18"x24" Adhesive vinyl and spray paint on acrylic glass

12" x 9" Adhesive vinyl and chinagraph pencil on paper.

In junior high school, I had a wealthy friend from a rich family. At his family’s large sized suburban house in a gated community, each of their 4 bathrooms contained telephones mounted on the wall next to each toilet. In this pre-smart phone day, I was very surprised but also very stoked to learn that a telephone could be installed in a number of different bathrooms. I could only guess it is to call for help when you run out of toilet paper. However, as I reflect on this a two decades later I am still befuddled by the fact that you would want to talk on the phone while on the toilet.

These days, newspapers and magazines are ditched in favor of new handheld devices. This means public restroom stalls are now great locations to use a mobile phone to read the news, text your friend or chat up your mom. When I’m in the men’s room and someone is talking on the phone in the stall next to me, I make sure to flush a few extra times and make extra noise (i.e. fart). This ensures the person on the other end knows their friend is in the bathroom, mid-stool. (2014)

7"x5" adhesive vinyl and chinagraph pencil on paper.

14" x 8" Adhesive vinyl and chinagraph pencil on paper.

7" x 5" Adhesive vinyl and chinagraph pencil on paper.

Commissioned by Allied Forces Press for their 8th issue.

American downtown city centers all sound the same. The cliche of sirens, jackhammers, homeless people yelling. The middle class’s return to the city is marred by such unpleasantries that one such newly relocated suburbanite would much seek the solitude and calm of her origin. Watch as the teenagers fight on a the corner in front of the liquor store. An establishment they are not even old enough to buy cigarettes from. Three girls of the same age stand curbside, front row to this maelae. Concerned they are about the boys who they lust for. The girl’s are filled with worry, bloodlust and voyeuristic anxiety. Sixty-three people sitting in fifty different cars ignore this urban teenaged episode. Just another episode in a long season.

As for myself, I gawk. Partially, I want to do something. Be an adult, take authority. Break up this quarrel. The otherside of me wants to see someone get beat the fuck up. I want to see blood and take photos and make wagers. Before I can decide what path to take, I look in my rearview mirror. A strong stream of commuters press me in their automobiles. I should stay out of other people’s business– continue driving. Don’t want to get get honked at. My windows are rolled up, I’m listening to NPR, I’m just a white guy in an immigrant town. (05-19-2014)