Discovering Faith in Street Art

Walking along Broadway near 73^rd Street, I often noticed this painting on the ground.  I continued to tell myself this was the artifact I wanted to use for this blog post; yet, never stopped to take a photo of it.  That was until after a couple weeks of walking by it (often in a hurry), looking at it, and wondering how it got there, I received an answer.  Sitting quietly on the sidewalk, amidst all the hustle and bustle of rush hour foot traffic, sat an older man delicately touching up his masterpiece.  In that moment, I said to myself, “It’s now or never” and kindly asked the man to take a photo of his mural.  He smiled and said “Of course”.  To my surprise he even posed for the picture and merely asked for a small donation in return.  Because I was pushing a 14 month old in her stroller who was in desperate need of a nap, I didn’t have time to chat with the artist about the significance of the piece or even ask his name.

I still regret this, along with the fact I didn’t have cash with me to give him, and hope every time I walk by that area, he will once again be there.  Unfortunately, the mysterious street painter has not returned to his work.

 For a matter of almost months now, the painting remains unchanged.  It is always there, even if the creator is not.  Some nights, the painting is covered with garbage, other nights with leaves, and some nights perfectly spotless.  I have this theory that New Yorkers have become numb to street art.  Maybe this is because it’s everywhere- on the sidewalks, roads, buildings, subways, etc.  Ironically, people easily give their money to enter museums in an attempt to fulfill their idea of being cultured.  Although I personally love art and believe it helps us become more cultured people by seeing things in different lights, I wonder why we do not hold street art to the same value as a painting or sculpture with a name plaque in a museum.  To the almost invisible man fixing his cross on the sidewalk, his mural is just as priceless as Van Gogh’s Starry Night in the MoMA.

Walking the street, I was reminded of John’s walk through Manhattan in James Baldwin’s novel, Go Tell it on the Mountain.  After running to the top of his favorite hill in Central Park, John pauses and reflects on New York City thinking:

And certainly perdition sucked at the feet of the people who walked there… the marks of Satan could be found in the faces of the people who waited at the doors of movie houses… It was the roar of the damned that filled Broadway; where motor cars and buses and the hurrying people disputed every inch with death.  Broadway: the way that led to death was broad, and many could be found thereon; but narrow was the way that led to life eternal, and few there were who found it” (Baldwin 31-32). 

What then would John think of this mural painted on the sidewalk of the very street he calls damned? Would he view the artist as another person who adds to the “roar” or would the artist be one of the few who had found the path to eternal salvation?

I think if John had been walking down Broadway and saw the mural, he would have stopped dead in his tracks and stared.  The cross protruding from two wings, the abstraction of the people rising to Heaven, and the few figures left on the ground looking upwards would have mesmerized him.  I believe John would have viewed the mural and its bright, eye-catching colors as a masterpiece. 

The mural speaks to the fact that religion and spirituality can be found everywhere- even in the places you least expect it.  Amidst the roar and damnation that filled Broadway, in John’s eyes, in mine, lies a sliver of hope in the afterlife and one man’s attestation to his faith.