The Photography of Helen Levitt

I've got the post-Halloween blues. Now it's that awful time of year when everyone gets hyped up for spending money and underwhelming family holidays. Don't get me wrong—I love winter. The quiet, the stillness, the oh-so-satisfying crunch of fresh snow under your boots. There's something so indefinably relaxing about the cold. At the same time, I'll miss the fiery leaves and spooky excitement of October.

As we move toward the end of the year, here's one last gasp of Halloween goodness, courtesy of Helen Levitt.

Levitt was a photographer who spent her life in New York. Born in Brooklyn in 1913, she developed an interest in photography after dropping out of high school. She became known for her "street photography," documenting everyday life in New York City, and she died in 2009 at the age of 95.

(As an aside, the idea of "street photography" fascinates me. While it has definite merits as an honest and candid form, it's also easily inclined toward exploitation—accidental or otherwise. Perhaps I'll flesh out these thoughts more in a future post.)

Nonetheless, I like these photos because of how they convey the excitement and idleness of a child's Halloween. They remind me of the eagerness I felt as a kid before trick-or-treating, and the exhaustion I felt afterward.

On this day after, I wish you rest and lots of candy.

NYC, 1940

NYC, 1940

Sudden Impact

Last Friday night, I took a walk to Gillham Park and wandered around the storied old wading pool.

Built in 1977, it replaced an earlier wading pool from 1913. Because this was Kansas City in the '70's, the new pool was heavily informed by Modernist architecture: lots of low, flat, rectilinear concrete planes lead gradually into the shallow pool, which was only three feet at its deepest. This practical design meant that, though there wasn't much shade, parents and friends could nestle into the elevated concrete corners with a clear view of swimmers. It also allowed for closer proximity among strangers, as the segmented planes dictated a certain degree of personal space while still allowing visitors to sit close to one another and, perhaps, strike up a conversation. By many accounts, people felt safe and relaxed here, like they were part of a community.

The pool, which lacked a pumping and filtration system, was eventually shut down last summer after its thirty-ninth year. This represented, for many folks, a significant loss. Gillham Park had one of the few free pools in the city, which meant that it was accessible across socioeconomic boundaries. It was seen as a friendly and welcoming neighborhood space.

Neighborhood groups are currently working to raise money for a nearby spray park. This potential project would be an adequate replacement for the beloved pool, which now sits empty. Its plain white interior has become a free canvas for local artists and bored kids. Though I doubt the pool will remain the gathering space it once was, I'll watch these walls nonetheless.

"Bouncy bouncy—it's such a good time"

Southbound