On my ride to work on the R Line to Manhattan between Dekalb and Whitehall Street are REVS diaries. Those above are not the entries, but I wanted to have something to show.
We are going to quickly for me to read them but whenever I see those black letters against yellowish paint How did he get down here, in the tunnels? Did he sit and watch and time the trains? Did he do it in the wee hours of the morning? I feel strangely comforted. I feel like I’ve been given a gift by someone I don’t know but root for and look for. And I do look for his work. It’s all over the City. It’s bold and to the point. His point. It is as much a part of the landscape of NYC as are the high-rises and the grid. A crucial part of the tapestry of what makes this city so unique like the sudden flash as gold thread catches the light.
It’s these unexpected moments of beauty that make me so grateful to be here.
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