Todd Heisler/The New York Times

My favorite part of the latest New York Times coverage of the city's bike share rollout is this eclectic list of items for sale by street vendor Alfred Haddenden.

"On Lafayette Street recently, where a 55-bike station has been assembled near Astor Place, a couple leaned on the kiosk as if it were a well-worn city bench, plotting their next move with their daughter waiting in her stroller. Nearby, on University Place, Alfred Haffenden, 71, sat between a bike station and his table of available consumer items —

two Al Franken books, a baby-care advice book and VHS copies of 'The Shawshank Redemption' and 'Wuthering Heights.'

The stations would be a change, he said, but who would want to live in a New York that refused to try something new? 'There’s not much you can do about that type, my friend,' he said, leaning toward the kiosk. 'Some people can’t see. Some people just don’t want to see.'"

Let's go for a spin.

Additional Reading:

Bike Sharing? Sure. The Racks? No Way. [New York Times]

City steering to bike sharing [Philadelphia Inquirer]

Learning from Boston and D.C. in an Early Look at Philly Bike Share [Next City]

Walking through downtown Philadelphia tuned into a Florence playlist, I felt like I heard a new sound in a few of her songs. Florence's subtle nod to gospel can be heard throughout her catalogue. It's influence is undeniable in a song like "Lover to Lover," which shifts into a crashing gospel-tinged meltdown near the end. Not surprised to find there's a 'walk into the sea' moment in the music video. 

The gospel sound is clear as day in the frenzied spirit of her breakthrough hit "You've Got the Love." Disco was about esctacy and release, and The Source and Candi Staton original is essentially an early gospel/disco mashup, cathartic in every way. 

Florence Welch on how it feels to sing "You've Got the Love" –

"As a kid, going to clubs and raves, this song made me feel love. At Bestival last year we were top of the bill on that stage, so we were thinking of an amazing cover we could do, and I thought of Candi Staton. Even in rehearsals, playing it was just the most euphoric feeling. Then playing it live and seeing everyone's arms in the air, and the faces – it was the best feeling ever! I was dressed as a genie sea-monster, and I remember looking at my guitarist as we played the first chords, and then there was the reaction and it was like tearing ourselves open and just exploding on the crowd, and they all did it back. It's a feeling you couldn't express."

Her tale of performance reminds me of the great disco singer Sylvester, whose biography is one to read.

He would often compare the ecstatic feelings that accompanied his onstage performances with the feelings experienced in a gospel choir in a Pentecostal church. When performances reached a certain level of heightened emotion, he would comment that "we had service." [from Wiki]

"You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)."

'Nuff said. 

At least, that's what I thought. A child-like painting of boxy buildings with square windows, swirling with angels in hot oranges and reds caught my eye. It was the work of street preacher Sister Gertrude Morgan. I have a book of her paintings, along with a copy of the one gospel album she recorded in the 70's, and a remix of that record later produced by the Philadelphia-based DJ King Britt. This was the first time I ever came face to face with her paintings. A book does not compare. 

Sister Gertrude Morgan Singing and Playing the Tambourine on the Front Gallery of the Everlasting Gospel Mission, c. 1974 Joshua Horwitz (American, born 1955).Sister Gertrude was a preacher by calling. Like many of the outsider artists in the exhibit, she received directives from God to create (why hasn't this happened to me?). Born in Alabama in 1900, Morgan was 39 years old when she was summoned to deliver God's message to "the headquarters of sin." That would be New Orleans, Louisiana. She left her husband behind and soon became a regular in the French Quarter, living in the Lower Ninth Ward – a neighborhood later devestated by Hurricane Katrina – until she died in 1980. 

As it goes with outsider artists, Morgan had no formal artistic training of any kind. She began painting in her 50s, working with whatever she had around, adding color and divine messages to lamp shades and pieces of cardboard. Though she received recognition for her artwork during her lifetime, Morgan had little interest in pursuing a career as a painter. 

Around 1970, Sister Gertrude laid down the tracks to Let's Make A Record in New Orleans at Preservation Hall, her first and only foray into the recording business. She had no interest in being a musician either, but you can't tell that from the raw gospel album she created. Morgan's fiery vocals, the frenetic shake of her tambourine, and the occasional sound of a stomping foot together make an intense collection of sounds, full of transcendent moments and a kind of voodoo spirit. 

