As city kids, we broke the rules. We were dangerously defiant,
constantly chasing adventure.
Concrete structures were our playgrounds. Barb wire
fences our trees, old sewers our creeks,
and asphalt alleyways our forests. We memorized the
trails of forgotten railroad tracks; urban arteries that spread
through the city. Befriending the streets rejects
underneath its bridges, we became familiar with the
stench of urine, spray paint and crack smoke. We learned
to see the dark beauty in decay, falling in love with
what society ignores.
Some places are off limits to the obedient. But to us, no
trespassing signs are invitations. Just as wilderness explorers
ascend unchartered mountain peaks, we summit water towers and
billboards. We infiltrate old buildings and tunnels,
their secret entrances like passage ways to hidden ruins. I feel
lucky to be one of the few to experience the remains of
these decrepit structures. Their bodies still occupied by
the energy of their former lives, lingering memories still
echoing in their walls. I breathe in that history, fueling me
with adrenaline and inspiration, and I create art.
My paintings exhaling new life onto dying canvases: a rebirth,
a repurposing, or just a final farewell.