Texture

I have always been drawn to the beauty in the cracks and in the ruin, in the textures of decay. I find it echoes the human spirit a metaphor for the many layers to selfs.  

There is also something true about texture. It’s organic. When I see rust there is a beauty in the neglect. I grew up in public/social housing. I had to sit outside the front door  until my parents came home from work, I used to sit and observe the details around me. The peeling paint off the steel banisters, The crumbling plaster on the ceilings. The cracked concrete. I have an instinctive familiarity with the details of desolate beauty.  It forces you to pay attention. To seek out essence.  That’s something that is very special.