It was upon the sidewalks of New York City's Upper West Side that I devised my scheme, and it was on the sidewalks of the East Side along 5th Avenue where it played out in real life.

In my simple scheme, I would be the guy on the sidewalk who would sell you a printed copy of a painting of a photograph of a flower, based on the premise that my flowers would last longer than real flowers, and mine also cost less.

Who Doesn't Love Orchids?

When I got to the city in 2005, was clear from the start that New York loves orchids. The live ones were sold in shops all over the West Side, and I'd noticed that the dry dead ones sat for months in their specialized pots upon front stoops and windowsills of the neighborhoods, or went straight into the massive recycling piles which were regurgitated from the brownstones onto the sidewalks every week in the city.

It appeared that few could keep these beautiful orchid plants alive, and I remembered sadly that I had also bought several live orchids over the years with the idea of bringing a little fung shui into my life; maybe I would decorate my coffee table with a nice live orchid and perhaps a smooth round stone, but the flowers would soon fade and drop onto the tabletop and into the ashtray (not sure how that ashtray became part of the display on that table) and I would eventually move the plant outside to die more naturally. No orchid of mine had ever survived, so I understood the difficulty of keeping an orchid alive.

My Fresh 'Prints Of Orchids' Scheme (POO?)

Here was my big idea: I had seen artists setting up their easels and card tables along 5th Avenue near the museums on the upper East Side of the city, and that row of museums was just a skip across Central Park for me.

My plan was to set up a card table of my own, but first, backing up a little, I would search for orchid photos on the internet, get out the watercolors and brushes so that I could begin to paint some flowers-- orchids-- and I would make prints of these paintings, and then set up my table on the sidewalk, where I would begin my scheme, and hopefully sell these prints of orchids to the people walking along 5th Avenue.

Ready to Sell Some Art

I'd found one of those red two-wheeled basket carts along my street one recycling day's eve-- these things were used everywhere in the city, and now I had one of my own to incorporate into my new enterprise. Onto the cart I bound my folding card table and a portfolio full of prints and originals, a few art supplies and a lunch, and across Central Park I rattled-- to the ritzy Upper East Side to compete with the florists and their live plants. A live orchid was at least $20, my prints would be only $5 each-- this was going to make waves in the fresh flower industry!

I set up my table and waited. What had I done? I felt like an animal in a zoo as the tourists poured from the museums to whisk past my display, refusing to glance at my 'street art', but looking at me like I was some sort of colorful barnacle clinging onto the sidewalk, a modified bum-- or as if I was mere spectacle; a curious part of the sightseeing tour, but surely not seriously expecting to sell art.

For a few months, every weekend on Saturday or Sunday I could be found there by the museums with my originals and prints on display, seriously expecting to sell art. I sold a few prints during that time, but I found that my prints of orchids were not my best sellers.

City Life Means Disposable Orchids

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In the City, many people would regularly buy nice electric floor fans in the Spring, then a few months later put them on the sidewalk for recycling in the Fall because there was no room for a fan in their tiny apartments. New York City just eats things, but most of those things end up on the sidewalk, and the orchids are no exception. Too cold for a fan? Throw that fan away. Plant dying? Don't water it, just buy a new one.

I didn't put any florist shops out of business that summer with my perpetually blooming orchids, and I wasn't visited by the floral mafia telling me to stop trying to sell my POO on the sidewalk. Looking back though, it would have made a better story if such thugs had dropped by my little table, with their witty floral quips and colorful threats. Instead, it was nice to just sit on a Saturday morning watching the world walk past my little table.

During my months on 5th Ave, I settled into a regular spot, right next to a guy who sold a lot of little kitchen-sized paintings of coffee cups in various colors. It was always pleasant sitting in the shade for a few hours on the weekend-- good memories from my time living in Manhattan.

The painting below was done from my spot on 5th Avenue-- watercolor on a canvas panel:

thanks for reading, I hope that you enjoyed my watercolors and the story behind them.

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@therealpaul