The flowers come from the city, there’s a city (in my head) and sometimes I draw, or paint it. One day I was drawing a house in the city, and it needed a flower pot, so I hastily drew some little flowers out of shapes and doo-dads. I immediately realized that the shapes I had chose to use were little elements from graffiti pieces. I guess I kinda became obsessed with it. I think I was also itching to paint and had grown tired of both my name, and letters in general. One of the best quotes to ever come out of my mouth: “There are no rules in graffiti, only consequences”. I’m not saying the flowers are graffiti, and I’m not saying they’re not. They’re probably not. I really don’t give a fuck. Apparently some graff writers and “art critics” do give a fuck, the United States Park Police DEFINITLY gives a fuck. Whatever, I can always steal another boat, but I can’t steal time, and for however much of it I have left, this is where I’d choose to be. I have a long history on the Anacostia, this little abandoned wasteland of a river has been my playground since I was very young. While I have painted a considerable amount of these in the studio, they undoubtedly belong in the wild, on their native river.