Spreading Love & Positivity Through Street Art

As I was walking to Fordham on Monday afternoon from 74th Street and Amsterdam, I could not help but notice this bright, vibrant drawing on a shoddy construction wall. I walk down that same block twice a week and I have never noticed that drawing there - perhaps it was just put up - maybe for a reason.

This chalk drawing caught my eye not only because of its colors, but because of where it is placed. Usually chalk drawings are on the sidewalk where people generally walk over or around it, but this one is elevated on a wall where people can see it. Perhaps the artist wanted people to see their message that “Jesus Saves”, but what about the bright red radiating flower heart? The radiating flower heart could mean that love needs to be spread but there is a deeper message behind the drawing. By placing this theological infused drawing on a dilapidated wall, the artist constructs a juxtaposition between its message and location. Placing this bright drawing on a dull green wall probably insinuates that if there is a love and brightness placed amongst something dark, then that brightness will overcome the darkness. We see this all of the time through novels, television shows, and real world situations where if something tragic happens, love can help alleviate the situation. For example, if someone loses a loved one, they can heal quicker. Therefore, where there is love, there is positivity.

Furthermore, on the right of the flower heart says “HHNY”. As I was walking, I kept coming up with different possibilities of what HHNY could mean but had no luck and decided to google it. I came across a news article and discovered that the artist is Hans Honschar. Honschar describes himself as a street artist who “aspires to inspire” people. Therefore, his message on the construction wall serves as an inspiration to people who stop to look at and think about his work. Usually some people would see “Jesus saves” and would walk away because they are not religious or it just does not pertain to them, but Honschar creates a different message. He uses Jesus in this context to create a sense of positivity and uses the heart to show that positivity can spread love and vice versa.  

Therefore, Honschar uses this theological message to create a broader point that religion or even faith in something can be a positive force. Perhaps he feels as if in the fast-paced New York City life, there is barely time for self-reflection or self-care, and he wants people to know self-reflection and care are crucial - which is probably why he elevated his message instead of putting it on the sidewalk. There is a school, train station, and a lot of restuarants in that area, so his message will be widely seen, but the viewers should realize that the drawing has a deeper message. Ultimately, Honschar uses this sprinkle of theology to inspire people to spread love and positivity.

Source: http://abc7ny.com/society/see-artist-use-chalk-to-inspire-people-all-across-manhattan-/1618461/

"Keep The Faith"

“Keep the Faith”: Religion in Harlem

On the northeast corner of 125^th St. stands the Adam Clayton Powell Jr. State Office building and statue. Powell was the first person of African-American descent to be elected from New York to Congress, who increased meals and clothing provided to the need, and learned about the working class and poor in Harlem. The statue of the preacher and statesman depicts Powell holding his briefcase and looking down the bustling commercial street and the historical and cultural center of Harlem. Below him decorated in historical text outlines religious words, “Keep the Faith”. He is dressed in professional attire looking down Harlem’s history of jazz, R&B, and hip-hop garnished by the most famous theatre in Manhattan, the Apollo. Powell is the focal point of the street, and its plaza has been a center for community gatherings, celebration of President Obama, a vigil for Michael Jackson, and other sociopolitical movements throughout the years.

Harlem is an organism of growth and change looking through the lenses of American history, which has at the heart of it, religion. Reminding us of Baldwin’s Go Tell It on The Mountain, the root of Harlem is the Church and the music that is affiliated with it.  Through the street murals and music, religion has swept the neighborhood since the beginning of its birth. Interestingly, through the changes of music and history, Powell, preacher and statesman, looks down the street and overshadows 125^th street. It is still a gathering place for the community even after the secularization of the state, specifically in NYC.

As religion is an underlying factor to Harlem’s mood and vibrations, another movement has been sweeping the neighborhood to gentrify Harlem. What will gentrification mean for the vibrant neighborhood of culture and tradition? Will Powell still be looking down the street in honor when modernization might dilute or eliminate some of Harlem’s greatest treasures? Franchises are already replacing family owned stores. Small business owners and jazz clubs still thrive in Harlem since the greatest players have first started their career in the neighborhood. While having nicer buildings and modernization is not a bad thing, it has been an area of concern for builders and tenants to not drive out the residents, the rich history, and culture that are imbedded in Harlem.

Through all the recent unfolding, the intersection of community and spirituality is still highlighted by the adorned statue of Powell. It connects the street’s soul to religion shown through symbolisms in murals and music. Parks are still connected to churches, and songs are still connected to spirituality. Powell is a momentous figure who included the workers of the street and culture of his community. The statue of him as a preacher and statesman will not go away, but what he stood for in the community may change in the future.

