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| Rochester, NY |
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| Garment District, NYC |
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| Garment District, NYC |
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| Chelsea, NYC |
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| Midtown, NYC |
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| Edinburgh, Scotland |
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| Transit Museum, Brooklyn |
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| Midtown, NYC |
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| Edinburgh, Scotland |
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| New Haven, CT |
In an urban universe full of readymade stick-on numbers, ugly mass-produced awnings, and just plain lazy-ass labels, it's always refreshing to see a good homemade number. In this case, I'm a big fan of these idiosyncratic, pseudo-Gothic and yet very personable gold numbers on a house in New Haven.
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| Brooklyn Heights |
Today's pick is of my favorite neighborhood numbers, all the more fun because of the serious retro vibe of the whole ensemble. It's a residential building, but the place looks like a David Lynch diner dropped in the middle of a Sesame Street brownstone block. Classy, quirky, and a perennial &7 favorite.
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| Garment District, NYC |
There's something lovable about this one, despite its awkwardness. The crooked 7 in the center, the blunt angles of the frame, the brash stab of red: it may not win any beauty awards, but at least it's trying.
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| West Village, NYC |
This one looks like something dreamed up by H. R. Giger, though I can assure you I found this on an otherwise unassuming West Village side street. I've been squinting at this arrangement for far too long trying to describe it, and it only gets stranger the more I try to make out what's going on. Claws? Horns? And is that a combat helmet? It's either a work of art or an accidental Rorschach test. Either way, it's evidence that you can always get a little creative with your address numbers.
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| Edinburgh, Scotland |
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| West Village, NYC |
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| The Plateau, Montréal |
Two and half years ago, after convincing the Border Patrol that my novel-writing did not pose a threat to the Canadian labor market ("With all due respect, sir," I told the man with the badge, "it poses no threat to any market.") I took the summer off to live and write in Montréal. I pounded away at my laptop in grilled cheese cafés, went for long walks on Mont Royal, ice skated four days a week in a shopping mall, and spoke the language so poorly that I was actually heckled from a balcony by an elderly Québecois couple. So much for improving my French.
But I fell in love with the city, especially the streets of the Plateau. Though I slept in a tiny windowless room, my friend's place had a balcony overlooking the garden, and from the balcony I would sit with my morning coffee and watch the morning glories open and turn toward the sun, plotting my day's work, always leaving time for wandering.
This spray-painted #274 captures something of the spirit of a Montréal streetscape: it manages to be off-the-cuff and carefully crafted at the same time. Then there's that 7. Readers still are up on the air on what we should call the the slash through the middle (See the great "The Snick vs. the Euroslash" debate), but I do know the sight of it always puts a twinkle in my plain ol' U.S.A. eyes.
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| Venice, Italy |
Being an intrepid typographical hunter and gatherer means always being ready for any number that crosses your path, even if capturing it means leaning out of a swiftly moving vaporetto. This was one of my paparazzo moments -- I'd like to think no one was elbowed in the taking of this image, but I can't be sure -- but you can't argue with the results.
