Located at 1st and McDowell in Phoenix, Az

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As Karl Addison’s art and vision evolves—from blank slate, to paper, to mural, to installation, to unoccupied public space—our understanding and comprehension of the world around us begins to unfold as well.  We may not notice his input, infiltrating our subconscious—our everyday—but it’s there. A beautiful woman’s face composed of negative space watching peacefully over a cemetery in Wedding, a fragile old Jewish woman towering over a decommissioned factory in Berlin, an urban zoo of imagined creatures deposited all over the globe, an abandoned room filled with 4,500 fat babies…Addison’s art and commentary on history and culture are everywhere, becoming part of the collective unconscious. 

Through his travels to Italy, Israel, Japan, throughout the US, and his current residence in Berlin, Addison’s overarching theme of people and the spaces they occupy and interact with has taken shape.  By focusing on pieces, which work to become part of public space rather than interrupt it, his intent to create regenerative art through murals and other mediums is being actualized.  He has achieved this both independently and collaboratively with other contemporary artists and painters, most notably James Boullough.  Addison’s recent and current collaborative projects also highlight his more narrowed focus of interconnectedness, “connecting humanity around the world with different cultures from different places,” he wants us to value tiny lines, details, to appreciate a world view and hopefully, start extolling minute details of our own.

It takes an extraordinary person, one with talent, courage, and patience, to express himself the way Addison does.  To project his voice and vision for the world to see—to rip it out of a sketch book or a blank page in his mind—and produce it.  To take it beyond the two-dimensional and spray paint, wheat paste, bomb, the side of a building with an illimitable piece of art.  To exhibit in public space—on walls, on clothing, in art galleries—what a beautiful fucking thing.  Art—“a new mode of obtaining power of mind over mind” leaving the watching to the watched. 

- written by jennifer weitman

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<a href="http://www.idrawalot.com" rel="nofollow">www.idrawalot.com</a>

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Pótoprens, Haiti.
Flows of people, pigs, goats, like an exodus of unorganized ants of different colonies who have all lost their queen.  Everyone here is a juggler. Juggling with all that is left.  Balancing enormous heavy burdens on the heads, screaming "dlo, dlo, dlo!!" "Water, water, water!" Barking, singing in Kreole & cacophonic un-understandable sounds at first.  Sweat, dust, lots of dust, heat, smells of damped trash, cleaned clothes hanging on barbwire, on trees or roofs to dry. 
 
Cité Soleil. 
Chaos into chaos.  Naked children running, beautiful, smiling, suspicious & clever. "Blanc! Hey you! Chocolate?" The first words they address you if you're white. Being white here means not being Haitian.  You can be Mauritanian - you will still be white.  UN soldiers.  Minustah. Logbase. Armed Militaries, armed gangs. The armed gangs enhance their "activity" of extortion especially in September  - October. They have to find money to send their kids to school. Most of them with wearing their blue "Unicef" bag -part of the "Go-to-school" kit. But they still need the money for shoes and uniforms.  Jealousy. Treachery. Haiti, Republic ONG - the NGO Republic.  It's hard being thrown a tiny piece of bread and having to share it among so many people. It drives humanity crazy.  

The effort of building some artisan labs in such a place.  Project started, project financed, funds now finished. Structure, built. Machines, given. Training, given.  Structures, robbed, often. Machines, half are already broken. Artists: amazing. Creative, brave. All they want is to earn their living by working, not being part of the gangs. But living and working in a place ruled by them, you can't pretend they're not there. They'll never let you forget they are. Not easy, not at all. Materials, often unavailable, or very expensive. Everything is imported. The challenge: for these labs to produce enough to sustain themselves. Producing, selling, to the rich “Blancs” who can afford it. We're doing it, every day, with a bit of luck, a lot of effort.

But working here, going every day down from Petionville, the "wealthy" neighborhood, to Cité Soleil, one of the poorest slums of the continent, and dealing with all this... It's sometimes just too much. You can't process everything in one Blanc's heart; sometimes it seems too spongy not to drown. It makes you scream from the inside, a long silent scream, before you can breathe in again and start putting the pieces of this scattered puzzle back together.

-Francesca D.

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Photo Credit: Kat Nania - <a href="http://kendonphotography.com/" rel="nofollow">kendonphotography.com/</a>

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Francesca D. Mural - Found In Phoenix, Az