Years ago Moms decided the best way to deal with my super out of control ass was to send me to a quaker summer camp out in the  woods. I had just started getting up and staying out late, which left moms upset and worried and up late waiting for me show up alive. I would ride the T into and around boston taking mini tags, somewhat shook but determined to see what there was to see and do what there was to do. The summer was just beginning, school was out which gave me ample time to run amuck. At least for the week or so before i was to go to camp. On saturday before i left, I found this park in Brookline. The park had a lil building with bathrooms and a storage space, and it had been painted top to bottom on all four sides with the FRESHEST pieces i had ever seen at that point in my life, i was floored, i walked around that building for 4 hours, not noticing an underpass foot path leading under the train tracks, which was also covered inside end to end with pieces, by jest and tale and others whom i cant recall.  It was pitch black before i got enough and went home only to come back the next day and take photos; which years later would be destroyed in a basement flood, UGH.

So the day after taking the photos i went to camp. I got there and being some what shy and out of my comfort zone i sat in my bunk with my black book and doodled bubble letters. At some point one of my councilors came over to see what i was doing. ‘oh you do graffiti he said?’, I was a lil shocked he even knew what it was, so i said yes, at which point he went to his bunk and returned with a sketch book, that was HOLY FUCKING SHIT one of the same dudes whos piece i had been jockeying like i was trying to win Preakness two days before. What are the odds that my camp councilor would be a writer, and slimmer still hed be one of the people who i had jsut seen pieces by. They were, if remember correctly, done as a farewell before he left the city for the summer to work as a camp councilor for knuckle heads like me.

In the years since i have tried to find anyone with photos of the building and or any other of jests work with not luck. There was such a lack of popper documentation in those days sooo much work went un recorded. At any rate i was at moms house over the weekend helping sort through and 86 any of my old crap still lying around. And i found my old camp trunk that had a jest tag on it, the only one i know off i couldn’t take the trunk so before ti got tossed it tried to take some final photos. They may not seem like much now, but back when it was done it meant the world to me as a lil stupid kid, that a ‘real’ writer hit my camp trunk and helped inspire me to ruin parts of my life in attempting to chase the style train. One in which he probably exited soon after meeting me, haha.

circa 1986