Last night, my roommate Lily and I walked a half hour across Williamsburg to a friend's apartment. It was dark and cold and the streets were quiet, and we told ghost stories all the way. (Actually, what really happened was this: I made a vague reference to The Sixth Sense five minutes in, and then spent the rest of the walk trying to recount the storyline, scene by scene.) Anyway, we discovered that despite being in our twenties, we're both still terrified at the idea of ghosts. We dread walking down our hallway in the middle of the night, and we wonder about the sounds we hear in neighboring rooms when we're home alone. But really, I thought aloud, wouldn't it be the most horrifying thing to come home one night and find Donnie Wahlberg in his underwear, hiding in your bathroom?
This morning, I was delighted to stumble across these ghost paintings by Angela Deane, who adds friendly apparitions to found photographs. There's a ghost relaxing in a hot tub. Two more preparing for a wedding. A group riding an escalator. Friends playing Guess Who. They're not frightening - mostly charming and kind of cute, and beautiful in a surprising way. Those ghosts in teacups (two below) make me laugh every time.
Further reading: on living ghosts.