Today I saw a wheatpaste graphic on some safety glass about nine feet off the ground. It was in a little door jamb that had it’s loading dock or stairs removed at some point. I tested the handle to see if it was stable enough to pull on in order to launch myself up. No dice. The last thing I need to do is get an additional three feet off the ground and pull a Devon by going Hulk all over a door handle. A window in a car behind me rolls down, “Sir, can I help you?” I get this a lot in the mornings. I’m roaming alleys with a backpack, clean clothes, iPhone out, and smiling. I’m not your standard fare for the alleys in Seattle at 7:30am. I told him that I shoot a photo a day on my way in to work, mostly focusing on graffiti in Seattle. He said that the garage is closed and if I wanted in I’d have to go around front. I reiterated that I didn’t want anything to do with his garage with the exception of a blessing to scale the wall a bit and snap a couple photos. Blessing given, I tossed down my backpack, grabbed onto the metal mesh to the left of the door, door jamb on the right and shot up to the jamb. Carefully leaning out as far as I safely could, I popped a few photos then thanked him again.

Good, bad, or otherwise I have to say, graffiti has helped me have more conversations with non-commuters in Seattle than anything else to date. The destructive beauty of it seems to mutually break down and build up barriers. It all depends on whether or not you’re looking to stay behind your shelter or scale it and enjoy the view from a different vantage point.