mermaids are unpredictable, so it’s hard to say. I would keep a sharp eye on the rocks and the ferry’s wake. There’s a little overgrown concrete island that you see as you walk along the water, which I think of as Esterre’s garden. I didn’t put it in the piece, to give her a bit of privacy, but I suppose I’ve ruined that now!

Details on visiting the “Telettrofono” soundwalk are available at the Stillspotting website.

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Stencil Street Art, Writ Large

by Vivien Park


Sten and Lex's latest stencil poster at the 2012 Outer Spaces festival in Poland. Source: Sten Lex

Italian street artists Sten and Lex have been experimenting and expanding the stencil-poster technique, which the pair lovingly nicknamed "Hole School," for more than a decade. Considered pioneers in stencil street art in their home town of Rome, their half-toned portraitures of found images are inspired by graphic printing processes and traditional portraiture.



Their latest work, for the Outer Spaces urban art festival in Poznan, Poland, is their largest to date. Covering almost the entire facade of a four-story building, the artists went through a laborious process of cutting out the stencil, painting over it, then peeling it away. Part of the stencil remained with the work, lending itself to gradual transformation by the elements over time.

More photos and videos of street art by Sten and Lex can be found at stenlex.net.

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‘Welcome Home Soldier’

by Leon Reid IV



Last holiday season, while awaiting my flight in a Cincinnati airport, I saw a soldier in line to get a seating assignment. There was nothing special about this soldier apart from the fact that his fatigues made him stick out rather than blend into his surroundings. No family members were with him, and his camouflage was a pattern of desert hues, suggesting he was on his way home from a Middle Eastern conflict zone. But where, I wondered fleetingly.

My attention snapped quickly to the television, where a CNN update announced new statistics about the foreclosure crisis. The numbers confused me, but the tone was grim. Americans were losing their homes at an accelerated pace.


Source: Politico

Still sitting in the greasy terminal seat — somebody's "i-device" thumping music, another person's airport food wafting in my nose — it came to me in a vision. I saw a crystal-clear image of a typical American home, straight out of a Norman Rockwell illustration, but with boarded-up windows, an unkempt lawn and a foreclosure sign out front. On the steps of the home, a woman and child were standing in anticipation. On the walkway, frozen in disbelief, was a soldier in desert fatigues, a rucksack on his back and a duffel bag at his foot.

Upon returning home, I decided to make an artwork out of this vision because it is at once simple and complex: simple in imagery (house, woman, man, child), complex in detail and significance (boarded-up windows, foreclosure, soldier, war). As an artist, I find it important to express ideas that reflect the society in which I live, so I made some preliminary sketches to capture the vision before memory deleted it. These sketches evolved into an original sculpture and rubber mold. I then cast five copies in plastic resin and painted the casts by hand, with help from two assistants.

Although "Welcome Home Soldier" is a work of imagination, it is anchored in truth. With a large number of citizens having been effectively ejected from their homes during the past six years, my generation no longer looks at the home as a family's greatest asset — in many situations, it has proven to be the greatest liability. And under these housing conditions, men and women in the armed forces are returning home from war, some after nearly a decade in rotation. For some soldiers, the homes they left behind in 2001 and 2003 are not the homes they are returning to in 2012. "Welcome Home Soldier" is an allegory for this new American reality.

Leon Reid IV is a Brooklyn-based public artist. His recent sculptures include "The Hundred Story House" and "Hot Off the Press."

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Peter Smithson on ‘Belonging’



A narrow street in Dharavi. Source: Dharavi: Documenting Informalities

In a book called Dharavi: Documenting Informalities a group of artists from the Royal Institute of Art in Stockholm document the results of their collaborative engagement with residents from the well-known Dharavi settlement in Mumbai. Addressing the dual representation of the settlement as eyesore to some and home to others, the authors go back in time to the words of British architect Peter Smithson:

"'Belonging' is a basic emotional need — its associations are of the simplest order. From 'belonging' — identity — comes the enriching sense of neighbourliness. The short narrow street of the slum succeeds where spacious redevelopment frequently fails."

Peter Smithson at the Congres Internationaux d'Architecture Moderne in Aix-en-Provence, France, 1953 (via Dharavi: Documenting Informalities, 2008, pp. 25)

This is part of a collection of quotes related to cities. They don't necessarily reflect our views, just topics of interest. We welcome you to add others.

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Keep Off the Grass in Hong Kong Parks

by Natalia Echeverri


Source: Strippedpixel

Hong Kong is one of the densest cities in the world. In between high-rise buildings, public space is limited and strictly regulated. In city parks, laying down on the grass, playing ball and playing the guitar are prohibited. These are just a few examples from a long list of rules that govern public use of open space.