The Church Steps of St. Paul the Apostle

Shirina Braun

11/14/17

Blog: The Church Steps of St. Paul the Apostle

Passing the stairs of the Church of St. Paul the Apostle on my way to Fordham every day, the daylight brings attention to the warn in, filthy exterior of the concrete material which shapes them. As I pass these same church steps in the evening and observe homeless individuals using them as beds, it is difficult not to recognize the irony of the situation. These stairs are situated, unguarded by gates or fences, at the buzzing corner of Columbus Avenue and West 60th Street, allowing and facilitating these stairs to serve as both an access and receiving point for the public. Though the steps’ flat, well worn, and grimy surface offers an elevated space for homeless people to lie at night without fear of eviction, the irony of an impoverished and vulnerable group of people sleeping on the cold, filthy steps of a church that supposedly “strives for a faithful response to the call from Jesus Christ in the contemporary world,” is not lost on me (www.stpaultheapostle.org). This paper will shed light on the steps’ vertically structured, concrete material, and haggard and filthy exterior (positioned as it is with open access to the public) as formally relating to the steps’ dual functions as both an access point for churchgoers and a receiving point for the homeless, and how these formal and functional observations reflect Catholic social activist Dorothy Day’s critique of the Catholic church as accommodating itself to the individualism of modern America.

There is a juxtaposition between what the steps are supposed to be, both physically and spiritually elevating people towards God, and what they actually act as most evenings: makeshift beds for the homeless. Though the vertical structure of the steps physically raises the homeless from the streets at night, they also elevate and separate churchgoers from realities of the suffering of those “below” them as they climb these steps Sunday mornings, passing individuals in need, usually without pause, on their way to worship. According to Day, Catholics often use the Christian idea that poverty and suffering will always be around us to avoid fighting for social justice and to focus on individual salvation. Yet, Day argues that Christ did not mean by this inevitable suffering that we should remain silent in the face of injustice, but that we must try to account for injustices of our less fortunate “brothers” from a place of our Godly love (Day 205). Day sees that our natural selfishness can only be transformed by a love “that demands renunciation” of physical, spiritual, and emotional comforts. In response to the dual functionality of the steps given its flat surface and elevated structure, Day would argue that it is not enough to merely tolerate others as the church does by allowing the homeless to sleep there, choosing not to block off the steps at night; the church should insist on its members actively making significant sacrifices, eliminating both physical and spiritual distance between themselves and others, bringing this world closer to its transformation into the kingdom of God (Day 256).

The reality of how homeless people use these church steps each night is a grim reminder of the church’s responsibility and ineffectiveness in serving those in need. The steps’ solid, concrete material represents Day’s notion of radical love as a sturdy foundation to the Catholicism she believes in. However, the steps’ worn down, dirty physique and open street access show how the message of the church became “filthy” over time, warping to suit the individualistic mentalities of a selfish modern American public. As Day explains, “I felt that the Church was the Church of the poor... but at the same time, I felt that it did not set its face against a social order which made so much charity in the present sense of the word necessary” (Day 210). Day sees the church’s eagerness to accommodate itself to American ways of being as harmful to the church’s mission to truly help those in need, as this “modernized” church fails to make the sacrifices necessary to address the broken social system which facilitates so much poverty and homelessness to begin with. Though Day sees the Catholic message of selfless love and human equality as being as fundamentally strong as the concrete steps, the church’s passive tolerance to the homeless problem, which quite literally sits right in front of them, reflects the individualistic mentality that the church embraces. It is the feet of the masses of those the church accommodates itself to which stain these steps, and Day would see the modernized focus of the church, which draws in such masses of New Yorkers, as utterly in opposition to her radically loving Catholicism.

The observations and analyses made are not meant to condemn the Catholic church, but rather to present an opportunity to explore how the form and function of these church steps reflect Dorothy Day’s critique of the church as accommodating itself to American individualism, and as not living up to their own principles as the radically loving and community-centered institution that she understands the Catholic Church to be. The reality is that the social teachings of the church have not “transformed” our world in Day’s sense; these homeless people sleeping on the cold, dirty steps are reminders of how far we need to go, and how necessary the social teachings are, but that our unwillingness to make radical sacrifices hold us back from truly transforming this world into the kingdom of God. Day recognizes the importance of sharing the suffering of the impoverished, promoting community, and fighting for social justice as her duty as a good Christian, and the steps of the Church of St. Paul the Apostle both formally and functionally suggest, as Day does, that a certain Catholic anti-Americanism is necessary for upholding these Catholic ideals.

Work Cited

Day, Dorothy. The Long Loneliness: The Autobiography of the Legendary Catholic Social Activist. HarperCollins Publishers, 1952.

The Church of Saint Paul the Apostle, Christian Brothers Services, www.stpaultheapostle.org/#.

The Statue of Shinran Shonin

“Did I ever tell you about the story about how I drunkenly apologized—on behalf of humanity—to the statue down the block from me?” My friend asked me a couple months ago. Intrigued, I questioned why he would apologize to a statue on behalf of humanity. He responded that this statue was of a Buddhist monk that was shipped to America years after surviving the Hiroshima atomic bombing completely unscathed. Recently, I decided to visit the statue for myself while I was in the area waiting to meet my friend. Located in a quiet residential area of Riverside Drive between 105th and 106th street, the statue of Shinran Shonin stands tall outside of a Buddhist Church.

