DECAY

Type under duress thrills me. The 181st street stop, my home base, is like an art gallery of neglect. Wet concrete accretions drip from the ceilings like cave formations, peeling off paint and obscuring meaning. Almost every one of the tiled 181st street platform signs are like this, and these are some of my favorites. MTA (Metro Transit Authority) was recently doing some sort of sealing work on the walls around these samples. Restoration wasn’t part of their job description.

New York shows it’s age. It’s one of my most favorite things about this city. I’m enamored of its decay and how it wears rot like a crown. I don’t trust a new city, it lacks soul, and cities that perpetually try to rebuild whilst tearing down its legacy are doomed to an ambivalent identity.