An impromptu/informal memorial for an unknown young man, attached to a tree in Woods Run
On an otherwise unremarkable side street, a single roadside tree stands out from the rest. Attached to it is a bouquet of pink and white flowers, a solar-powered light, and enlarged color photograph of a young man. The subject is both movie star handsome and ruggedly everyman in his plain white t-shirt and stretchy track suit pants. Aside from the man’s face, every square inch of exposed skin has been tattoo’d in an array of text, glyphs, and images.
Of course we can’t know for sure—there is no annotation for the beribboned photo on this back-alley tree—but by now, we’re accustomed to think of these informal tributes as memorials for lost friends, loved-ones, or community members who’ve passed onto the infinite entirely too soon for those who mourn them here on earth.
Shamus/Mikey, Polish Hill
Memorial Day. Let’s do this. In what has become an Orbit tradition, we take a hyper-local turn on today’s holiday. No, it’s not strictly about honoring our fallen members our armed services, but it’s also not about discount mattresses and blow-out doorbuster deals at the mall.
These impromptu tributes—painted on walls and staked into roadside berms, placed in windows and stuck into tree trunks—are the people’s memorials. They’re what we’ll be thinking about this day—yes, along with slaw dogs, Clancy’s chips, and beer from a can—as we memorialize the memorials that are inevitably not long for this world.
Happy Memorial Day, y’all.
unknown, Perry South
detail: “Please don’t think of me in sadness …”
unknown, Homestead
unknown, Manchester
Lotte, Polish Hill
Harley (the rat?), Chateau
“Never Forgotten” East Ohio St. OG’s (sic.), Deutschtown
The classic! A single chair from a dinette set, orphaned and alone, reserving an on-street parking spot. Garfield
Alone in the rain, playing dangerously in the street, a lone chair stands sentry over his master’s cherished sixteen feet of curbside frontage. The seat was once a member of a family—four, perhaps six, identical siblings joined around a matching dining table where the rest of the household would eat and cajole, argue and play. Now though, with that Camelot lost, just one chair is banished to the loneliest, last role of its life—standing on the street, waiting for a car to come home, holding a parking place.
Parking chair with backup cone, just in case. Lawrenceville
It’s strange to think of the omnipresent Pittsburgh parking chair as an endangered species or dying phenomenon—it is not, by any means—but the character of the object reserving that spot has changed significantly.
Twenty years ago, the parking scene was still dominated by chairs that once held keisters at the kitchen table. That image of the single chrome dinette chair, rusting and battered, dirty stuffing leaking through cracks in the upholstery, is indelible if you were lucky enough to see them in those salad days.
That time is past, though. Just look at this collection of photographs—the cheap, stackable, white plastic lawn chair has taken over the market and ex-dining chairs are few and far between. There’s still a lot of variety—folding chairs of every make and model and non-chair “chairs” (we’ll get to those)—but we still miss those diner-style seats that used to dot row house residential streets like birds on a wire.
East Liberty
For the last eight years The Orbit has resisted the urge to park our behind in this most predictable of subjects d’Burgh—it seemed too easy and too obvious.
Parking chairs are also really difficult to photograph well. I know, I know—boo hoo to this guy living the dream making fat stacks taking pictures of street chairs in Pittsburgh—do your job, amirite? It ain’t that easy, buddy. You want to see the chair, sure, but it’s (usually) only interesting in the context of a much larger thing—an entire house or a row of them—that it’s related to. So you’ve got to get this little thing in front of really big thing and then houses have all this visual noise distracting you, blah, blah, blah—it ain’t easy.
Anyway, the oddly routine experience of seeing single chairs randomly in the street is also right up our, ahem, alley. So that ultimately won out, even if these aren’t our finest photos.
Finally, if you’ve got a great parking chair, a photo of one, or a story about them, we’d love to hear about it or get tagged on it.