The album cover for King Britt Presents: Sister Gertrude Morgan shows one of Sister Gertrude's colorful self-portraits.That the obscure record would attract the attention of an electronic music DJ years later now seems like part of some divine plan. In 2005, King Britt released a remix of Let's Make A Record. Layered with kinetic beats, King Britt Presents: Sister Gertrude Morgan brought a new energy to Morgan's solo verse. The addition of electric basslines, lap steel slide guitar, percussion, piano, and other instrumentation add depth to Morgan's rhythm.

I'm not a religious person, but I find catharsis in music, and there is plenty of that in gospel and electronica.

Touring as "The Sister Gertrude Morgan Experience," King Britt and co-producer Tim Motzer turned World Cafe Live in Philadelphia into Morgan's Everlasting Gospel Ministry, where even after death, she possessed the ability to physically move believers and non-believers.

And that is how I was first introduced to Sister Gertrude. 

"Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the light."

My favorite track on the album is "Precious Lord Lead Me On," a rendition of the 1931 gospel song "Take My Hand, Precious Lord," written by the Reverend Thomas A. Dorsey, based on an old hymn by the American composer George Nelson Allen. Dorsey wrote the song as a way out of his own inconsolable grief after the death of his wife and infant son. 

What attracts me most about "Take My Hand, Precious Lord" is the incredible sense of self-awareness in the lyrics and of the moment. 

I give pause whenever I hear any version of it. Sister Rosetta Tharpe, the Godmother of rock & roll, sings the song in 1941 with a rebellious spirit, lightness, and her signature electric guitar – you just know she'll make it through. Elvis Presley croons sweetly with The Jordanaires in 1957 in an endearing 'put your head on my shoulder' kind of way – a reminder to 'love the one you're with,' to borrow from another song. Mahalia Jackson will make you want to go to church, or walk into the sea depending on your mood.

A favorite hymn of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., there are reports that it was the last song he requested moments before he was shot to death at the Lorraine Motel. Mahalia sang it at his funeral in 1968. 

Imagine the song's meaning bending during the civil rights movement, reaching deep into crowds to inspire perseverance and courage, a vocal balm soothing broken spirits.

Just three days after King's assassination, the great Nina Simone wrapped listeners in the song quietly, bidding adieu at the end of a live performance at the Westbury Music Fair. "Goodnight, everybody," she whispered at the end of her set.

"I sing God's music because it makes me feel free," Mahalia Jackson once said.

Why did Sister Gertrude choose to sing? Was it freedom? Or, just another way to spread the Word?

Though the song comes from the black hole of grief, I can't help but feel a renewed sense of promise after listening, especially in King Britt and Sister Gertrude's version, with the soaring strings and light tambourine tap. 

The exhibition "Great and Mighty Things" left me with similar feelings of promise. Outsider artists are often poor or marginalized, yet here they are on display in the Parthenon on the Parkway. (And would that matter to any of them?)

What I admire about the Bonovitz's collection is that they don't see a difference between outsider art and mainstream work. There is only good and bad art. 

It matters not that Sister Gertrude painted on toilet paper rolls, used ballpoint pen, or even cared about her art at all. At the end of the day, she was a preacher by calling. Her paintings, like the record she recorded, were merely tools of her ministry. 

In an interview with culture critic Stephan Salisbury, exhibition co-curator Sheldon Bonovitz said:

"There's no fence around genius. It's just available. People are creative given the opportunity. Given the opportunity, they can succeed."

Something to think about, and hope for. 

Sister Gertrude Morgan

Additional Listening and Viewing: 

For the quickest intro into the art and music of Sister Gertrude Morgan, listen to Joel Rose's report on NPR: Preacher-Artist Gertrude Morgan, Remixed.

Watch King Britt and Tim Motzer discuss what it was like "collaborating" with Sister Gertrude.

Thomas A. Dorsey tells the story behind "Take My Hand, Precious Lord" in the great documentary, Say Amen, Somebody – jump to the 5:09 minute mark. I likely never would have seen this film had I not begged my way into Professor Gayle Wald's English course on identity and popular music at the George Washington University. Was this also part of some divine plan?

North Philadelphia is stressed. There has been a lot of media coverage about the Philly Painting project, much of which glosses over the extent of the damage in the neighborhood, both structural and emotional. It's interesting that Hub Footwear, a dutch sneaker brand and maker of the videos, would take one of the most objective looks. The documentaries represent another track of life in Philadelphia, the true realities of which took a back seat in many reports on the mural. How real does it get? Watch the artists Jeroen Koolhaas and Dre Urhahn explain to filmmakers why they don't wear seatbelts – you never know when you'll need to duck and cover from gunfire riding through North Philly.

