Well, today while the sun is back out, I decided to take a walk in the Warehouses district, where the art district is supposed to be.
( Micheline house?)
It’s a quiet Sunday. Walking down to the warehouse district feels like any downtown on Sunday, without the usual crowd, the traffic, the vibe. It’s as though the city is on break. Oh wait, that’s because all the galleries are closed on Sunday! What? This is not Chick-Fil-A, so it’s just out of laziness that they are closed? Bummer!
This part of the town consists of mostly converted warehouses and lofts. Strangly, a lot of “art districts” in the US are very similar, like Miami, NYC, Detroit and so on. Seems like artists are like roaches that find abandoned buildings and cracks in the wooden panels places that they feel comfortable in and thrieve. That’s fine, but don’t freaking close shop when I’ve driven over 1000miles to see you!
( Who's da rockstar here?)
Wondering on the street in the blazing sun, I had oyster poboy and freshly brewed iced tea for lunch…..
How’s the poboy? I have to say, not that good. The oyster isn’t that flavorful which is unusual. The bread is a bit chewy. The best oyster poboy I’ve had so far is at Sxi Feet Under restaurant in Atlanta. It comes with cole slaw that has wasabi in it, very unique and authentic in its own ways. This poboy pales in both taste and sophistication, and is much more expensive.
It seems that the town is taken over by hotels. There’s Hilton Garden Inn all over the place, using different buildings as different themes. Marriott also has a big presence here. I’d say that 50% of the buildings I walked by are taken over by hotels. If New Orleans is this dependent on tourism, that’s pretty damn risky.
Walking on back towards the French Quarter, I wanted to visit some of the spots that I was at last night with better lighting. Surprisingly, there are way more art galleries on Royal Street than the entire warehouse district! And they are open!
The art galleries on Royal street aren’t the usual uptight high-art type of gallery. They are unique in different ways, unconventional, radical, comical and somewhat local. One eye-catching one is the Blue Dog by George Rodrigue, who started painting this particular image of a dog 25 years ago to illustrate a dog character in a folk tale. Ever since, he’s stuck with it, repeated the same image on pretty much anything you can think of, and like Frank Ghery, he hasn’t moved on yet. After two days of seeing the dog image every where in the city, I am already sick of it.
BTW the dog looks like it’s stoned on weed.
Entering a gallary that has a collection of somewhat more casual pieces, I saw a back door that leads to a back court yard. I was granted permission to walk through it. It was then I realized that every block in the French Quarter has its own central court yard, something that street tourists will not see. It is very interesting how the French-Orleans style architecture extends to the private space. Decks and decks of balcony, some looks more steady and strong than others, defines the community by its usage of space. It’s very tight, but cosy. The tightness reminds me of slum, but the atmosphere makes the space feeling very livable, like old tightly knit communities where old folks will sit on rocking chairs all day at the balcany and kids will help moms hang bed sheets on the railings to dry. I can already imagine the golden days at the French Quarter.
Now, it’s just drunkards, tourists, hobos, skanky dressed girls and drunk skanky hobos who happen to be a tourist. I cannot imagine living in an apartment in the French Quarter. I think it’s way more intense than to live in NYC.
Perhaps that’s why I am a tourist, yet to be drunk or skanky, but close to being a hobo.
More photos click HERE!!!
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