Walking through the streets I always find them.
Little angels, tidbits of life, art, love.
Tucked into the grid.
This other-worldly collage reminded me of what New York once was—a vibrant city of artists and free thinkers, before the homeless got shipped off to never never land, and 42st lost its grit. And although we have become plasticified, crushed, and segmented into the new New York of the ultra-rich and entitled, I still find these angels. They come to me when I am not looking, pop up on a sidewalk or inside a subway station.
These gems that let me know the cowboys have survived and are still being crowned by the artists that live among us.