STUFF

Fun to watch on youtube CLICK HERE

and HERE

Solo shows

2005  Raw Silver Whale Gallery New York, New York

2014 Ghost Ghostprint Gallery Richmond, Virginia

2016 Exposed LIC Arts Open New York, New York

2019 In The Papers Communitea New York, New York

Select and Recent Group Shows

2016 Live GIrls Galerie Eqart  Marciac, France

2024 Fall Salon Juried Show Greenpoint Gallery NY

2026 Hidden Storie Culture Lab Long Island City Queens NY

Publications (print)

Skin deep issue 271 Jan 17

New York magazine best of March 7-20 16

Tattoo energy 95 june 2015

Total tattoo U.K. issue 110 dec 2013(f)

Tattoo savage issue 125 dec 2013

Tattoo artist magazine 30 2012

Skin deep 218 (f) dec 2012

Inked may 2012

Skin & Ink aug 2011

Tattoo revolution oct 2011

Inked jan 2009

Inked nov 2009

Here’s a little short but true story i wrote recently….

The Body On Third Street

      I saw the body as soon as I turned from 1st avenue onto 3rd street. It was a little less than 2/3 the way down the block towards 2nd avenue. Just laying there on the sidewalk close to the curb with the trash and the parked cars and the recycling. It was late morning almost noon and the block was vacant of others except for the two people walking on the other side of the street. The farthest person was almost to 2nd avenue when I spotted them. They rounded the corner and vanished from sight. The other lady was about 3 doors ahead of me on the other side and heading towards 1st avenue. I tried to take mental notes of her as we passed with the street and parallel rows of parked cars forming a reassuring wall of protection and pseudo anonymity. She wore a knee length dark grey rain jacket, white lady, dark hair up in a knot, large handbag slung over her right shoulder, have a nice day plastic bodega take out bag in her left hand swinging with her stride, eyes forward not even glancing my way, slightly hurried pace. Was it the tempo of a New Yorker going from point a to b or the flight of a guilty participant that drove her steps? She passed from my peripheral and my eyes spun back forward to the body down the block.

      Still half a block between us I began to make out more details. I escalated my own pace. It was clearly a man of substantial size. His head was obscured from view. All I could see was the hunch of his back as he lay on his side in a fetal position but from the size and overall shape of his back I was positive it was a man. He wore light tan work uniform that conjured visions of 1960s midtown office building janitorial staff attire. It was horribly crumpled and probably soaking wet from the downpour we had that morning. But that couldn’t be right. That was a couple hours ago and there’s no way he wouldn’t have been discovered by now. This must have just happened. Literally within minutes ago. It is possible that urban apathy is so intense that passerby’s would not pause at all, but more likely that I would be the first to discover this poor souls final fate. But maybe he’s not dead. Could be a passed out drunk or a junky. But his position looked so awkward contorted and unnatural it could only be achieved in death. His back was a massive mound. Discarded and still. To die in the trash inches from the curb the gutter the dirty street the sidewalk where the dogs shit and the rats play at night seemed like such a sad lonely way for a life to end. 

     I hurried forward. Eyes fixed on this mound of a man. Did he have family? Was his lover looking for him? Is he late for work? He must live near by. Or maybe he had come down town to visit one of our local distributors of illicit powdered and chemical goods. Did he get a hot shot? Maybe he’d been shot or stabbed or beaten or hit by a car or a heart attack or stroke or tripped fallen and hit his head. Maybe I’ll be a talking head on the news tonight telling the tale of how I found this body and no one else was around. How I called 911 and waited for the police to show up and sat vigil with the body until they did. 

     Now I was just a few doors down from him. My heart pounded hard sweat dripped from my scalp palms clenched eyes fixed pace increased. My vision began to swirl and blur. The entire block seemed engulfed in a fog of silence. Everything went quiet. A chill ran from the top of my ass crack rushing up my spine and electrified the back of my skull send ripples of random and abstract thoughts worries fantasies blazing through a mind that struggled to stay focused and attentive to the matter at hand. This body. This man. He called from the grave. His voice echoed through me whispering screaming tormenting. I heard him then as clear as the church bell that just then began to strike noon. “Me” He said. “Meeeeeee”. “Who are you?” I said aloud in an almost unrecognizable voice cracked and weak and struggled to push itself out of my lungs and throat and lips. “Who are you?” It seemed more introspective than investigative. Who was I talking to? Him or me? My skin tingled and grew hot. My face flushed ears burned eyes dry heavy feet stomped a quickening pace. 

     I was so close now. Details emerging with each step. Realization crept in. He was close enough now to see him for what he was. He was neither dead nor injured nor in distress at all. He was no janitor or father or friend or lover or junky. There would be no police. No one would save him. 

    I stop there in front of the pile and wiped a hand across my sweat soaked head and looked down at the wet pile. He was not a he at all. He was a pile of cardboard boxes that this morning’s rain had softened and molded around a bag of garbage into the mass that lay before me now. An effigy formed in the elements to trick my eyes and heart to be hauled away with the rest of the curbed trash. 

     That’s when I remembered, realized and smiled that the 3 hits of acid I had consumed that morning were not duds as I had suspected as they finally started to take effect. I moved along down the block looking forward to whatever the rest of my day had in-store but not back at that body on 3rd street.