Sometimes the things I witness in my travels have the power to move me beyond the threshold of my own comfort zone.
This is one of those times.
This is his home. It’s the privacy fencing from a long gone dumpster, in the parking lot of this abandoned gas station, along a highway that used to bustle with daily traffic.
His home backed up to the train tracks that run along this side of the highway.
Homeless Artist, Need shoes.
Isn’t it amazing that even in his darkest days he can still make the time to cry for someone…like me?
You can find his cart beside the Pulaski highway, silently standing sentinel to an abandoned gas station.It was the hottest part of the day when I arrived and I couldn’t coax him out of his shelter to talk with me. I’d like to think it was because of the heat, but it may have been the camera that stoked his shyness. It’s okay because now his face will forever live in my memory banks as the same face of Basquiat.I tucked an offering of gratitude among the plastic cups that held his markers and pens and waved to him as I drove away. I wish him the same success as my favorite artist, Basquiat, but with none of the hardships of fame that Basquiat suffered.
I wish this homeless artist peace and much love.