Watching Paint Peel
Returning from evening classes at Brooklyn College via Q train, I sat on the train’s last car for an easy connection at Union Square. After a full day of work and school, (I wasn’t going to waste time, finally mine, by walking the length of the platform to connect.) The Q train runs local in Brooklyn, heading north from Coney Island, over the Manahattan bridge, into Canal Street to run express to Midtown Manhattan. The last car was often quiet and empty. There, I’d catch up on class assignments or neurotically search through my iPod for songs to pass the commute, often gazing through the scratchitti at the passing urban lanscapes and my reflection inside the blackness of tunnels. The train’s route hit some dilapidated stations, neglected with grime and several coats of quick-fix paint. The layers of color were peeling, revealing a colorful cross-section of history. These bruises on the walls sometimes seemed sanded or stretched like the knees of blue jeans. I looked forward to seeing them daily as the train rocked forward through Midwood and Flatbush. “This is real abstract expressionism“, I thought. Wonderous! Since then, I vowed to return to the dilopitated stations to photograph the walls before a new layer of color covered them up again. Randomly assigning the project on to my Summer of George calendar, today was that day. Below is my photo exhibit.