Sit back and watch, if you're interested in neighborhood dynamics, poverty and violence in cities, art, and community. Highly recommend, even if I now have more questions than before.

If you're following the Philly Painting project for the longhaul, another story worth reading is architecture critic Inga Saffron's review, which asked whether or not the colorful intervention will actually drive economic growth in the commercial corridor and result in measaurable impact. "It's naive to think that painting over this depopulated blightscape can do anything more than mask the avenue's failure," wrote Saffron. That critique was pounced on by many, but none of the responses adequately discussed what is next for the corridor, important for a number of reasons.

The project afterall was positioned by the City of Philadelphia as part of a "larger economic development plan" for the neighborhood. Even the people in the video below are asking, "What's next" – from the artists themselves to shoppers and residents.

"Enthusiasm can turn pretty quickly into disappointment," says Gary P. Steuer, the City's Chief Cultural Officer, adding "we need to think about how we sustain that enthusiasm." 

At the closing of the short follow-up vide, a member of the painting crew comments –

"A lot of people making promises, so we waiting to see if people put they money where they mouth is at."

Philly Painting is a complex project, worthy of continued exploration.

So what is next?

These are appropriate questions.

Philly Painting is a collaboration between the City of Philadelphia's Mural Arts Program and the Dutch artists Jeroen Koolhaas and Dre Urhahn, also known as Haas & Hahn (or the Favela Painters). 

[8 min. Challenge the Obvious: This is not the end - January 2013]

Dre Urhahn: "You don't paint questions away, you paint them to the surface… What happens next? What happens with the street after its painted?" 

[30 min. Challenge the Obvious: A day in the life of Haas & Hahn - September 2012]

Jereon Koolhaas: "[American] people have the idea that when you are poor, that you are not really living life." 

Yay, Philadelphia! There is a new campaign on the scene promoting the City of Philadelphia and the video features lots of clapping and whooshes. Discover PHL. [3 minutes]

Timelapse of Diner en Blanc Philadelphia at Logan Square, the whitest and most magical picnic I've ever been too. All's well when the entire party ends up in the fountain. [48 seconds]

Klip Collective's amazing Meadow 1.0 installation at Bartram's Garden, part of Data Garden's The Switched-On Garden 002. I felt like I had stepped into The X-Files. Another favorite event from 2012. [60 seconds]

Storyteller R. Eric Thomas' hilarious TEDxPhilly talk about his early perception of the City of Brotherly Love (somewhere in-between the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Philadelphia, the movie). [8 minutes]

A video honoring Philadelphia Mayor Michael Nutter for the design leadership that he has demonstrated in transforming Philadelphia into a city focused on smart design and sustainability. Makes you excited about Philadelphia's future. Love the way the city looks. [4 minutes]

A guy rides his bike around the city with his cat on his shoulder because that is the kind of thing hipsters do, and it's true, his cat can probably ride a bike better than you can. That cat rules! [4 minutes]

And for a little perspective, music videos for rapper Meek Mill's Ima Boss and Bike Life Philadelphia, a wild look at ATV riding in the city. This actually happens. Keeping it real and dangerous. [5 minutes]

Bride, 1912. Marcel Duchamp.

Zigzagging through the exhibition is best, I think. Just as there is a logic to the placement of each piece, experiencing the rooms out of order takes you deeper. 

"Ma'am, you are too close to the artwork," a guard leaned in and whispered politely to me on one visit. 

With the dancers, you might feel even the paintings on the walls breathing. The dancers seem to invoke an aliveness in the other works of art and sound, and the performances themselves are thrilling.

Each time, it seemed I could not take my eyes off of Andrea Weber until the door closed behind her and I had no choice. She performed solos as well as duets with Rashaun Mitchell during one of my visits. 

Andrea Weber and Rashaun Mitchell in Dancing Around the Bride, December 22, 2012.

I could try and describe their movement here, but Alastair Macaulay has captured it all so well, why bother —

Many moments in these solos are like the sudden exclamations and figures of speech that make some Shakespearean soliloquies so present-tense. As a dancer re-examines a step or a position — although there’s nothing that could be labeled acting — we might be watching the movement equivalents of Angelo’s “What’s this? What’s this?” in “Measure for Measure” or Hamlet’s “Ay, there’s the rub.” 

