Asphalt graffiti

Pretty pallid stuff compared to the works that Tombo finds in assorted underpasses, alleys and sewers; unfortunately, Tom's currently on hiatus, though PrescottStyle has just come up with a lovely graffiti UFO somewhere out the White Spar. (And, speaking of graffiti, there's that new fellow on line, Prescott Streets).

But, back to my subject. This quiet trail down the middle of Beach Street puzzled me when I saw it nearly a year ago and still does. Q #1 -- how was it made? Q #2 -- why? It isn't big and splashy like modern, upfront outlaw art, so why bother?

Perhaps what we have is a sedate older person, someone whose public expressions in the old days were limited to scratches in the dirt or mud and, on a very lucky occasion, in fresh sidewalk cement. Of course, I'm quite convinced that a bicycle was somehow involved.

Chalk it up

Today's event might as well have been designed specifically to attract the photographer's eye. Who could resist all that color!

Sponsors, from the City to the Mountain Artists' Guild and the Prescott Area Arts & Humanities Council (plus a good assortment of local businesses), borrowed the Compass Bank parking lot for a weekend of free chalk art. We lucked out -- there was neither wind nor chill; it was a beautiful spring day for kids, genuine artists, and, in fact, anybody to create a temporary work of art on the asphalt. All for free, including the chalk.

The Mural Mouse was there, with a Hickory Dickery Dock illustration. I also liked the Big Cat emerging below.

One chalker (above) came equipped with a classic crib sheet. Wonder if the artist (below) ever returned to finish off the pizza or was it left for the ravens?

Curious if any of our local graffiti artists showed up.

Now for my own tale of woe; namely, I walked down to the event, taking the usual oodles of pix, and ran out of juice just as I arrived at the bank. No problem; I put in replacement batteries. Ooops -- they weren't charged, despite being in a baggie labeled "charged". So I had to detour over to Walgreen's for a supply of electricity. All of which meant that I missed the Troupe Salamant performance...

...and wasn't able to photograph this character at the fair, but only as he was headed for Starbucks or his car. One disappointment: the moment I spotted his outfit, my reaction was, "hey, that's the Shaggy Man, straight from the Land of Oz." But he merely saw himself as a tree.

Here's the best I could do to show the belly dancers. One circling the show to see the art, another (below) with her dog heading for her car in the Depot Place parking lot.

The event continues tomorrow (Sunday). A piece of me suspects this innocent introduction to creating public art is a mixed blessing for young kids. They're getting a taste of what fun it can be; the next time they may not wait for a sanctioned event but instead move on to graffiti. (I further wonder if any of the local graffiti artists might show up overnight to leave their mark at the site; I would if I were they! Attention, Tombo: you should check this out!)

Final Notice: If you're reading this on Sunday, don't forget that the blogger get together is today over at Flinn Park at 1 p.m.

Oh, those cuddly chickens!

Chickens. Comfy symbols of our bucolic past. Reliable source of eggs. Part of the new formula for a more "sustainable" way of life, chickens have caught on among city folk, very often the kind of naive city folk who believe that all problems can be solved in a non-violent manner. I understand that some cities are even revising zoning laws to allow fowl back into the environs of middle class gentlefolk.

Which is fine by me. Who knows, maybe they'll learn a few lessons about Nature -- that in the Real World lambs know better than to lie down with lions.
I am reminded of old Thomas Hobbes (he of Nature, red in tooth and claw) by the experience Dotter is having with the family chickens up in Alaska. She's got a brutal battle going on to establish the pecking order among a gaggle of chickens. And this is just hens, mind you -- not fighting cocks.

Of course, maybe the problem is just the long winter confinement in the hen house. I've never heard LindaG talk about problems with bullies amongst her free-ranging chickens. On the other hand, people are a lot bigger than chickens and perhaps the usual fate of an overly aggressive hen is Sunday fricassee.

Graffiti Links: It's one thing when Tombo discovers graffiti in Prescott's drainage catacombs, but another matter when it shows up on the rocks out in the Dells. Both Rich at the Airstream Chronicles and Jartart at Prescott Area Daily Photo have recently posted pictures of contemporary rock art. Not that it's bad, just that it somehow seems inappropriate!