Source: Timeout

The City of Hong Kong's Leisure and Cultural Services Department (LCSD) is in charge of most public space, and while many of their rules rationally govern parks for the majority of users, a few are baffling. For example, you are not allowed:
fly kites, model aircraft, balloons or other devices... melt or burn wax; or sprinkle or pour liquid onto hot wax... play any musical instrument, operate any radio or gramophone, or sing to the annoyance of any other person, unless the playing of the instrument, the operation of the radio or gramophone, or the singing of any song is in accordance with written permission granted by the LCSD (Legislative Council Secretariat, City of Hong Kong).
Perhaps the most notorious restrictions have to do with grass. In most cases, grass is not to be walked on, sat on or played on. Signs declare the grass off-limits, and little white chains threaten to trip any trespassers. Other than strolling on paths, sitting on benches and a bit of tai chi in plazas, there are few other impromptu leisure and recreational activities that one can enjoy in a Hong Kong park. The LSCD generally cites maintenance issues to explain the regulations. Some people think it is a subtle crowd-control measure.


Source: Freedom Ball

In the last five years, however, these rules have been creatively challenged by a few residents who are trying to improve the quality of their parks. Freedom Ball, a group of activists, pokes fun at the government's park management by blatantly breaking the "no balls" rule. Their "installations" consist of releasing 1,000 large, red inflatable balls in city parks. As children play with the balls, they call the strict regulations into question.

Hong Kong media artist Thickest Choi was frustrated with the lack of green space and the government's tendency to favor development over the public realm. He created Lawnmap, an interactive website that displays the location and status of usable lawns around the city. The website currently lists about 130 lawns, mostly added by users. It also allows users to organize picnics, concerts and other events at these locations.

As the people of Hong Kong express their desire to use parks more freely, one hopes that the government will listen and relax its dominion over public space.

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Urban Cartography in an Interactive Garden

by Mirko Nikolić



The Cassano d'Adda Garden Map is exactly what it sounds like. I recreated the small municipality of Cassano d'Adda, part of the mosaic of eastern Milan's provinces, with earth, pebble, rocks and plants. The map reproduces the town's grid, shaped by the river Adda on the east, and by Milan's first canal Naviglio della Martesana in the north. I carried out the project within the frame of Ecoismi 2012, a show in which 12 artists were invited to develop site-specific projects on Isola Borromeo, an island-park near the city center.

What I attempted to do with the Cassano d'Adda Garden Map is to bring to the fore several fundamental properties of maps as spatial devices, and the ways in which we experience them. Maps, independent of scale or function, are fixed — they freeze the physis (what Greeks called the "living sphere") into an immobile image. Generally, trees and vegetation appear as blots of green, and animal life is completely absent. Although cities are some of the most concentrated nucleui of life, they appear to be accumulations of inorganic structures. Following the reasoning of critical cartography, which has explored these issues in depth, I tried to highlight that Earth's surface is a lived one by maintaining this fundamental property in a living map. This is a structure dependent on weather conditions and seasonal changes, and — most importantly — one that continuously grows and changes.



The plants and raised flower beds give the map a vertical dimension that is uncommon in maps, but which is fundamental to cities. The size of the map allows visitors to physically enter and circulate within it.



Since there is not an elevated viewpoint in its surroundings, the Garden Map cannot be fully embraced from a single perspective. This incites a spectator to move, traverse it, make circles around it — thus, he or she is no longer a spectator, but something of an explorer. Thus, the map is also a landscape. It uses life forms to indicate living forms, and earth to indicate manmade transformations upon the soil. But we should not forget that the Garden Map is not only a representation but also a functioning ecosystem unto itself.



Subsequently, should the spectator desire, he or she may become a gardener/mapper. This is because if the garden is to remain green and flourish, it needs people's participation and engagement. A casual visitor can water the Garden Map spontaneously by following instructions on a nearby sign. Otherwise, gardening visits can be scheduled online.

The current Garden Map, as seen in these images, is in its infancy. Empty "lots," mainly in the map's residential areas, are invitations for gardener/mappers to act by planting a “tag” to indicate a spot important to them, such as their house or workplace. Hopefully, the map will eventually sketch possible further developments of the city or gain a fantastical dimension. To paraphrase Henri Lefebvre, the Garden Map, like any social space, needs to be continuously produced and reproduced.



Because it is part of a larger ecosystem, the Garden Map is inhabited with less expected or welcome citizens of different species: weeds. Since the garden is also a community, or a polis, getting rid of the weeds directly leads to the problem of policing the city, exerting control over different cultures within it. Could different types of plants, each with very different lifestyles (nourishment, expansion, water needs) coexist successfully? The “right to the city” is a complicated affair, even in a seemingly simple system such as this.



