SUSPENDED REHAB

 

This building is immediately next to the one seen in yesterday’s post. I think it was originally a small firehouse. Someone turned it into a night club. The logos in the lower corners of the center door are for liquor brands, but the last owners went to the trouble of installing a wheelchair ramp. It is empty again. Another handsome building in need of an angel.                  

DEVELOPMENT COMING SOON

 

A beautiful but derelict building in midtown St. Louis. As with many buildings its age, it has lovely architectural ornaments in danger of ruin. This one, though, is going to make it back. The banner says that redevelopment is sponsored by the Kranzberg Arts Foundation. It is a wonderful organization that has restored a swath of our midtown area for the visual and performing arts, including the St. Louis Fringe Festival, with which I am very involved.                     

GOOD POLICY

Midtown St. Louis is having a rebound. The anchors are St. Louis University’s main campus and medical center (about a mile apart), the Washington University medical center, the Grand Centre arts district and the Cortex research and innovation area, where the human genome was finally sequenced. Another feature is City Foundry, centered around an old ironworks that now holds a very diverse food hall, a brewery-cinema, retail and many new apartments. One popular space is City Winery, both a wine bar and entertainment venue. I agree with its mission statement.

The reason I went is a new kid entertainment space that Ellie loved. We will return to that after City Daily Photo theme day.                

SIMPLE AND CLEAR

Looks to me like they do good quality work. I'd hire them. I'm surprised by how many signs I see, particularly advertising, that communicate poorly: weak color contrast between lettering and background, too many words to absorb quickly, lack of explanation of the subject, etc.

Locust Street, midtown.           

THERAPY ON THE CHEAP

A clothing and accessories store in midtown St. Louis. Odd statement. Dear? Is the recommended therapy to treat yourself and buy something?                     

FUBAR

A shuttered nightclub in midtown with a shattered city flag. The name is an acronym that I think dates from World War II. The last three letters stand for "beyond any recognition."

I am so out of material. This is the coldest week of the winter here so far. Now, no comments from you people in Canada or Minnesota or Scandinavia or wherever. We're just sitting here in the middle of the country, neither north or south. By the weekend the forecast is for -8 F / -22 C. I get more and more cold intolerant as I grow older. Maybe I can hook up my camera to a periscope out of the top of my car.             

WARNING

 

A red flag is usually a warning, a serious one. Something is dangerous and demands attention. It is also a symbol of revolution and communism. If someone threw up a sign like this on a building you might think that there were toxic chemicals inside.

Not so in this case unless you are a tea-totaler. This midtown building is being renovated into a taproom and restaurant for one of our smaller breweries, 4 Hands. (As most people know, we have one very, very big brewery here.) The graphic is a color-altered version of the St. Louis city flag, which, by virtue of a highly scientific Twitter poll, is the coolest city flag in America. Why the brewery is interpreting it as a warning is left up to the viewer.               

TIME CONSUMING

Details of the facade of the Dinks Parrish Laundry. I realized as I edited these pictures that I don't know a thing about how terrra cotta is made. I looked up the Wikipedia article, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Architectural_terracotta, and don't understand all of it. Complicated! I can't imagine how much time and money it took to produce and install this, or how the economics worked on a humble commercial building.       

 

A friend told me about another unusual laundry. It is not as complex and harder to photograph due to its location but still interesting. We will see it tomorrow.

DINKS PARRISH LAUNDRY

A bit of fancy, a stone wedding cake on Olive Street in midtown. It was a major commercial laundry for many years, the two names referring to the families who owned it. The laundry went out of business some years ago. There may or may not still be some loft apartments upstairs. The ground floor left houses a new microbrewery. The rest of the ground floor is vacant.

This may be the most elaborate surviving terra cotta work in town. One online reference describes it as "either a heavenly flight of fancy or the product of a bricklayer on LSD: Moorish architecture on steroids, replete with spires wrapped in carved grape vines and snowflakes, flower blossoms and clamshells." 

Some detail of the facade tomorrow.   
 

            

CANDY

My children were born in 1976 and 1980. Being responsible, modern parents, Mrs C and I were careful about their diets, particularly sugar. But the whole thing got blown to hell when we visited my father's house in New Jersey. (My mother had died some time before.)

My father spent almost all of his career in the industrial sugar business. The company for which he was sales manager were middlemen between sugar refiners and bulk users. Back in the day he sold Pepsi all its sugar. For most of that time he literally worked on Wall Street, but in commodities, not securities. Nice picture of his beautiful old office building here. 

Anyway, he doted on his grandchildren. He modified a big bookcase in his home to fill two long shelves with glass candy candy jars. We'd come in and he'd call out "Candy store's open!" to our kids. We were powerless. If we put up a peep of objection he always replied "Sugar is only 14 calories per teaspoon!"

And they seem okay today. This photo is of a former candy wholesaler on Locust Street in Midtown.

      

Roosevelt Island

Roosevelt Island is a very unusual bit of New York. A long, narrow island in the East River between Manhattan and Queens, it was known as Welfare Island when I was a kid. The development started with a tuberculosis hospital in the 19th Century, apart from the slums of the center city and the beneficiary (back then) of fresh air. Other public hospitals were added which, over time, fell into disuse and disrepair. In 1971, redevelopment began to turn it over to mostly residential use and its name was changed.

It is quiet, a bit isolated, yet right in the face of midtown Manhattan.  There is one small bridge from Queens, a subway link from both sides, and an aerial tram to 60th street and Second Avenue. The low and mid rise apartment buildings on island itself are not that photogenic. The main attraction is the spectacular view to the west in morning light.

There is a park at the southern tip dedicated to FDR's memory. On a November afternoon, workers used air blowers to send the fallen leaves into the East River.      

