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My grandma Irene went on a cruise a few years ago and one of the most impressionable things about the trip, outside of the Pacific coastline and all-you-can-eat seafood buffet, was that the bath towels in her suite were folded into delicate, white, cotton-polyester blend swans.

Partly this small gesture, in grand scheme of customer service, was so impressive because it was surprising. But also because of the extra effort it took to apply some kind of Martha Stewart school of origami to a simple bath towel for it only to be promptly destroyed by a post-shower patron. She still has photographs of the birds nesting at the foot of her bed, peacefully waiting for their demise. But the thing is Grandma Irene took note at the edge of the largest ocean, between Alaska and British Columbia of this surprising, temporary piece of art.

In Baton Rouge you can see the effect of much larger efforts to put art in unexpected places. Local artists Charles Barbier, Hunter Roth and Clark Derbes have taken hold of the uninspiring, temporary plywood hallway that is shielding the bottom floor of the Shaw Center from neighboring construction. The plywood wall facing the main lobby is now a clustered, abridged skyline of Baton Rouge dancing down the Mississippi River, capturing the hyper-color palette associated with this artist collaborative.

Look beyond downtown on Claycut and Acadian and you may still find a pair of transformed gas pumps that were until a few weeks ago lonely in an abandoned station. They are now playful robot sculptures. Simple tubing and plastic knobs added to a square metal body took a structure that is easily overlooked, and it captures the imagination of everyone who passed by.

Of course graffiti has long taken advantage of the unexpected canvas. But a brief phrase tattooed on one of the many legs of I-10 that straddle the LSU lakes has remained untouched for years: Feel Free. And there is a good reason that this random, unexpected, opportunistic work of art is silently left to exist.

From the cruise liner cleaning lady to the graffiti artists' spontaneous work suddenly remind us of our own humanity in its very absence. The detachment that is necessary to neglect or tear down a building, the cold uniformity knitted into government structures or the plasticity of a sea-bound resort is instantly challenged by the presence of art. It reminds us of the present, not what this pile of rusted metal will become or what it once was. We're no longer concerned with what pending construction will bring, but with what is in front of our faces right now. The artist provides this respite from the forward-facing posture of progress without monetary reward, a public reception or even with the hopes that the work will exist beyond himself. You, as the viewer, just have to follow Grandma Irene's lead and take note of it.