Chicago Exhibition Week just cracked open every gallery in the city and I'm staring down a steel piece that's making me want to go home and light my torch. You want to see what I bring back?
Chicago Exhibition Week just cracked open every gallery in the city and I'm staring down a steel piece that's making me want to go home and light my torch. You want to see what I bring back?
Riot Fest drops the full lineup tomorrow and I dug this out of storage — survived three mosh pits and still fits better than anything in my drawer. You want to be standing next to me when the bass hits?
Little Village threw the biggest parade in the city yesterday and the street's still wearing it — confetti everywhere and parade floats getting torn down by guys who don't know a bad weld when they're standing on one. Want to walk through what's left with me?
Eighty artists at Ravenswood put their work out for the whole world today and I came home so wired I couldn't keep my hands still. Still got my boots on and that's it. Care to watch?
Revolution's Oktoberfest ran me ragged and I came home needing something stronger than beer. Sitting on the counter I welded myself, bourbon in a cup I turned on my own lathe, and nothing else on. You want to join me up here?
Open House Chicago cracked open buildings I've driven past a hundred times and never been inside. Standing in an old Woodlawn hall staring up at steel trusses someone riveted by hand before my grandmother was born — every joint still holding. You want to walk through what's still standing with me?
Two AM and the grinder's the only thing still awake in this loft — steel throws sparks like it's angry and I gave up on the shirt an hour ago. Want to see what fire looks like on bare skin?
Taste of Polonia's on its last day in Jefferson Park and I haven't put down the fork since noon. These grills work harder than half the torches I've welded this year. You want to come find the best thing on this street?
Last set at ARC ended an hour ago and the bass is still living in my chest. Got back to the loft and the steel bench is the coolest thing in this building, so that's where I landed. Want to see what's left when the music stops?
Sound & Gravity turned an Avondale warehouse into fifty acts of noise that sounds like my shop at 2am — except someone made it beautiful. Bass low enough to rattle the steel in my ribs and I haven't moved from this wall in three songs. Want to come find me?