Yet More Graffiti: Hoarded Ordinaries illustrates today's blog about writing with pix from Modica Way in Cambridge MA. This cool wall is set aside by the municipality specifically for graffiti art, which is continuously in flux!

The well labelled trail

Thursday, while I napped, the SSon & family climbed Thumb Butte. Granddaughter K. tried out her new camera and I must say that the gods of Serendip smiled, resulting in a series of photos worthy of her GrannyJ, as you shall see.

We know that Interpretive Signs are all the rage on publicly managed lands, such as Prescott National Forest. However, the newly minted photographer discovered an entire new genre of labels in the wild:

Namely, those wee grocery store fruit labels with numbers so that cashiers who know from nothing about an ugli or a star fruit can punch in the right number at the register. So we have been trying to imagine this troop of youngsters making certain that they carried a full market basket of different fruit on their climb; both trails, by the way, according to Grandson. Above, peach and, below, either a banana or a pineapple. (Do imagine handling the Hawaiian goodie while hiking, will you?)

...Nectarine and apple. Oh yes, each has been carefully placed inside a limb scar.

...Peach and avocado...

...Two mysteries, one of which will keep you alive forever, if Dole is to be believed.

...Anybody have an idea what Bionature is into, aside from being a likely "organic" grower? And (below), it appears that the modern defuzzed peach is a popular fruit.

...Another peach and a Dole twofer (below) as the grand climax.

As a species of graffiti, this is pretty cool. The labels are small and should deteriorate reasonably fast, in the meantime posing all sorts of interesting conjectures as well as encouraging kids to eat fruit.

Civic graffiti popping up all over!

Wow! Tombo has unearthed (almost literally) two sites of fabulous graffiti in our fair city. What I've seen around town is pretty pallid and wimpish compared to the brilliant street art he discovered on the downside of Watson Lake dam and in a big diversion sewer near the Gurley Street Compass bank.

Nothing of that sort in my neighborhood. However, now that it's spring, the utility chaps in chino with their spray cans have been out marking their turf. I think I have the code down pat at this point, thanks to the gas guys who put their colors on this alley the other day.

That yellow just has to define the gas lines, seeing as how it leads right up to a meter.

The COP (City of Prescott) uses three colors. Since the blue (below) is the obvious choice for water mains, the green (above) must be the sewers. As for the white? It usually seems to appear where Something is about to happen to the surface.

Further up this street is a positive rainbow of what I have dubbed civic graffiti.

Here are the older signs from the scene above. Red for electricity, fading orange for ??? Possibly telephone lines or cable; it's definitely a hot color and it appears to say "no TV". The chief differences between sanctioned graffiti and guerrilla street art: 1) spray cans in the hands of utility employees are legit; 2) civic graffiti is worse than pedestrian -- it's dull, dull, dull whereas occasionally talent or at least imagination will shine through in works by the outlaws, and 3) there's a team of volunteers standing by to quickly paint over street art, but apparently there is no concern at all about those red, yellow, blue and green markings, which linger on our streets and sidewalks until they are worn out by traffic or washed away by rain. (Or mowed, when the paint lands on the grass. I've even seen it on cactus.) That's a double standard, in my books.

Sullivan Lake: Water!

Looking east as Old Hwy. 89 crosses the Verde, bridges dominate. Plus the old lava flow which adds a third layer to the picture. OK, there's also that famous Big Sky for which the west is known.
But the most remarkable feature of our trip yesterday with sheoflittlebrain and E. is directly above: there's water in Sullivan Lake! The last time I saw Sullivan, it was bone dry.

Peer over the bridge railing to see still more water below the dam. A great place for frogs, algae and wild grape vines.

The pools under the old Santa Fe bridge are in the shadows; the petroglyphs are too small to be seen.

Slightly different lighting does make the pools more visible.

Obviously that railroad bridge is a perfect spot for 1) bungee jumping, 2) crossing the canyon on a dare, 3) other mischief. So the powers that be erected barricades at either end out of old rails plus loops of today's ubiquitous razor wire.

Of course, laws and razor wire do little to stop determined litter-atti, who dispose of old bedsprings...

...or harbor the urge to shout loudly in public places.

This particularly objectionable graffiti has been in place since I took pictures a year and a half ago. But despite the encroachment of uncivilization, twas oh so good to see the water!!