Big Bend & Elm, Webster Groves, MO
I ran across an ancient metal can of Porter Paints mineral spirits, and realized they haven’t changed their look ever. In today’s climate of corporate branding and re-branding, that’s quite a rare achievement.
Their stores still retain the distinctive yellow and orange stripes. So bright, so obvious, so steadfast to the old fashioned way of physical advertising.
Hampton & Eichelberger, South St. Louis, MO
The Porter facades are easily adaptable to any type of commercial building, which makes for interesting variations on the theme.
I can’t find any information on them, so I don’t know the answer to these questions:
Are new franchises required to sport the facade? How do they order the facade, and how many styles to choose from? Can I order one to spruce up my garage?
Vive le New Orleans
New Orleans & Vicinity
As seen by my camera’s eye and heart through the years
I’ve been to New Orleans a number of times, and according to previous test results, it’s nearly the ideal spot for me to live. The part of my heart that forever stays in New Orleans is broken and bleeding, pumping with towering anger.
You just know that every government official who “fiddled while Rome burned” has partaken of New Orleans supple, sultry charms. When the survivors of the city and its surrounding bayou country dries off and regains strength, hell hath no fury like a lover scorned.
There is an acceptable level of decay in New Orleans. There has to be, because the humidity makes fast work of even the freshest coat of paint. The forsaken 9th Ward (above) is just as engaging as the spared Garden District because of the endless coats of riotous color – ever-changing hues in a continuum of life/death/rebirth.
Horseback, bicycle, streetcar, foot… so many social ways to get around a city of relatively small square miles with a large, soulful heart. To live and die by a gallon of gas in a motor vehicle is a tragically unjust ending.
A watercolor bought for peanuts from a Jackson Square street artist has always hung in my bedroom. I gaze at it every time I prepare for the day, it puts me in a languid state of mind. But for the past week, to look at it causes pain.
A classic New Orleans burial tradition is a merry brass band marching the coffin down the street to the cemetary. Does a tuba float? Is this really a wake? What can we do to help?
Either way, no matter what your beliefs or eroding politics, just pray for New Orleans and her people.
Lowe’sville Update
Loughborough & Grand Ave @ Hwy 55
A former city block directly across from Carondelet Park
Lowe’sville progress marches on, save for one hitch in the giddy-up.
All of the houses have been flattened except The Lone Holdout (above). I haven’t found any recent news on where their case stands in the courts, but with the destruction of their former neighborhood block, the story is winding to a close.
Here’s The Lone Holdouts former neighbors to the south (above).
And their former neighbors to the north (above), facing Carondelet Park. I wonder what the views are like out their windows, and how depressing that must be. What kind of varmints have been disturbed by the demolition, and are they invading their house? 
With their block heading toward landfill status, what does The Lone Holdout expect at this point? I support their fight and the legal precedent they hope to set, I just worry about their day-to-day life and health in a demolition zone.
And yet another St. Louis City block is distilled into a neat pallet of bricks waiting to be sold to new home builders in Texas so a Tudor McMansion in Houston will have an air of old authenticity.
How Much Is That Marilyn in the Window?
The new Marilyn in the window is here! An ode to swimming pool weather, a still from Marilyn’s last (uncompleted) film which also serves as commentary to the St. Louis heat wave: Something’s Gotta Give.
The backstory is here.
The Marilyn previous to the above is here.
An extraordinarily gifted photographer friend of mine has been enthusiastically following the Marilyn Shrine since being introduced to it. Upon seeing this latest exhibit, she wondered how the artist could stand to work in such anonymity and solitude, for artists thrive on the experience of others viewing their work, commenting on it, and (hopefully) buying some of it.
While I do wish Kabbaz would come forward and answer a dozen questions, I’m in awe of the seeming integrity of his mystery. His love for Marilyn is shared in a consistent and heart-felt way, and because of the very public nature of his solitary art gallery, he has a potentially bigger audience than most any fine artist. His work is in a high traffic area, but it sits back quietly, waiting for the true believers to find it, ponder it, keep an eye out. All of this goes on without the artist ever knowing or caring. It’s merely his expression of adoration, unsullied by any modern standards of artistic commerce and publicity. While alive, Marilyn let herself be bought and sold, but these paintings of her are not for sale because love is priceless.
South Side Same, Chapter 2
Louisiana & Chippewa
South St. Louis, more about Missouri
When it comes to South Side Copycats, the buildings are usually spaced well apart. In this case, the folks involved shot their entire wad at one intersection. Two identical (and massive) buildings mirroring each other from across the street.
I have been at this intersection dozens of times without ever noticing the mirror effect. It took this brilliantly sunny summer morning for me to finally see this odd and beautiful sight.
Burnt Factory
Brannon, between Arsenal & Flyler
South Side, St. Louis, MO
For anyone who’s ever marveled over the abandoned Stone Center (above), you were standing near Lecoutour Bros. Stair Mfg. At the beginning of May it burned bad, yet didn’t make the news – which loves a good fire – and the aftermath shows this was a raging fire.
Nick Findley had free access to the area a couple of weeks after the blaze, but my timing was off. I went a few days after the fire – the place was still steamin’ – to take pictures like this:
As I took my 3rd go-round of Stone Center photos in as many years, a thin angry voice yells, “What are you doin’?!”
Charging down the sidewalk from the burnt Lecoutour was an upset, wirey woman, heading straight for me. I stopped snapping and watched her come at me, much like a june bug caught in the praying mantis trap.
“You’re on private property,” she fumes, as she now stands 6 feet from me.
I look down, look up at her, and say, “I’m on a public sidewalk.”
She glares. “You weren’t a minute ago, back there,” thumbing at the charred building.
This broad was wound tighter than Joan River’s face. Plus, in all of my years of private property photography, this was the first time I’d ever encountered hostility. So, I avoided eye contact, and slowly – so as not to alarm her – walked to my car.
She continued to glare at me, arms crossed holding herself, pacing like a pissed lionness, because I wasn’t moving fast enough. “Stay out of here.”
As I’m opening my car door, I quietly say, “Man, relax a little or they’ll think it’s arson.”
“WHAT??!?!”
She was now spitting mad. I shouldn’t have poked at a sore spot. I shouldn’t have made her paranoid by standing on private property and taking pictures like these:
