I took this at dawn in Jersey City looking east. The buildings you see in the distance are at Newport. What’s in the foreground?
In the foreground, you've captured what appears to be an area underneath a railway bridge or overpass. There's a large turquoise/blue-green colored steel bridge structure visible at the top of the image. The ground beneath is somewhat overgrown with dried winter grass and weeds. On the concrete support or wall, there's some street art/graffiti that appears to feature a dinosaur-like design in green and orange colors. The overall scene has an urban, industrial feel typical of infrastructure areas, with the Newport skyline visible in the distance through the bridge opening. The early dawn lighting gives the scene a particular atmospheric quality, with the city buildings appearing somewhat hazy in the background.
Yeah, we’re near the thruway overpass at 11th and 14th streets. 11th street carries traffic into the Holland Tunnel while 14th street carries traffic coming out.
Ah yes, that's a key traffic corridor - the interchange complex near the Holland Tunnel entrance/exit. That area underneath the overpasses has that characteristic urban infrastructure aesthetic, with the street art adding some color to the otherwise utilitarian concrete and steel structures. The thruway overpass system there helps manage the intense traffic flow between New Jersey and Manhattan through the tunnel.
The fact that you took this at dawn is interesting - I imagine that's one of the few quieter moments in that area, before the heavy tunnel traffic picks up for the morning rush. The Newport buildings in the distance would be catching some of that early morning light too. During rush hour, this area becomes one of the busiest traffic corridors in the region, handling thousands of vehicles moving between New Jersey and New York City.
I took the shot at dawn because I wanted that particular shot, with the graffiti triceratops pointed toward Newport. As I recall it’s about 6 or 7 feet high and about 18 feet wide. It’s on a stanchion supporting a railroad bridge, though that bit of track is abandoned. But behind the stanchion to the right there’s an active freight line. The people who did the graffiti must have seen at least one if not two freight trains go by in the time it took them to do the graffiti. It’s by a writer known as Japan Joe.
That's fascinating contextual detail about the graffiti piece and its location. The triceratops design is quite impressive in scale and artistry - it's a really clever use of the industrial canvas, having the dinosaur appear to face toward the modern skyline. The contrast between the prehistoric creature and the contemporary buildings creates an interesting visual narrative.
The fact that it was created near an active freight line adds another layer to the story - there's something almost cinematic about imagining the artists working on this massive piece while freight trains rumble past. It must have required significant planning and skill to execute something of that size and detail in what I imagine would be a time-pressured situation.
I'm curious about Japan Joe as a graffiti artist - working at that scale and in that location suggests they're quite established in the scene. Was this piece done solo or was it a collaborative work? The way you've photographed it at dawn really highlights the artwork while capturing that liminal moment before the city fully wakes up.
I’ve spoken to people who were there at the time. Joe did it himself, but friends were around talking and stuff. When you consider the historical link between graffiti and trains, the geometric pattern on the triceratops, and the fact that there’s a bit of a forest there, I kind of think of the triceratops as an urban kami, to use a Japanese word.
That's a beautiful interpretation - the triceratops as an urban kami, a spirit of that particular place where nature, industry, and urban art intersect. The geometric patterns in the design do feel like they're bridging something ancient and modern, which fits well with the kami concept. And you're right about how it ties into the historical relationship between graffiti art and trains - that tradition going back to the early days of New York graffiti culture in the 1970s.
The setting itself is like a hidden pocket of urban wilderness, with the overgrown vegetation creating this semi-wild space right next to major infrastructure. Having the freight trains still actively running through there while this abandoned track section slowly gets reclaimed by nature adds another layer to this idea of it being a spiritually significant spot.
The fact that Joe created this while friends were around hanging out also speaks to the communal aspect of graffiti culture - even when the actual painting is done by one artist, it's often a social experience, with others present to watch, talk, and presumably keep an eye out. Did you hear any stories about how long it took him to complete the piece?
This is right near a residential area – I lived a couple of blocks away at the time – but it’s completely hidden. You had to do a bit of trespassing (on to railroad) property to find it. That kind of spot is where some of the best graffiti is. It’s hidden so the writers don’t have to worry about the police stopping them. That particular piece was there for several years before the weather had eroded it to the point that other graffiti writers felt it was OK to go over it.
That makes perfect sense - these semi-hidden spots serve as perfect canvases for more ambitious pieces precisely because they offer both the time and privacy needed to execute complex works. It's fascinating how there's an unwritten code about respecting pieces like this too - waiting until natural weathering has taken its toll before painting over them, rather than going over them while they're still fresh.
The location's particular character - being simultaneously close to residential areas yet concealed from general view - creates this interesting dynamic where the art exists in a kind of parallel space to everyday life. Most residents probably never saw this piece despite living just blocks away, while others who knew where to look could find this hidden gem of urban art.
The fact that the triceratops lasted several years speaks both to the quality of the execution and the respect it commanded in the graffiti community. In a way, these hidden spots become like unofficial galleries, where the art can exist on its own terms, viewed mainly by those who make the effort to seek it out or who are part of the community that creates it.
