September 26,2009. The 13th annual DUMBO Art Under the Bridge Festival. This is the first time I’ve been here. After an endless trek up stairs, through a bleak corridor, and up more stairs, we emerged into a beautiful afternoon to find that our subway entrance was being protected by two silent sentinels, a Swiss guard maybe, enmeshed in yarn. They stood silent, unmoving, like some secret military supermen, this one in green. He must have been sewn into the suit, which covered his entire body, but I don’t think he was ready to give up the secret. No one seemed particularly afraid of yarn man, but how could you when yarn is so often used in such comforting domestic applications like scarves, hats and blankets? The allure of a man in uniform.

Standing in the Brooklyn Bridge Park you can peer up at the inspiring Manhattan Bridge, a suspension bridge opened in 1909. What a structure. The massive supports, the cables stretching, the roadway, all of it dwarfing everything around it. How it must have played on the minds of those watching it being constructed. And then there is the latticework of supports - all angles, half circles, and straight lines. From the ground it looks so delicate and ornamental, but at eye level, the steel must be broad and functional. I never think of the color as drab, and I like how it always fits to its purpose and lets you focus on the design against the ever changing backdrop of the sky, which is now turning partly cloudy – Simpsons clouds says my friend Keith.

This is the last work that we saw as we ended our day. It was the second image of Hendrix for the day. I didn’t take a picture of the first, which was drawn using the lyrics to his songs, words & image. In this nook in the wall, everyone wanted to get involved. The larger image has started to weather, Ganesh and lotus blossoms beginning to wear under the elements, but the Hendrix portrait remains strong. On the ledge is a shrine with images of a beloved pet, a man holding the pet, coins and other offerings and mementos added that have an implied meaning we can only add to by way of our own experience. These memorials spring up around the world as part of our grieving when the body leaves our realm. Then there is the cutout to the left, of people around a table, like a family photograph. We can imagine our own choices on this grouping. Who are the adults, whose children are these? Someone wanted to remember this gathering, or did they just get a new camera? Finally, Short Jewish Girl adds her tag to the assembly, leaving us a mark to say that she had been here too. This nook in the wall has room for everyone.