Macaulay attended one of the same performances as I did. Tucked in a mostly glowing review, he notes the scheduling of the dances, with gaps lasting several minutes inbetween, does not match the energy of performers nor the audience, and that some of the activity in the exhibition space during his visits was distracting. I wonder, would we feel the dances in the same way if we were seated in rows of a black box theater watching them one after the next?

The dancers push museumgoers, even in ways we might find agitating. Yes, we sometimes-annoying people, with our chatter and cell phones and movement — are part of the exchange. We crowd around the platform during the action, as if gathering for an impromptu street performance, and just as quickly withdraw our gazes when the dancers leave the floor, turning back to our friends and the still pieces throughout the gallery. We occupy the space with our thoughts. Does the light switch on Jasper Johns' Field Painting actually power the glowing neon letter “R”? I wish the bicycle wheels between the chairs were slowly spinning. We circle the dancers, moving around them. We collaborate as we linger on the stairs talking quietly in the minutes between dances. Was that your conversation I overheard, or part of the recorded soundscape bouncing around the speakers hanging from the ceiling? I can't be certain.

"I believe that art is not only a selfish act, but also an attempt to create something bigger than you," says Philippe Parreno, the metteur en scène, or orchestrator of Dancing around the Bride. One could say he is the exhibit's sixth artist. Is the audience the seventh? Why not.

We are part of the show and together, with the works by Cage, Cunningham, Johns, Rauschenberg, and Duchamp, we fill the room.  

Further reading:
ART REVIEW by Holland Cotter, A Sun’s Influence on a Galaxy of Stars.
CRITIC’S NOTEBOOK by Alastair Macaulay, Present-Tense Movement, With Memory.
Notes by Susan Landers.

Freddie Lyon in The Hour with a very serious question ― 

"What is the news if it’s not personal, Clarence? It’s all personal, otherwise why write about it? … If it doesn’t matter to you, personally, then what kind of person are you?"

Thank you, BBC AMERICA. More Lix Storm, please.

Celebrated with a parade on December 1, the large-scale mural project Philly Painting spans 55 building facades between the 2500-2800 blocks of Germantown Avenue. A collaboration between the City of Philadelphia's Mural Arts Program and the Dutch artists Jeroen Koolhaas and Dre Urhahn, the project has altered the streetscape along the aging commercial corridor and will go hand-in-hand with a larger economic development strategy for the district. 

I've been following Haas & Hahn (clever) since their massive favela painting project in Brazil blewup the internet. Later, I learned more about the duo's vision while working on TEDxPhilly in 2011. Turns out, it wouldn't be long before I had only to travel 2.5 miles down Germantown Avenue from my house on W Rockland Street to see their work in-person. A curious case of happenstance.

Philly Painting at The Village of Arts and Humanities. Shade canopy (in-progress) by Public Workshop's Tiny WPA.

A neighborhood marching band hits the streets at the Philly Painting dedication on December 1, 2012.Forever trolley tracks along Germantown Avenue, home to SEPTA's epic 23 bus route.

The unpainted side of Germantown Avenue & Lehigh Avenue. I watched a pigeon fly out of the hole in the third floor facade.Philly Painting in-progress, photo snapped on October 27, 2012.

Every building has it's challenges. You end up standing in front of it, and looking at it, and realizing it's probably the first time anybody has ever looked at that building for a long time, and cared. 

― Dre Urhahn in WHYY's NewsWorks

"Turning Heads." Boarded windows above storefronts on Germantown Avenue nearby the Philly Painting project.Vibrant blight.

I would love to know if Philly Painting was part of Stan's 'master plan.'

What do you see when you look at Philly Painting? Opinions will run the gamut.

I've walked the long and bright corridor a few times now. My reaction surprised me. I found myself struck by the emptiness, leaving with a sadness about cities. Walled in by color, my eyes were drawn first to the blight that exists above the commerce. Many of the storefront shops are stacked with vacant second and third floors, the boarded windows now painted with designs that wrap around the block. Rainbow blight. I have trouble seeing beyond this, despite the fact that this setup is typical citywide (minus the fresh paint of course). That could change as corridor improvements continue. 

The mural project was designed to spark change and the clean lines and smooth walls represent a visible shift.

