We Went to Norf Philly

Last month, Veronica introduced Emily and I to one of her new interns, Angela. Angela, my roommate, and I headed north of Philadelphia to leave flyers at art and community centers whose owners agreed with Veronica to allow us to promote the MSM Exhibition and the events that compliment it at their locations. I’m from West Philadelphia, not necessarily a safe haven in Philly, the alleged sanctuary city. Growing up, people in my neighborhood had special nicknames and tales of North Philly. Some of us called in North Filthy, claiming that it was significantly more unkempt than other parts of Philly. Others, including myself, called it Norf Philly, eliminating the formality of its name, a play on how improper, wild the neighborhood was portrayed to be.  

In most cases, we drove to a location either absent of windows or with windows absent of light. Almost at every corner, there were entrances to El stops, the police, and groups of wandering with carts, selling socks and other goods or with carts filled, presumably, their own items. Thronging the space between the transportation stations were beer delis and failed stores. Beneath us were untreated streets, and was very much the stereotypical depiction of North Philly that everyone keeps running from, leaving the weeping and gnashing of teeth to be heard in the very black distance. My roommate and I are from other, more or less similar, sides of Philly, so we were wanders in a lost town. We rerouted, maybe four times, using my phones GPS, and often had to travel the outskirts of the neighborhood to get back on track to where we were going. Many of the places were under Frankford’s El line, so when we ended up in Northern Liberties and Fishtown, it was as if the sun only shined in gentrified neighborhoods. Graffiti beautified cemented walls, too expensive for the people whose culture it comes from. Thrift stores propped, usually, next to co-opts, galleries, and cafes, with price-tags nearly identical to regular, high-end clothing stores, and in the residential area, there were homes designed by masterful architects, and manifested by realtors, more concerned with securing their own safety, comfort, and living, at the expense of others’ comfort, safety, and living.

We found our way back into the fire of Philly after stumbling upon the art and culture of its gold, gated paradise and slid those fliers into the creases of the doors of our locations despite whether the places were shaded or locked. The art community sometimes forgets that it is apart to many socioeconomic classes. More Stately Mansions, an exhibition about accessibility, wealth inequality, and removing materialism and enterprise culture from art, was displaying paintings, poetry, and installation pieces. The folks in Norf Philly needed to know that art, truth, and beauty still belonged to them.