Before It’s Gone

Graffiti that makes me stop, look, and document before the city washes it away.

Black-and-white photo of a lone figure against a blank wall tagged “AMERICA 1927.” Diagonal poles and a “CLEAR” parking meter add tension and evoke solitude and reflection.
America 1927

Graffiti’s always been around me. Growing up in the projects, it was part of the walls, the streets, the air. Not the kind you see in art books, but the kind tied to gang wars. Names crossed out. Hit lists. Turf claims. Back then, it didn’t feel like self-expression. It felt like survival.

On my walks now, it hits different. The city is full of it. Graffiti is scattered like the city's open diary.

Layers of spray, marker, paste-ups. Some of it’s a name, a tag, a chosen identity.

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