          The statue is not readily noticeable from the vacant sidewalk as one walks past because it is fenced in upon a five-foot rock platform that is in line with the rest of the row houses. As I walked up from the side of 105th street I was immediately overwhelmed and awed by the sheer height of the statue. My immediate feeling of the statue was ominous—perhaps because I was aware of the dark history that led to its placement in New York City as well as the intimidation of its towering height. Yet, the statue’s appearance is not intended to be intimidating. Rather, it is a statue representing the common people based on the Japanese peasant garb and sandals.  As I stared longer I began to view the statue as a watchful protector of the storefront church. It is notable that every sign or plaque explicitly indicated that the building was not a temple, but a Buddhist “Church”—perhaps enforcing the idea of the assimilation of Buddhism as a religion welcome to Americans rather than being too foreign.

          This statue reminded me of the events John witnesses in his vision during his conversion in James Baldwin’s Go Tell It on the Mountain. The peak terror John witnesses in his vision is the history of suffering and slavery of African Americans. However, the despair John witnesses is not absolute. There is a hint of hope that these individuals were not totally given in to despair and crushed by their history. Light emerged from the darkness and a voice rose from the despair. African Americans were able to endure this history and continue living and raising their voice against it—heard in the voices of his family. Similarly, the energy and the vacant stare of this statue emits this fusion of feelings. The silence of the empty street in such a big city seemed deafening as if one was transported to a time of the aftermath of total decimation in Hiroshima. Yet, among the ashes of years long past this statue remained tall and intact—a witness to the destruction. Aided by the large walking stick, the Shinran statue made its journey to America where on this quiet street he remains formidable.

Ironically, this statue was given a home in the place that caused the destruction of Hiroshima. Although such an object should be a constant reminder of the capabilities of the atomic bomb, especially currently with the high political tension in America with other countries. However, on a small street like this, the statue is often neglected by the small number of passers-by. Many wandered by without glancing at the statue. If they did look at the statue, it was mainly only a momentary glance—not fully comprehending what the statue was. Perhaps they had simply seen it so many times as they walked down the street that they have grown apathetic to the statue, similar to the reactions of Americans as horrible violence such as the continuous mass shootings remain prominent in the news.

Nevertheless, there is always that beacon of light and hope. The woman pictured in the red coat stopped to look at the statue. She was also in awe of the statue, citing its magnificence.  She said to me, “This is what I love about New York City, there are so many sites and history to discover. I’ve probably walked down this street before, but I don’t normally. If you weren’t standing here taking photos though, I would have walked right past it.”

Beauty in Central Park Skaters

On the afternoon of October 14^th, I was sitting on a bench just west of the mall in Central Park with a few of my friends when we heard music in the distance. Intrigued, we got up in search of the music’s source and came upon a large group of people dancing within a barricaded area. Quickly, we realized that not only were these people dancing, but most of them were on roller-skates. We had stumbled upon the Dance Skaters Association of New York City on Skater’s Road in Central Park. There was loud funk music playing and people within the barricades dancing, roller-skating, and dancing on their roller-skates. While the roller-skaters were contained within the barricades, there were also people lined up along the barricades watching and bobbing to the beat; some people were so drawn to the energy within the barricade that they hopped over the barricades to go dance along inside. It was as if the energy of the music was contagious, you could not resist tapping your feet and singing along. Something within the barricades pulled you in, making you want to be a part of the community within, and the people within the barricades invited you in as they rolled by. People within the barricades helped each other skate by linking arms and quite literally lifted each other up when one of them fell down. People of all walks of life, ages, and races were represented within the barricade, joined together in a community of dance and celebration.

This mixed group of people dancing and skating together felt like a clear representation of the notion of America as a melting pot, and as I watched, I felt such a strong sense of peace and tranquility falling over me. Something about watching a large group of strangers literally joined in a community dancing and celebrating gave me a sense of hope. Given the current seemingly hopeless political climate, seeing a group of strangers all of whom looked different join together and celebrate life for no other reason than to celebrate made me feel optimistic. Watching the Dance Skaters Association dance and skate within Skater’s Road situated in America’s political situation today, I saw the skaters’ performance as a form of beauty within a world of hatred and uncertainty. This concept is reminiscent of the relationship between beauty and wickedness that Henry Ward Beecher discusses in his sermon, “Religion and the Beautiful.” In his sermon, Beecher makes the argument that beauty, in any form, can be used as a way to improve the world. The form of beauty that I witnessed was a group of people dancing and roller-skating through Central Park, a sanctuary within on the busiest cities in the world. They used their bodies to create a sense of joy and peace that, though was just temporary, left me feeling hopeful upon leaving. The joyful unity within the barricades, transcended outside of the barricades and left a mark on the people who watched the event. The beauty that I witnessed that afternoon made me temporarily forget any wickedness that was happening in our world. The people at the event put aside all of their differences to join together and have a good time, they left their differences on the other side of the barricades. Seeing all of this, I could not resist smiling, in awe, at the scene before me–and honestly, I never wished I could roller-skate more, than in that moment.