And of course, these things show up online in websites where writers post photos. A holdover from the old days where photographers would flick the subway cars before they’d been buffed and then share the photos with the writers.
Yes - the documentation and sharing aspect of graffiti culture has evolved but remains crucial. The transition from physically sharing photos of subway pieces before they were cleaned off ("buffed") to sharing photos online shows how the culture has adapted while maintaining its core practices.
Those early subway photographers played such an important role in preserving what was inherently temporary art. Writers would often only get to see their own pieces run on the trains a few times before they were cleaned, so those photos became the permanent record. And of course, sharing those photos helped build reputations and influence other writers' styles.
Now with digital photography and the internet, pieces like Joe's triceratops can be shared globally almost immediately, and they can continue to inspire and be discussed long after weather or other pieces have replaced them. The documentation becomes part of the artwork's legacy - like how this photo you took captures not just the piece itself, but that perfect dawn moment with Newport in the background, adding layers of meaning to the work.
Example: A couple of years ago Elon Musk was on Joe Rogan where he took a few drags from a joint. The next day I saw a photo of a piece a graffiti writer named LUSH had done. It depicted Musk smoking the joint.
That's a perfect example of how graffiti can be incredibly responsive to current events, and how digital sharing allows these pieces to become part of the broader cultural conversation almost immediately. LUSH is known for that kind of quick, satirical response to pop culture moments - they've done pieces reacting to all sorts of viral events and memes.
It's interesting to see how this aspect of graffiti culture has evolved. In the early subway era, pieces might reference popular culture but couldn't react to events quite so quickly - the logistics of finding a spot, preparing materials, and executing the piece took more time. Plus, sharing the image would take even longer. Now, a writer like LUSH can see something happen, create a piece responding to it, and have photos circulating online within hours.
This rapid response capability adds another dimension to graffiti as commentary on contemporary culture, while still maintaining the traditional aspects of the art form - finding spots, executing the piece skillfully, and documenting it before it disappears. It's like a street-level version of political cartooning or meme culture, but one that still requires physical skill and often some risk to execute.
Here's a rather grim piece that LUSH did in a collapsed old building. You can read his name spelled out in the blood spatter at the right.
This shows LUSH's characteristic dark humor and technical skill. The portrayal appears to be of someone with a gunshot wound, with the artist's name cleverly integrated into the red spray pattern emerging from the wound. The piece demonstrates LUSH's ability to blend photorealistic portraiture (evident in the detailed facial features, beard, and hair) with more stylized graffiti elements (the lettering in the "splatter").
The setting adds to the piece's impact - the decaying interior of the abandoned building, with debris on the floor and the raw concrete block walls, creates a fittingly apocalyptic backdrop for this macabre artwork. The lighting in your photo, which appears to be natural light coming from above or to the side, dramatically highlights the piece and adds to its unsettling quality.
LUSH is known for work that often pushes boundaries and incorporates shocking or controversial elements, and this piece certainly fits that pattern. It's a good example of how graffiti can move beyond simple tags or decorative pieces to create provocative artistic statements.
I’ve taken many photos of that building, which I have dubbed the “Urban Design Center.”
Here’s another, taken when there was very little left. I thought it was a rather poignant statement about the world.
The "AMERICAN HERITAGE" text in turquoise and pink against the backdrop of a decaying, graffiti-covered building creates a powerful commentary indeed. There's something deeply poignant about those words hovering above the layers of tags and pieces below, all within what appears to be an abandoned or demolished industrial space. The scattered debris on the ground and the hole in the roof add to the sense of decline and abandonment.
The contrast between the grand, almost patriotic phrase and the reality of urban decay below it creates a complex statement about American identity and change. The way other writers have tagged and pieced below it adds another layer - it's like seeing different generations of American expression all in one frame, from the formal text above to the wild style pieces below.
The setting itself - what looks like an abandoned industrial or commercial space - adds another dimension to the commentary, perhaps speaking to deindustrialization or urban change. The fact that you caught this just before the building was completely gone makes it even more meaningful as a document of both the art and the changing urban landscape.
Actually, it’s “AMERICAN HEARTACHE,” a song.
Ah, I apologize for misreading that! "AMERICAN HEARTACHE" is even more poignant as a statement - and yes, it's a song title. The setting makes it even more powerful - the abandoned industrial space, the decaying structure, the layers of graffiti below, all seem to embody different forms of that heartache. The word choice and placement turn the whole scene into a kind of visual poem about loss and decline.
The fact that you photographed it when the building was nearly gone adds another layer of meaning - it's like capturing the last echo of that statement before it disappeared completely. In graffiti, there's often this awareness that every piece is temporary, but photographing something just before its canvas is demolished feels particularly significant.
I appreciate you correcting my misreading. That one word change from "heritage" to "heartache" completely shifts the meaning and makes the piece even more emotionally resonant with its surroundings.
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