 

A Town So Nice They Had To Name It Twice

New York, New York, a helluva town.

The Bronx is up, but the Battery's down.

The people ride in a hole in the groun'.

New York, New York, it's a helluva town!

From Leonard Bernstein's 1944 Musical, On The Town. You might say that this was the pre-show on our hotel terrace before the fireworks started.

The top picture is the Queensboro Bridge, sometimes called the 59th Street Bridge for the latitude where it enters Manhattan. Us geezers will remember the song made famous by Simon and Garfunkle. The bottom one looks straight into midtown at about 55th and 56th Streets. 

Beyond The Fringe

Night in midtown St. Louis, the area where the Fringe was held: Locust Street looking east from Theresa; Triumph Grill, where Olive Street and Lindell Boulevard split apart; and bands booked at Fubar, one of the Fringe's performance venues. A bit post-apocalyptic. Hey, it ain't Paris but it's home.

Take That! Department: last night Mrs. C and I attended a performance of a new work at Opera Theatre of St. Louis, 27. It is set at 27 rue de Fleurus, (speaking of) Paris, where Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas lived and held their salons for decades. In one scene, Ernest Hemmingway (who came onstage dragging a fake dead rhino) and F. Scott Fitzgerald (who came onstage pulling an elaborate drinks cart) are demanding that Stein declare which one of them is a genius. Man Ray is hanging around taking pictures. Eventually he tries to get some attention, too. Stein stares him down and declares You are not a genius. You are a photographer. Ouch!                                     

Not Quite Right

Agreed.

Another improv company, Not Quite Right, this one lead by storyteller, comedian and improv artist Howie Hirshfield. Howie appeared at the Fringe two years ago doing a solo act that was loosely based on the old TV show Gilligan's Island. I think he had me playing Gilligan at some point.

This ensemble consisted of his daughter, just to his right, and two other young comedians. I regret that I didn't make a note of their names. But why are the three younger ones all wet?

The last extended bit was priceless. Each of the players was associated with a word suggested by the audience. Someone else came up with a starting premise. One of the young ones literally stuck his or her head fully into a bucket of water. When they just had to breathe they raised their arm. The others had to find a way to fit the one of the code words into the sketch. The person associated with it had to relieve the current dunkee and, in turn, submerge his or her head in the water bucket. And on and on. Howie generally supervised from the side. Greatest show on earth, or at least at Locust and Compton in St. Louis last Saturday night. 

Overwhelming photo ops in The Lou this weekend. We have Open Studios STL, where 160 artists open their workspaces (and maybe themselves) to the public. I sometimes go around asking if I can take portraits of them with their work. And it's also Pridefest, with the big parade on Sunday, often the best local shoot of the year.                                   

Didgeridoo And Oboe, Too

We attended a strange musical performance at the Fringe, a trio that called itself Terra Camera. It consisted of a classically trained oboe player and violist plus a didgeridoo virtuoso. He played a couple of solos and explained the many techniques. The ensemble did some classical, a new composition and a bit of jazz. Heaven knows I like edgy, contemporary music but this, to my ears, didn't work all that well, sort of a buzzard with nightingales. The part I liked best was a baroque chamber piece in which the Aussie pipe played the basso continuo. That made a good fit. 

Photo tip of the day: do not use fill flash on iridescent wigs and hats. It leads to disaster.                               

Presto

More from The Fringe: Seattle's Christopher Bange, magician, in his show "More Bange For Your Buck." And part of his act had something to do with money. At one point he borrowed a $20 bill from me had me write my name on it with red marker. It mysteriously disappeared, of course. 

When it looked like he was nearly finished I gave him a questioning gesture. He pulled a perfect lemon out of nowhere and handed it to me. Of course, I was puzzled. He pulled out a sharp knife and quickly split it. As he handed it back to me I saw rolled currency in the center. I pulled it out - one dollar. Did I get my twenty back? Of course, but I can't tell you how. That would spoil the trick.                          

Here Comes . . . The Judge?

Next up, Act Two Theatre from suburban St. Peters, with a bizarre remake of Gilbert and Sullivan's Trial By Jury. 

It's a gentle satire based upon a suit for breach of promise to marry, an old English cause of action, as us legal types say. Except here the judge is Elvis, and he's not a real judge, he's a TV judge-show judge. The innocent young plaintiff wears a simple, pure white dress and a shocking pink sash with PLAINTIFF written across it. Arthur Sullivan witty melodies are present, but so is a quote from Also Sprach Zarathustra and, I think, a bit of Leonard Bernstein's Glitter and Be Gay, and probably some things I didn't catch. The bailiff looked like a Southern bubba but with a bit of a New York accent. The jury (remember the kind of suit) is all female. And between numbers some guy ran in front of the stage holding a big sign that said applause. Wacky.                               

The Fringe, The Spotty Truth And A Twisted Story

The St. Louis Fringe was on this weekend in Grand Center. Thirty-five shows of an hour's length repeated over four days, ranging from bizarre to hilarious to thoughtful. We, naturally, went for the first two categories, catching seven acts on Friday and Saturday.

One of Friday's favorites was a Chicago improv troupe called The Spotty Truth. After a half-hour of typical (and good) improv gags, the feature presentation began. They got someone out of the audience, did a cursory interview and then strung together a series of mock-biographical skits, re-enacting the life of someone about whom they knew little and cared less. On Friday, they got some old guy with squinty eyes, a black iPhone belt holster (the twenty-first century equivalent of a pocket protector) who played stickball on the streets of New York as a child, had an interest in math and physics, and ended up in St. Louis. Needless to say, plenty of false propositions were proven to be true.