Different species of flowers in the map differentiate areas of the city according to their uses. Yellow tagetes indicate schools, parks and other public spaces, while orange ones symbolize monuments, villas and churches. Red and pink begonias stand for residential areas. Purple and lillac alyssum indicate cemeteries. White begonias are industrial and commercial zones. (Stones mined from the river outline water pathways.)

More than being graphic symbols for buildings, the plants signify what citizens do during the day and where they do it. On the other hand, the fact that they are rooted in the terrain reminds us of a peculiar function that some plants (mainly trees) have performed for millennia — they act as landmarks. Plants may be the first architectures known to the man, and they served as major reference points for  movement and settlement. Iconically speaking, they blur the distinction between built environment as something inorganic, and lived (and living) environments as systems — ecosystems — which our cities essentially are.



It was amazing to discover that, even by laying out just 700 plants or so, we can produce a city representation that merges some of the critical properties of maps and landscape. In this mash-up, the convergences and divergences between the two systems become palpable. I wonder: Could this experiential knowledge have implications for our everyday practice in linking maps and cities?

Mirko Nikolić, an artist based in Belgrade and Milan, paints cartographic landscapes of globalizing networks. He also keeps a blog called Point Line Flow.

Credits: Photos by Mirko Nikolić.

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Artistic 'Simulation' of Prisons and Cells


"Prison and Cell with Smokestack and Conduit" (1985). Source: Mary Boone Gallery

Peter Halley describes his geometric paintings of the past thirty years as "engaged in a play of relationships between 'prisons' and 'cells' — icons that reflect the increasing geometricization of social space." Squares and rectangles overlap or stand separately, often with additions that evoke prison bars, smokestacks and conduits.


"Nowhere" (1992). Source: Peter Halley


"Elsewhere" (1992). Source: Peter Halley

Halley's early work is considered part of a loosely defined branch of post-modern art that has been given various names, including post-abstract abstraction, neo-conceptualism and neo-geo. Halley has expressed a preference for simulationism, which he explains in the following passage:
Simulation, the fact of technical mediation replacing the natural thing, is such a big experience in our society. Air conditioning is a simulation of air; movies are a simulation of life; life is simulated by bio-mechanical manipulations.
Shapes and symbols often associated with oppression are presented in vibrant colors, revealing creative nonconformity within regimented space.


"Exchange" (1996). Source: Peter Halley

Halley was once featured in an article titled "The Artist/Critic of the Eighties," in connection with his writings on post-modernism, post-structuralism and digitization. He is actually more theorist than critic, reflecting upon art in relation to cities, media, technology and other sides of post-industrial culture.

His paintings, prints and installations have been exhibited worldwide, including the recent exhibition "Prison" at Disjecta Interdiciplinary Art Center in Portland, Ore. For more on Halley's work, see the lecture he gave this year at the Institute of Fine Arts in New York (video below). 



This post is part of an archive of featured artists who relate in different ways to cities. We welcome you to submit new additions any time.

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Street Artists of Salvador: TarcioV

by Carly Fox, Eder Muniz and Sosseh Valentine Taimoorian



TarcioV is an artist based in Salvador da Bahia, Brazil. He rarely discusses his life and work but agreed to a brief interview as part of the Street Artists of Salvador series. The following is a sampling of his thoughts and images.

When people ask about your work, how do you answer?

My work is based on the power and expression of human figures in relation to the space they occupy. On every wall, or whatever other surface, I try to offer people a chance to reflect and let go of conventional impressions about the space.



Can you tell us about how you got started doing street art?

Around the late 1990s, I always used to draw on the way to school. I saw graffiti in the street and tried to imitate it — artists like Verme and Eder Muniz, who later invited me to paint with them.

What are your artistic inspirations?

The people have been my biggest inspiration, and I have a strong connection with faith, as well as Afro-Brazilian stories and legends that tell the history of where I live.



Why do you gravitate towards black-and-white color schemes?

I use black and white mainly because of my experience with drawing in pencil and pen. I'm also interested in its graphic contrast, its connection with the written word, photos from the past and historic engravings.

What do you try to convey to the people who see your work?

I hope they can pass through my universe and feel a wealth of things beyond aesthetics.



What motivates you to work so often with a collective of other artists?

I collaborate with artists I identify with, those who I have a relationship with because we share histories. Our works play off one another. Together they take on a different life.

How would you describe the future of street art in Salvador?

Street art in Salvador has conquered many things at its own pace. I believe its time is yet to come, but we are ready.

This is the fourth chapter of a series on street artists in Salvador da Bahia, Brazil, a collaboration between Salvadoran graffiti artist Eder Muniz and independent researcher Carly Fox, with assistance from Sosseh Valentine Taimoorian of Polis. Each chapter offers a brief introduction to an artist from Salvador based on an extensive collection of interviews, testimonials and photos. Carly and Eder are compiling this material into a book in English and Portuguese.

Credits: Photos from TarcioV.

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