The painting crew spent an incredible amount of time preparing the facades for paint. For a quick look at before conditions and the process, watch these insightful documentary shorts―

One thing is for certain, Philly Painting will get you thinking about cities. But like anything, the project will draw you in, or not. After the celebratory crowd dispersed, a man driving a minivan stopped to ask me if I was taking photos for an "investigation," seemingly oblivious to the popping color surrounding us. Later, I overheard a woman comment to a friend as she passed on the sidewalk, "All these white people taking photos..." I'm multiracial, but hey! Not too long ago, I read a story about Harlem gospel churches overun with tourists and congregants clashing with photo snapping guests from around the world. The project will no doubt join the list of attractions for urban travelers.

You should go see Philly Painting. It might make you happy. Or squint your eyes, like me― it is the brightest statement on urban decay I've ever encountered, intentional or not. As art goes, the project can be viewed a lot of ways, and what you see in the physical world is merely part of the story. One could also look at the project as a giant billboard for blight. We live and breathe in cities with broken infrastructure. This decline has become our normal. Regular people don't often stand around gazing at dilapidated buildings thinking about all they mean and stand for, and I think Philly Painting in some ways demands that we look. The mural has challenged my thinking about W Rockland Street and the neighborhood improvement projects my sister and I are working on. I think that is a valuable result. And I hope Philly Painting is a catalyst for change.

So I'll be back to see how the corridor evolves (and go sneaker shopping). 

VISIT MURALARTS.ORG/PHILLYPAINTING >>
WATCH THE PHILLY PAINTING DOCUMENTARY SERIES >>
SEE HAAS & HAHN'S TEDxPHILLY TALK >>

You can walk some 55 blocks across Philadelphia without getting slammed by the city, dodging traffic, or falling bored. It's true. There is a hidden passageway that will take you from the edge of the Art Museum district at Lemon Hill all the way to Callowhill and Chinatown North. The nearly 3 mile trek dips below the street, through a tunnel and into a trench, cuts inbetween buildings, and lifts you up to the sky. 

This is not a placeless place. This is the abandoned 9th Street Branch, known as the elevated Reading Viaduct, and the City Branch of the Philadelphia and Reading Railway. The trip is an incredibly immersive experience for pedestrians, an urban wild footsteps from the visible city. It's 'there' there through and through, but only if you walk on the wild side. 

The nonprofit organization VIADUCTgreene is advocating for the creation of a linear greenspace along this path, both soaring and submersive. It so happens I welcomed November with a 3-hour walkabout of the space led by VIADUCTgreene's Paul vanMeter, who will tell you he is simply a gardener (a persusaive gardner at that).

All I can really say is that you should take a walk. The trek is mysterious and exciting, but one of the greatest aspects of the experience is how you come to see the city surrounding you, and the shift in perspective of what's already there.

The tour began along the City Branch in a 3000 foot-long tunnel, just north of Kelly Drive near Boathouse Row. Running underneath Pennsylvania Avenue, the tunnel moves west past the Philadelphia Museum of Art's Perelman Building and the Rodin Museum, before opening to a parking lot below street level by the Callowhill Whole Foods. From there, we moved through a trench between buildings, alongside the Barnes Foundation and below the Philadelphia Police Department's 9th District headquarters. We walked and walked all the way to the former-Philadelphia Inquirer Building on North Broad before emerging to street level. From there, we connected with the 9th Street Branch, or park in the sky for the realists, the builders, and the dreamers.

Explore both the history of the railway and the vision for its future at viaductgreene.org. 

Big things have small beginnings, sir.
― Mr. Dryden, Lawrence of Arabia 

SEE THE COMPLETE GALLERY >>

HIGHLIGHTS (WITH SOME QUOTES THAT RESURFACED EN ROUTE)

I remembered that life in that room seemed to be occuring beneath the sea, time flowed past indiffrently above us, hours and days had no meaning. ― James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.
 ― Leonard Cohen, Anthem

Eventually everything connects—people, ideas, objects… the quality of the connections is the key to quality per se…
― Charles Eames

There's a little place, a place called space / It's a pretty little place, it's across the tracks / Across the tracks and the name of the place is you like it like that / You like it like that, you like it like that, you like it like that. ― Patti Smith, Horses

The wind shows us how close to the edge we are.

― Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem

What is this thing about time? ... People are always saying, we must wait, we must wait. WHAT ARE THEY WAITING FOR? 
― James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

1. Communication is really really REALLY important.

2. And so is planning.

Two of my favorite zingers come from Cool Hand Luke (1967) and JAWS (1975). Classic. Listen to NPR's What Makes A Movie Quote Memorable? for the science behind the most quoted one-liners, these two included. 

COOL HAND LUKE

"What we've got here is ... failure to communicate."

JAWS

"You're gonna need a bigger boat."