Apostolic New Orleans
725 Forstall Street used to be home to the pastor of the Apostolic Upper Room Church in the Holy Cross neighborhood of New Orleans. After Katrina, the flooded house on Forstall street was abandoned, but recently the parsonage has been transformed by artists Rian Kerraneinto, Frahn Koerner, and Anastasia Pelias into a powerful work of art. The project was done with collaboration and sponsorship from ARTinACTION, an organization that supports artists who "work only in areas of New Orleans still fighting to recover from the levee breaks of 2005 and work only with permission of site/land owners."
As one approaches 725 Forstall street thousands of paper ships spill out the doorway, the windows are covered with netting, and the roof is adorned with a large hand-made crown. The floor on the inside of the house is covered in paper ships arranged in swirling, whirlpool patterns and visitors must navigate the house by walking on single wooden planks. Inside is a chilling but beautiful altar.
A recent review of the house suggests that the sensory quality of the transformed parsonage is powerful and causes deep states of reflection upon natural themes of life and death, chaos and order.
Also, visit the ARTinACTION blog and check out the 27 projects this organization has made possible in New Orleans.
- 7-9-08
- Adam Elenbaas's blog
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as i went floating
as i went floating,through the little white church,
i saw the flood of tiny paper boats,
i walked the plank through the congregation of hand folded boats,
these little boats upon the sea of eternity,
filling the empty space inside the gutted church belly,were now the holy fish is made of jelly
with the striped walls where people once sang hymns,
Oh, the storm tossed paper ships we are, our lives tossed through pulp, looking around at the ceiling with the hanging spoons, like voodoo moons rolling through
the Louisiana dawn, the marchers now play a moan from the jazz horn, like fog horns calling the paper parade ships,through the gloom and those southern blooms all blown away now in the silent voice rooms of endless smashed buildings, that once held hopes and dreams
the bare rafters bare witness to the fury of the Hurricane Katrina that passed through its window to God's light,
That pineapple like Ball also hung from the beam above, turning now in slow motion to look all around at the devastation, and holding it all in mute witness,
no gathered folks now in this place of worship, only small paper ships to fill the vacuum, and an art project Apostolic New Orleans