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On this street just a few years ago, homeless men lurched through the
night seeking a safe space where they could unroll their blankets, uncap
paper-bagged bottles and huddle against the cold.
The scene was something that Goya or Edward Hopper might have painted, filling a canvas with slumping, shrunken figures cowering in palette-knifed shadow.
But now this portion of 2nd street east of Broadway has become a plaza at the heart of the Santa Ana Artists Village. And on the first Saturday of every month, a painter could capture its essence by emulating the vibrant stipples and brushstrokes of Georges Seurat (whose circus performers soar and turn somersaults), Camille Pissarro (whose pedestrians bustle down the Boulevard Montmartre), and Claude Monet (whose impoverished painters converse at a table piled with empty cups and plates).
“Every artist dips his brush in his own soul,” said renowned preacher Henry Ward Beecher, “and paints his own nature into his pictures.”
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