Observing What Lingers in Silence
Hundreds of bright speeding lights whizzed northbound on the Five and provided just enough glow for me to play camera woman. My adult
kid-brother bravely climbed over junkyard scraps and scaled sketchy chain-link fencing on his way to tag a random box truck he’d spotted that afternoon on the drive into town. In pursuit of admiration from my younger sibling, I found myself cautiously climbing over a few of the smaller obstacles to get just the right angles for riveting footage of his recently rediscovered gift for graffiti as best I could. It was a far cry from the comfort of my couch at home and certainly not what I had expected to be doing on this short family vacation.
He'd invited me to join him on a ride to the shoe store and I jumped at the chance for some long overdue one-on-one sibling bonding. We left our family members at the hotel with the promise that we’d be back soon. I set out with him, completely unaware of what we were about to get into.
Watching him poised just so between the fence and truck, focused on the paint, the letters, the drips, the spray back, I felt a strange sense of pride. He was on a mission, fully immersed in his work, scrutinizing every line, every curve, every shadow, making snap decisions with impressive confidence. I was proud to be there, proud to witness his vision come to life, to feel the rush of his creativity as it spilled out into the night. I was intoxicated by his energy - his drive to leave his mark on the world no matter what.
As I watched him focus intently on the side of that truck, I couldn't help but marvel at his talent. But then, a fleeting frustration crossed his face when the spray nozzle sputtered and clogged, and I caught a glimpse of a side of him I hadn’t seen. A crack in the surface. Still, he pushed through, but the energy that had been so magnetic started to feel more frantic, like the fun was slipping away, replaced by something else, an urgency I couldn’t quite understand.
And then, what had started as a simple outing for shoes, quickly escalated into a three-hour frenzy of graffiti tags, one after another, each one riskier than the last. I found myself both spectator and accomplice, struck by his raw talent, his passion, his relentless need to create. And yet, as I stood there watching him, a deeper truth began to surface. It wasn’t just the intensity of his art that spoke to me. It was his behavior, his mood swings, his obsession with the chase for the next tag, his pursuit of the next risky spot. I could see it and I could feel it too. I could feel the part of me that recognized his behavior, his need to create, to keep going, to chase the thrill, to prove himself – even if to no one other than himself.
I know that feeling all too well – the urge to validate yourself through the work, to keep going no matter the cost, to show and to be seen. In those moments, witnessing my brother begin to spiral, I saw how easily I could slip down the same path. I saw how thin the line is between passion and obsession, between creating something beautiful and losing yourself in it, between artistic expression and active addiction.
As the night wore on and the fun continued to fade, I found myself in a strange, tense limbo. His mood had shifted to one of frustration. He lashed out at me in angry, sharp bursts. I choked back my tears. I didn’t want to be there anymore and I couldn’t leave either. I wanted to yell back at him, I wanted to stop him, I wanted to protect him. Watching him spiral was both terrifying and heartbreaking. It scared me. To see him unravel so quickly and to recognize that part of myself in him – the drive, the obsession, the desire to create no matter the cost, for the rush, for the high. How easily I could lose myself in that same pursuit, that same compulsion to keep going even when it no longer feels good.
The experience was a sharp reminder of how fragile the balance is between passion and chaos, between creation and destruction. I knew that line was thin, but to see it laid out in front of me, to witness my brother slip into a familiar yet foreign place, was eye-opening. That night, I learned how easy it is to lose yourself in the chase. It’s a line I’ve walked many times, though I didn’t always see it. I’ve created for validation, for praise, for the high of being seen. It’s so easy to get lost in the work, in the need to prove something to the world or to yourself. But watching my brother reminded me that no creation is worth the cost of losing yourself or hurting those you love. Moving forward, I’ll be more mindful of why I create. I’ll create for the sake of the art, for the love of the process, and not for anything else. I won’t let the chase cloud my judgment or take me down a path that leaves the people I care about behind, upset, or lonely. I won’t let the pursuit of something bigger erase the very thing that matters most—connection.
