Children draw in the street. Photo: Alykhan Mohamed / Asakura Robinson
Two men appear to bond over their green bicycles. Photo: Brett Sillers.
More chalk in the street. Photo Brett Sillers.
An empty lot converted into a tennis court. Photo Brett Sillers.
Graffiti artist and police. Photo: Brett Sillers.
A beautiful underpass? Photo: Brett Sillers
Keiji Asakura on Astroturf. Photo: Alykhan Mohamed / Asakura Robinson.
Car crossing. Photo: Alykhan Mohamed / Asakura Robinson
This car slipped through the barricades. Photo: Alykhan Mohamed / Asakura Robinson
Photo: Alykhan Mohamed / Asakura Robinson.
Photo: Brett Sillers.
Photo: Brett Sillers.
Laura Spanjian, Susan Christian, and Mayor Annise Parker with other participants. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Art scooters. Photo Brett Sillers.
Photo: Brett Sillers.
Those new-fangled shoes. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Dan Morgan, the mobile DJ and bicycle activist. Photo: Brett Sillers.
B-cyclists abounded. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Skyline at Preston Bridge. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Photo: Brett Sillers.
Crossing the street to and from Market Square. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Bike Barn's pedal-powered margarita machine at Market Square Park. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Cooling off with Menchies Frozen Yogurt at Market Square Park. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Photo: Brett Sillers.
"The fruits of this earth belong to us all, and the earth itself to nobody. No human being is illegal." Photo: Brett Sillers.
Photo: Brett Sillers.
Art market. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Photo: Brett Sillers.
Photo: Brett Sillers.
Line for shaved ice. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Ride along with Andrew Cobb. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Rest. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Asleep. Photo: Brett Sillers.
Panorama from Asakura Robinson. Photo Tara Mather / Asakura Robinson.
"This city bristles with malice," writes Mike Davis in his essay, "Fortress Los Angeles: The Militarization of Urban Space," published more than 20 years ago. He gives a bleak portrayal of a city walling off its neighborhoods, shopping enclaves, and corporate offices. Pervasive fear made physical with buildings that turn away from streets and landscapes of moats, fences, and surveillance. Though Davis is making a critique, he is so relentless you come away paralyzed with fear of the fear.
Our streets in Houston can be so devoid of life and the landscape of fear so deeply embedded, physically and psychologically, that the appearance of people seems ominous. At the May 4 Sunday Streets HTX held on Westheimer, a number of participants said the event resembled a scene from a zombie movie. After all, the cars disappeared and the streets filled with aimless people. Last Sunday, June 1, at the final of the three pilot Sunday Streets, the impression of an impending apocalypse was even stronger. A two-mile stretch along Washington Avenue and Preston from Studemont to Market Square Park was closed to cars. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon. But we were on the other side of fear. The city estimates that 22,000 people made the June 1 Sunday Streets the success that it was. It didn't rain in the end, and if it had, the street may have erupted into an even more intense state of jubilation.
I was afraid this final Sunday Streets pilot would not work. Maybe parking would become a nightmare. Maybe trash would be left behind. Business owners might be upset. The route itself is dominated by blank walls, parking lots, highway overpasses. As you can see in the images below, however, the landscape of fear was inverted.
