Tag: citylife

Wet

Wet Streets, Night (2020). Acrylic on sketchbook paper. From my book, Out in the Street, available at Amazon Books. Artwork and text copyright Danny Grosso.

When the lights come up in the grid and the evening sky seems lighter than the day sky, the colors, and the eyes of streetwalkers bleed on wet nights. The neon sign up high is also down low, in the puddle, in reflected gritty beauty. Her eyeliner runs down both sides of her face, though she’s not crying, or maybe she is, or will be when she gets to a mirror. It’s 1984 and the bulky yellow cabs are blocking the traffic, red brake lights dripping into the wet wake of asphalt. I was supposed to wait for her on the corner, but instead I’m under the marquee, drying off, with a blue light above me that makes me look like a ghost. Shiiiiish go the tires in the rain, above the low applause of the drizzle. She will sound frazzled, even breathless from her gallop her through the elements. She will feel that she’s not at her best. She will be inside herself, receding from the damp, receding from me. I will wait here anyway. I light a cigarette, because it’s 1984 and we all smoke, and then I light another, to warm her, to welcome her, because I see her splashing up the sidewalk toward me.

–Danny Grosso

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Buy books! My Amazon author’s page: amazon.com/author/dannygrosso

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Moda IX

Donegal Blanket (2022). cut paper and acrylic paint. From the book Barefoot and Other Stories, available at Amazon Books. Artwork and text copyright Danny Grosso.

The thing was so big he thought he could wrap it around himself twice. Indeed, he was glad the belt had extra length to accommodate the bulk of crumpled fabric when he tied it at his waist. Like a giant robe, or a great donegal tweed blanket, the thing enveloped him, and carved out a new shape to be set against the silver clouds of winter. “If we get lost on the Great Plains, we could make that thing into a teepee,” she said, upon seeing him drape himself in the thing for this first time. It was true that it was oversized, and maybe even ostentatious, with its wide lapels and near-duster length, but it fit well over the layers he wore in winter as he slogged through his day in the city. A dressed up warming device, was how he thought of it, and he wore it often, even while he was looking for a salt and pepper cap to pair with it. When, after disrobing, he threw it onto a sofa, it made a substantial sound that he quite liked, as if the noise attested to his accomplishment of undergirding that woolen mantle all day. He often had to wear it over a suit but he secretly liked it best when he could wear it over thick, dark sweaters and jeans that were tucked into his black, 18 eye Dr. Martens. On those nights you could see him running through the alleys, sloshing through the snow, those long coat tails aloft behind him like some great speckled bird.

-Danny Grosso

Instagram @artispolitics

Buy books! My Amazon author’s page: amazon.com/author/dannygrosso

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Book News

Out in the Street, available now at Amazon Books. Thirteen artworks, along with (very) short stories or verse derived from them, gathered around a theme of being out there, in the street, observing, playing, loving. From a city alley that floods with water and emotion, to a long country road bordered by bending green grasses and stoic red barns, this book takes one on a journey through the inner and outer spaces of a city and its surrounding outlands. There are teenagers visiting street-bound ethnic festivals, office workers gazing out of office windows on stormy days, and joyous dancers careening about the plazas. Full of fun and memory. Lots to see here. Take a look.

My Amazon author’s page: amazon.com/author/dannygrosso

Instagram @artispolitics

–Danny Grosso

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A Christmas Phantom

Christmas Eve (1980-?). Acrylic on cardboard. Artwork and text copyright Danny Grosso.

Back then, when the tree sellers closed their businesses for the season on Christmas Eve, they would abandon their unsold inventory on the otherwise vacant lots. The hawkers of balsam and fir had no use for their wares after December 24, so the trees stood alone in the dark, like pilgrims queuing up for a shrine. In our neighborhood, late at night on that twinkling holiday, a liberator would appear, dancing through the snowy and quieted lots. The legend has it that he would take the forsaken tannenbaums, throw them into the back of his drop-top sled, and deliver them to shut-ins, leaving the evergreens on front porches for Christmas morning discoveries. The recipients were easily chosen, for in that era, most neighbors commiserated with one another, and one might easily determine which of them were unable, due to illness, poverty, or other misfortune, to venture out and deck the halls.

This was much spoken about for some time, and the mystery surrounding the identity of the benevolent phantom was never convincingly solved. Over time, as often happens, people turned to speculating about other, newly discovered intrigues, and interest in the phantom waned. Yet, even now, we are greeted each winter, in one or two pieces of holiday correspondence from the old neighborhood, with news of Christmas trees being left anonymously on porches.

All legends die hard, especially those grounded in the time of willing hearts and kind intentions.

Welcome Yuletide.

–Danny Grosso

Instagram@artispolitics

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