Hundertwasser’s Quixote
In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.
An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 
Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 
Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.
"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser
ZoomInfo
Hundertwasser’s Quixote
In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.
An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 
Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 
Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.
"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser
ZoomInfo
Hundertwasser’s Quixote
In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.
An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 
Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 
Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.
"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser
ZoomInfo
Hundertwasser’s Quixote
In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.
An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 
Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 
Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.
"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser
ZoomInfo
Hundertwasser’s Quixote
In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.
An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 
Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 
Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.
"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser
ZoomInfo
Hundertwasser’s Quixote
In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.
An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 
Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 
Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.
"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser
ZoomInfo
Hundertwasser’s Quixote
In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.
An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 
Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 
Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.
"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser
ZoomInfo
Hundertwasser’s Quixote
In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.
An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 
Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 
Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.
"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser
ZoomInfo
Hundertwasser’s Quixote
In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.
An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 
Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 
Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.
"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser
ZoomInfo
Hundertwasser’s Quixote
In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.
An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 
Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 
Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.
"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser
ZoomInfo

Hundertwasser’s Quixote

In August 2013, I had the pleasure of visiting a wholly distinct structure and place all its own. Painted against the backdrop of the Stags Leap Palisades in Napa Valley, Quixote Winery produces some tasty Petite Sirah. Carl Doumani, who created Quixote in 1997 after he sold the venerable Stags’ Leap Winery, was selling. Retiring, really.

An L.A. film crew was on site to shoot a promotional video of the property—the winery and adjacent home just up the hill. I, by luck and marriage, was there. Free to roam the estate for the better part of two days, I roamed. Then came the tasting. Not a few sips and spits. Bottles were opened. Bottles were drank. OK, call it a drinking. This all occurred on the petite winery’s patio, where an eclectic group of people had gathered. Marketing, PR and communications professionals by day; a street poet, folk art painter, East Coast rapper, Australian actress, and a few other Bohemians by night (or, in this case, by end of first bottle). Chatting with Doumani—about his stories as a vintner and about collaborating with an eccentric Austrian artist and architect to design the joint—only added to the surreal nature of the experience. 

Doumani and Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who worked for a decade to build the winery, paired together quite nicely—both unruly iconoclasts who relished poking the establishment. Doumani recalled the artist skinny dipping in the property’s pond and taking an ill-advised hike up the rocky mountainside in clogs with a couple of lady friends (he soon returned looking to borrow boots). Beyond the mischief, these characters connected for a noble pursuit. And the location and setting facilitated both of their visions. For Doumani, he surely got a kick out of constructing a Seussian structure in the heart of Napa Valley. For Hundertwasser, the landscape certainly invigorated his theme of organic forms in harmony with nature. The result of the project—Hundertwasser’s only building in the U.S.—is at once striking and serene. Golden dome, brightly colored (and cracked) tiles, warped floors, curved walls, and perfect imperfections infuse the air with magic and wonder. 

Doumani sold Quixote this week. For the sake of humanity, I pray the new owners honor the spirit (and spirits) of this Elysium, where gorgeous grapes are transformed into delicious nectar, where staid architecture surrenders to enchanting art.

"The straight line is a man-made danger. There are so many lines, but only one of them is deadly and that is the straight line drawn with a ruler. The straight line is completely alien to mankind, to life, to all creation."— Friedensreich Hundertwasser

#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland
Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland
Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland
Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland
Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland
Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland
Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland
Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland
Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland
Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland
Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.
ZoomInfo

#TelePolePoems in #ATL: Poncey-Highland

Check out these photos from my latest installment of the Telephone Pole Poetry Project. Though these #TelePolePoems were posted in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of #ATL last weekend, go take a poetry walk on North Highland Avenue (between Freedom and Ponce) before they’re gone. East Atlanta Village, you’re next. Keep your eyes peeled this weekend.

#TelePolePoems, Take Two
Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems, Take Two
Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems, Take Two
Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems, Take Two
Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems, Take Two
Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems, Take Two
Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems, Take Two
Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems, Take Two
Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems, Take Two
Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems, Take Two
Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.
ZoomInfo

#TelePolePoems, Take Two

Chester Hopewell took to the streets of Candler Park on the morning of Sunday, June 29, for another round of #TelePolePoems. I hit every telephone pole along McLendon Avenue from Moreland Avenue to Clifton Road with a poem. It’s always nice to see people stop and read the freshly stapled #StreetLit. On this morning, a woman and her young daughter approached me to say the poems had made their walk all the more enjoyable, even asking to take a photo of the poet in the act. I’m always curious to see how long they last: Somewhat surprisingly, many in this batch remain midway through the week, despite a couple of downpours. I like to think those that have been ripped from the poles already now adorn the walls of adoring fans. Better than thinking the alternative.

Chester Hopewell adds to In Quire 'Picture Postcards'4

Heather Lang and H. L. Hix are co-editing a fun project over at In Quire. "Picture Postcards" features snapshots of beloved places, accompanied by a brief note about the location. The style of the writing varies as much as the featured locations. Take an awe-inspiring tour around the world without going anywhere. Be sure to check out my entry in the “Picture Postcards” project. Bon voyage.

#TelePolePoems
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.
Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication. 
By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 
I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 
LONG LIVE POETRY. 
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.
Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication. 
By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 
I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 
LONG LIVE POETRY. 
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.
Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication. 
By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 
I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 
LONG LIVE POETRY. 
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.
Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication. 
By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 
I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 
LONG LIVE POETRY. 
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.
Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication. 
By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 
I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 
LONG LIVE POETRY. 
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.
Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication. 
By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 
I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 
LONG LIVE POETRY. 
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.
Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication. 
By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 
I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 
LONG LIVE POETRY. 
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.
Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication. 
By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 
I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 
LONG LIVE POETRY. 
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.
Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication. 
By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 
I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 
LONG LIVE POETRY. 
ZoomInfo
#TelePolePoems
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.
Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication. 
By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 
The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 
I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 
LONG LIVE POETRY. 
ZoomInfo

#TelePolePoems

The Telephone Pole Poetry Project (#TelePolePoems) is an effort to bring poetry to the people—neighborhood by neighbor, street by street, one telephone pole at a time.

Telephone poles have long been used by members of a community to post messages, alerting neighbors of a lost cat or promoting a yard sale. These dead logs of wood punctuate the sidewalks in our cities and towns, serving as an integral piece of infrastructure for modern communication.

By stapling poems to telephone poles in various communities, I hope to remind people that poetry is the language of the “average” man or woman of the world—not reserved for only academia, literary journals, and an ever-dwindling section of bookstores (in those that remain). I hope one of these brightly colored pieces of papers stops you in your tracks and brings a bit of poetry into your day. 

The Telephone Pole Poetry Project, launched a few years ago in Savannah, Georgia, had been reborn in Atlanta. The telephone poles of Little Five Points, along with a few in Candler Park, are the first to be adorned. Be on the lookout in your neighborhood. 

I’ll be posting photos on Twitter using #TelePolePoems. Feel free to add photos of any you stumble across on your travels. 

LONG LIVE POETRY.