Taped-up. Lawrenceville
Steelers parking chair! Lawrenceville
Bloomfield
Lawrenceville
Parking spot au naturale, Greenfield
Lawrenceville
Lawrenceville
Lawrenceville
No parking AND no sitting. Polish Hill
Out front and proud. Hazelwood
Parked parking chairs, ready to deploy. Bloomfield
Parking chair twins! Lawrenceville
Chair’s eye view. Lawrenceville
Just in Case You Didn’t Get the Hint …
“No Parking.” Lawrenceville
“Please do not move chair—therapist coming.” Lawrenceville
“No Parking! You will be towed away.” Bloomfield
Parking Non-Chairs
“The Thing” (our term), Bloomfield
Park here and you’ll get hexed! Parking witch, Southside
Parking milk crates, Bloomfield
The cone of toxic masculinity, Bloomfield
Parking tray holder and 4×4, Lawrenceville
The “Anything Goes!” Parking bollard, parking chair with 2x4s, Lawrenceville
Sometimes a picture may be worth even more than a thousand words. “I Lost My Mind” (detail) by Erin Harper was included in Art All Night 2023
There will be time to murder and create. The words are painted and collaged onto a set of five entrance steps to an elaborately over-the-top front porch. The three-story, Victorian-style dollhouse is covered with a blitzkrieg of … everything. Small toys, buttons, shells, bottle caps, and other found objects have been hot-glued to its surfaces along with a loose collage of magazine cuttings, product packaging, and patterned prints. The decoration is not limited to the exterior of the house. No, the walls and floor of each interior room are decked-out, each in a different over-the-top theme.
The art piece, titled I Lost My Mind, is by Erin Harper. One hopes Ms. Harper was speaking metaphorically of both the losing of minds and murder, but she certainly found time to create. It was perhaps the most striking work at last weekend’s Art All Night, this year again at 31st Street Studios in the Strip District.
If you have to make time for just one … “I Lost My Mind,” Erin Harper (detail)
Let’s get something straight: there were boobs—lots of them—wangs too. And yes, there was at least one hoo-ha. In addition to the requisite nudes and soft-porn, other Art All Night perennial genres included sports art, paint-splattered baby dolls, skip-a-little-rope, smoke-a-little-dope doobie visions, skulls, skeletons, and zombies, visual puns, and lots and lots of renditions of the downtown Pittsburgh skyline. This being the first Art All Night since the Dobbs decision came down, women’s rights and body autonomy was an important topical issue.
The Sleestack came back. “Slimy,” Don Strange
These specialties are not the sum of the artwork included at Art All Night. Despite the focus of this piece, know that Art All Night also features landscapes in oil, portrait paintings, photography, ceramics, elaborate sculpture, delicate craft, terrific kids art, and all the rest. The event, of course, is so much more than paintings hung on plywood walls—the mass of people out-and-about, kids going nuts on cardboard, performance art, the drum circle under the 31st Street Bridge.
But it is this collision of the sublime, along with the ridiculous and the mundane that makes Art All Night so special. And what is most thrilling is that these individual bizarre expressions—created as jokes or under the influence of hallucinogens or mental health issues as they may—have an outlet for public exhibition.
What the heck, man? “Brittany in a Sketchy Atlantic City Hotel,” Joseph Heckmann
I don’t know if there’s a gallery out there that would show Joseph Heckmann’s Brittany in a Sketchy Atlantic City Hotel, but I’m sure glad I got to see it. What was Brittany doing in Atlantic City and why is she dressed like a clown headed to aerobics? Does she really have a giant tattoo of another clown on her left leg? I want answers, sure, but Heckmann’s acrylic painting gives us that great gift of wonder—not just about the subject of the artwork, but about its creator too.
A whole different rainbow connection. “Death, Division, and the Iconography of Hope,” Adam Greene
That is Art All Night’s great gift to the world—both to its event goers and its art contributors. It continues, 26 year on, to be a safe space of free expression for every kind of any person to do what they want to do and share it with everyone else. Hats off, yet again, to the fantastic crew that manages to pull this genie out of a hat year after year.
If chickens can have fingers, fish can have legs … and perform on a Vaudeville stage. “Legs,” Casey Welsby
Rope was skipped here. “Path to Pacaya,” Megan D’Jovin
Black and gold and emerald green. “OZ Pgh,” Tara Lee Fedonni
Nun havin’ fun. “Popsicle Nun,” Leah O’Shea
A nun not havin’ so much fun. “The Scorned Nun,” Faith M.
You moss remember this. “I’ve Got You Covered,” Angie Monk
Tom Brady: “known cheater,” artistic muse. “GOAT 666,” The Artiste Reno
Baby on board. untitled, Eileen Cousins
Ernie’s got a brand new bag. “Existence is Futile,” John Rogers
Big pants to fill. “In Case of Emergency Break Glass,” Taylor Atkins
Robot dance party. Unknown (journalism fail!)
Red wave. “The Wave Returns to the Ocean,” Jenna McDermot
Zombified and skeletized. “Speechless,” Brenda Vernon
Flesh and bones. untitled, Lindsay Tate
Fire in the hole. “It’s Fine,” Crystal Berry
Down at the tube station at Midnight. “Wood Street T Station,” Brendan Donovan