Alleys & Ruins no. 149, Dumpster Dive (2016, Chicago, IL, 10:30pm)

Alleys & Ruins no. 149, Dumpster Dive (2016, Chicago, IL, 10:30pm)
 
A short behind-the-scenes video is available here.
 
Crawford Steel is a steel service company in Chicago's Southwest side. For years, their huge industrial building was always being tagged by gangs, creating an uncomfortable eye sore for employees and customers. When owner Michael Isaacs learned that high quality murals were left alone out of respect, he had an epiphany, and started down a surprising and enlightened path that would transform the Crawford Steel building into what has been called Chicago's Sistine Chapel of graffiti. When I arrived, I was immediately drawn to this lonely, beat up dumpster.
 
The lighting in this image is a bit of a departure from my norm. I tend to stick with colors that might actually appear with city lights and moon light, so lots of orange and fluorescent greens and CTB blues. For the first time I went full fantasy with a light touch of magenta.

This was a 30 minute exposure, again with my 50 year old Hasselblad film camera, and with non-stop light painting.

The WCIU morning show, You & Me, sent a crew to the shoot for a segment called "I Love my Job"
 
In the book, the image is paired with an encounter on another night in a different part of the city:
 
I’m snooping around an unusual pile of trash. A shot could be anywhere.
 
“What are you doing here?”
 
I turn around. A police cruiser has stopped in the middle of this vacant dead-end street. The cop has the door open, one foot on the ground. “I’m just looking for something to photograph.” The cop squints her eyes, not sure what to make of my response.
 
Without taking her eyes off me, she says, “George, everything okay?”
 
From beneath this heap I hear a muffled, “Yeah, I’m good.”
 
Then I notice there’s some order to it. Is this a homemade dwelling?
 
“You best be movin’ on,” says the cop, and I turn back toward her.
 
“Uh, yeah, no problem,” I say, nodding. I start walking toward a nearby, dark parking lot in my continuing quest. The cop gets back in her vehicle, does a slow U-turn and drives away. I keep searching in the parking lot for a possible shot when I hear a noise. I look back toward the trash heap 50 feet away and sure enough, it’s a home. A hairy, ragged figure – George, I presume – is stepping out for some air through a makeshift door that blended in with the heap. He looks at me and I raise my hand, saying hello. He raises his hand and I go back to my searching.
 
Later, I would think about that cop. She knew his name. She knew where he lived. She was looking out for him.