Abandoned steel mills, factories, and skyscrapers provide the images of what once was, and what might be, in a city saturated with heartbreak yet luminous with a kind of poetic beauty. Smokestacks and graveyards sift through the desperate eyes of youth dreaming for something more. The relentless courage siphoned from the generations before is reserved and placed in the hands of the ones that will document the lives, the stories, and the places that will soon outlive the darkness. This is my love, tired but restless, unable to lie down and forever refusing to give in to the minds of the broken and bitter.
Blackholes believed to be full of art now project, with their magnetic fields, to no longer be overshadowed. Space and time have given birth to numbers and letters and the writers that will someday release the backdrops of tomorrow.
Jesse Payne is a voice. Jesse Payne is an instrument.
Jesse Payne is human.