A WORD FROM CHILD 357

I was a known local graffiti artist, I was not a legend, but people knew who I was. I recall the days of pieces, burners, characters and murals in Queens, NY. Alas, the days of being young and wild, a moment of time long gone.

As I grew older, I came to realize that acrylics and oils aren’t spray cans, brushes aren’t fat caps and thin tips. A quiet art room isn’t a train yard, an overhead lamp isn’t a dim lit street light. The two can never compare in adrenaline, in the defining experience and/or the memories created. Spray paint to us fumes was like the sweet smell of candy to us, we loved the scent as we sprayed away our designs. Floral paints smelled like sweets and the pastels colors were amazing. We used WD40 spray caps for painting wide fill ins and our spray paint of choice was Krylon, and Rustoleum.

As I think back now, no words can truly define the addictive rush of painting a subway car in a darkened yard or tunnel.  The risk of getting arrested was ever so real, but we didnt care because with big risks came big rewards.

I recall how we would arise in the morning, the day after hitting the yards. Excited, we would get dressed and rush out the door. We would jump the turnstiles at the local subway stations and rush to catch the trains.  We rode the subway line to our location, got out and patiently waited on subway platform benches with a disposable camera hand.  We waited for the trains which we painted the night before to roll into the station. 

Nights of Bombing

At night, like a fleeting glimpse we would move effortlessly through underground subway tunnels and train yards. The darkness, the smells, the black soot on your hands, clothes and in your nose from subway brake dust was crazy.  Yet onward we continued dodging rats the size of cats, and staying clear of the work bums.

We were  shadows in the night, who were not afraid to go down into manhole covers, jump fences and/or creep up fire escapes and cranes all to leave our mark. As a street artist, we always traveled with a spray can, a marker, a book or stickers to slap on somewhere. I remember vividly the big fat drip markers made out of school erasers and old deodorant roll ons. The norious Uni Markers, oh how magical they were. Each tag we left dripped black or white ink down any surfaces.

These tags were our trademark, our aliases, our cry to be noticed in a messed up world. Tags, burners, throwers and pieces were our claim to fame… Yes, it was illegal, but we were kids just trying to fit in.

They label this vandalism, a crime, but to us it was art. Just a bunch of emotionally messed up kids who found a means to express themselves. Whether it was on paper, in a black book, a wall, the back of a denim jacket or a subway train. It was about getting your name everywhere, and about trying to be relevant in a world that labeled us irrelevant.

Time moves on. 

As the hands of time began to skip through my finger tips, I stopped defacing walls, trains and all else decades ago. I took my art to a digital platform for over 27 yrs.  I honestly moved forward and never looked back, even though it was a moment that truly defined us.

The Present.

After 30 years dormant, I focus now on interiopr designs, fabrications, murals and canvases.  I will not spray paint illegally anymore, for alas, these bones are too old. I cannot run fast anymore, cannot climb fences and walls, and don’t have the need or desire to do so. 

In conclusion, yes I was a vandal, a street artist, a local Graffit writer, now I am just a dad, husband and minister.

Now looking back to yesterdaysm I have to smile. For I cannot forget the cool people I met and befriended along the way…. Some of which I am still friends with today, some I lost track of.

Big props:
Neo Nog, Sur167, Rec127, Miro Ris, Lie, Amer, Tee, Sag, Dash, Ghost, Saint, 2Bad, and Bosk to name a few.

Thank you for being a part of my life.

“ZN One”, ”Child357” & “PhantomXtra”
NOG – XMEN – UA – TPA – POW – DESTINY – TDK – DRUG