Thomas Crone
Homage to the Painted Monkeys of South City
Night shot of the blue-border howler.
Some months back, I was engaged in a hobby that we’ll dub very literally: “alley driving.” On one late evening knock-around, my car happened to pass a wall that featured what looked like two howler monkeys, or similar kin, each illustrated in mid-shout. The two related images appeared at random, on the back of what seemed to be a white-walled warehouse or factory, without much additional context. This stretch of backroad wasn’t in one of the traditional or new arts districts in town, where you see all kinds of graffiti, stencils and miscellaneous street art on walls, dumpsters and power boxes.
The placement of these monkeys, well, I couldn’t have found them even the next day, despite taking one, hazy, glazy, night shot on my phone. I half-assumed that they’d turn up eventually, but there were no expectations. I knew they weren’t far from home.
Last week, I had one of those marathon evenings. A friend was in town, house-sitting. CBGB closed. Mangia closed. Pop’s sounded good, and Sauget wasn’t closed (that’s impossible), but was enjoyed (it’s impossible not to). After an hour of amazing people-watching in that very special place, it was time to head back to the City. But directions were missed or not offered and, for the best, some couch surfing became the new plan. Hours into the adventure, a catnap was grabbed.
The cool thing about crashing near home is that semi-awkward awareness that the morning hike is going to put you in a very different head than the rest of the world around you. A walker with a lack of sleep cuts through city streets while bumping into people who’ve been up for hours, whether they’re tending their front lawn or installing a pair of stereo speakers or waving from a passing car. (Hey, who was that?) It’s fun in its own way, even extending your dreams just a li’l bit.
There’s a quirky section of the city that sits between three primary roads: Arsenal on the south, Jefferson on the east, Gravois doing its bendy thing along the north and west. Within those “state streets” are a surprising number of sights that you only really see when you’re traveling at the speed of your feet. On intersecting streets like Texas and Oregon and Pestalozzi and Crittenden, you feel a different kind of vibe. There are more shared gardens here than in most neighborhoods, sunflowers cropping up all over those open spaces. There are hand-painted wooden fences, weird plays on metalwork, and a few decorated cars. There’s a cool bohemian vibe and an evident sense of community, without all the hype.
On last week’s walk, I headed down a city street disguised as an alley, just a wisp of a road. As I passed those long rows of kale and windowless, brick sidewalls, I came across an old friend: the red-framed monkey. And, next to it, another remembered image: the blue-boundary monkey. They really weren’t far from home at all.
One’s been tainted by a sloppy tag, while the other’s suffered some general, weather-related wear ’n’ tear. But they’re a remarkable pair, these imps, enlivening the surroundings with color and whimsy.
At times, urban neighborhoods take a very planned approach to adding art. In others, the stuff just appears; no rules apply. In the unfortunate areas, nothing happens; walls are plain, life is plain.
There’s probably a book’s worth of essays describing the local art scene’s work to “make art accessible.” No question, there’s been real money spent on the same.
At the busy intersection of Arsenal and Gravois, there’s a collision of everyday stuff. A Catholic church and a Catholic school, some apartments and parking lots, a funeral home and a pizza place. And tucked away from it, there are splashes of art on a regular, old wall. It’s a bit brilliant.
I sorta don’t wanna know who painted these or why. And I don’t wanna tell you any more about how to find these. And, really, I don’t even wanna tip on your own, personal monkey wall. I’d rather just come across it, lose it, and then find it anew. Heck, let’s make a pact and find them all.
Want more monkeys? We got 'em. Or Thomas Crone's Flickr does. Behold the Monkey photoset here!
