Graffiti Wall, New York c. 1965

Louis Draper made this gelatin silver print called Graffiti Wall, New York, sometime in the 20th century. It’s full of contrasts: rough brick meets crumbling plaster, and dense black collides with flat white. The graffiti is like drawing in space—a flurry of impulsive gestures, each vying for attention. I imagine Draper, camera in hand, wandering through the city, his eye peeled for these accidental compositions. I wonder what caught his attention here? Was it the lone figure, a shadow person emerging from the wall, or the tangled mess of lines above? It's as though the city itself is a canvas, constantly being reworked and overwritten. The wall becomes a mirror reflecting our projections and desires. It reminds me of Cy Twombly’s blackboard paintings, all those scribbles and erasures, a dance between intention and chance. Artists are always in conversation, borrowing and riffing off each other's ideas. This photo captures a fleeting moment, an unrepeatable collaboration between artist, city, and time. It’s like a visual poem—open to interpretation, resonating with echoes of human presence.