Thumbing his nose at the rules of art appreciation?
© Bruce Goldstone

Obstructions and Street Art Appreciation

Like many photographers, my eye is constantly drawn to vibrant murals and colorful street art. I often stake out a spot in front of an exuberant wall and wait for the perfect, pristine moment to capture the image.

Art appreciation guidelines suggest that the artist’s message is best interpreted with as little interference as possible between you and the art.

I’ve spent plenty of time waiting for everyone to get out of the way so I can snap the perfect picture, free of unplanned interlopers. But now I’m not so sure that’s really the best way to catch the spirit and meaning of art created on public surfaces.

It’s Alive!

More and more often lately, I’ve stopped waiting for everyone to clear out. I just snap away.

An addled face responds to the rhythms of street traffic.
© Bruce Goldstone

When I go back through my photos, I find that the shots with people in front of them often capture the sensation of viewing street art much better than the pristine gallery shot.

An “Oh, I see” moment came when I was trying to choose the best picture of a mural in San Telmo, Buenos Aires. The shot I took of only the artwork was a fine, clear record.

Nice pic, but something’s missing,
© Bruce Goldstone

But the photos with people passing by the mural do a much better job of capturing the playful way the giant apes interact with their close-kin cousins on the street.

Add a few more primates and a hidden energy springs to life.
© Bruce Goldstone

I’ve come to realize that the interaction between the passersby and the art is an important part of the message in street art.

Random Acts of Finesse

The more photos I take of people in front of murals, the more instances I find of happy accidents and lively synchronicities. Of course, these visual events happen whether or not a camera’s there to record them. They’re a built-in part of the street art experience.

Follow the bouncing arrow
© Bruce Goldstone

A rubbery arrow seems to push this woman along the sidewalk.

A passing red jacket adds a vibrant burst to the color palette.
© Bruce Goldstone

Colors recombine in surprising and appealing ways, turning people—and their clothing—into part of the design.

Waiting for the game to start
© Bruce Goldstone

Contrasting energies create tension and interest. A young soccer player waits for friends to arrive, while the wall in front of him is already in full play mode.

Part of the Art

Even though it seems contradictory, I now believe that street art looks best when you can’t see everything clearly. Obstructions are constructive.

Blending in and adding dimension
Bruce Goldstone

It’s the reason that gallery shows of street are are so often disappointing. The sterile viewing conditions of a museum don’t enhance our view of street art—they limit it.

Visual overload can be a good thing.
Bruce Goldstone

Of course, murals and other street art are best viewed in person, surrounded by the pulsing action in which they were created.

But since I can’t curb the desire to capture this energy in photos, I’ve adjusted my street art appreciation to include the web of people, pets, and other features that I once thought of as unwanted obstacles. Now I see them as part of the art.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Buenos Aires buses dressed to the nines on their way from Caraza to Retiro, old style and new
© Bruce Goldstone

Torn Between Design Inspiration & Utility

Buenos Aires is a city of kinetic visual overload, where color, pattern, and structure compete for your eye’s attention. One of the first things I fell in love here was the vintage fonts on the city buses. People tend to think I’m either kidding or crazy, but nonetheless, it’s true.

A source of constant design inspiration, the gorgeous graphics bundled onto a Buenos Aires bus pack a powerful punch.

Every bus line has its own vibrant palette, like rival schools sporting their colors. Strong stripes and elaborate, hand-painted designs called fileteado add to the impact.

And it’s all topped off with a big, bold number.

A Buenos Aires bus is a design class on wheels.
© Bruce Goldstone

More than a hundred different bus lines cover the city in complicated routes that zig-zag through town. The number of the line perches proud and loud on the front of the bus.

A Number Is Worth a Thousand Words

Soon after I arrived, I began to snap photos of every bus that passed (while carefully avoiding being run over).

A number of bus numbers
© Bruce Goldstone

I took new delight in every bold or subtle variation, cruising the city’s streets:

• The chessman solidity of the trapezoidal number #1
• The thick, squat look of the extra-bold, extra-wide sans-serif #5 and #6
• The delicate stroke that outlines the elegant #12
• The jaunty snout of the 1 in #17
• The rectilinear combo that gives #21 a modernistic flair
• The voluptuous curves of #86, bold white on a sexy red background
• The cheerful profile of the scooped twin 1’s in 115

Zero Tolerance

So, the first time I saw a digital bus display in Buenos Aires, I was horrified.

Where’s the charm in a digital dot-matrix font?
© Bruce Goldstone

The modern clarity of the neon green digits struck me as inhuman and charmless. There was no style, no effort, and no class.

I sulked for days.

I groused to friends as more bus lines began to make the switch from hand-selected, quirky typography to mass-produced digital dullness.

Then Again . . .

But then one night, things got much clearer. Or, rather, they didn’t.

Several hours after 11:00 p.m. (when the subways shut down), I was dutifully waiting, and waiting, for a #29 bus. Early on in my Argentine education, I had learned that you have to flag down a bus if you want it to stop. If you don’t hail the driver, he won’t stop even if he sees you standing there.

Finally, I saw a bus in the distance. Alas, it was a #22, a line that would take me even farther from home.

So I didn’t signal the driver.

As the bus went by, I looked up again and realized I’d misread the barely-lit number. It was, in fact, my #29. I stuck my hand out, but—too late! The driver passed me by. 

I Saw the Light

I had at least twenty minutes to think over my mistake, as well as my firm allegiance to dimly-lit vintage fonts of old. I began to rethink my aversion to digital fonts on electronic displays.

Now, whenever I see a night bus, I realize that its shining, vivid clarity has many virtues, not the least of which is visibility.

I’m beginning to see the charm here.
© holgs / iStock

And so I had an “Oh, I see” moment that was quite literally about seeing—It’s a whole lot easier to read electronic fonts at night.

As I’ve come to terms with the new digital fonts, I’ve been heartened by another discovery. Not every bus line is content to stick with the simple, minimal dot-matrix fonts dictated by a small digital array. Newer models offer more complicated arrays that allow bus lines to choose their own, unique electronic fonts, like this elaborate #9.

A nifty new nine
© Bruce Goldstone

I still love the vintage fonts that crisscross the city on many bus lines. They delight the eye as design inspiration for typography enthusiasts like me. But a bus passing in the night with its electronic display helped me get home, and that alone may be reason enough to accept the digital bus fonts that are taking over in Buenos Aires. 

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.