As I was documenting this story, I was fortunate enough to catch my first glimpse of Shorty.

Who seemingly writes upside down.

For those interested in exploring more, there is a treasure trove of images taken from the last few weeks documenting the many disjointed thoughts and messages pouring out of one man’s mind. Stuff like this:

Whether largely due to the challenges of keeping pace with a busy schedule and my own subsequent lack of attention, or the ever-rising cost of living and continual gentrification of San Francisco neighborhoods pushing those living on the fringes further out, as of late there has been a shortage of eccentric artists to follow and document. However, that may all about to change. If today’s findings are any indication, there’s a story being written in white chalk and cherry blossoms that needs to be heard.

On the edge of the Bay in one of San Francisco’s oldest industrial neighborhoods one man is leaving his mark on the sidewalks of a city often too busy to take notice. However, this morning after parking my father’s car where Tennessee Street dead end’s at 22nd, one block removed from a large PG&E power plant and speckled with some of the oldest Victorian dwellings to survive the 1906 earthquake and fire, I noticed from a distance what appeared to be a trail of detailed writing in chalk. Each block of text following the other in a deliberate succession. At first I anticipated reading the political slogans of some marginalized “artist” bemoaning the state of modern urban living and the obvious political and social injustices imposed on it’s citizenry. However when I started reading the sometimes legible messages, I realized it was something far more unique and engaging. Spread along this two block corridor on the edge of the city were a glimpse into the erratic mind of a man and his curious obsessions.

Realizing I was on to something, I ventured into a small, nearby satellite gourmet coffee shop hoping someone inside might have some information on the artist behind this work. After ordering a cup of slow-drip joe, I asked the cute counter girl with large over-sized 1970s glasses and short-cropped sandy curls if she knew anything about the person leaving the writings. Immediately intrigued, she told me about a pair of men with shopping carts, who appeared on in the early morning hours of recycling day, extracting bottles and cans from the large blue bins left on the curb for the city to collect. In between stops, one of the men has been taking time to transcribe his ramblings on the sidewalks, using not only white school-yard chalk, but at times cherry blossom branches and other organic matter. I told her how fascinated I am with this kind of unfiltered expression, especially something an impermanent as chalk and how I like to document this kind of art. She thought it was cool as well and we introduced ourselves. I’m glad she digs it too. I’m hoping this is one of those stories that doesn’t end here and next week there will be a new batch of writing. Maybe not. But either way, I’ll have something to talk with her about next time I need my morning caffeine fix. Until the next chapter, enjoy looking down.

In addition to the flair of the deliberate and highly stylized lettering that incorporates arrows, inverted crosses and underlined letters to draw attention to certain words and phrases, there are also compositional elements that beg further notice. While the author uses individual boxes for each separate idea, the intentional placement of each geometrical shape and it’s spatial relationship to the others creates a somewhat disjointed flow that reinforces scattered feelings and message of his manifesto.

My favorite passage, however, recounts his early childhood years with the Harlem Globe Trotters and Harry Truman’s prophetic words that the Japanese “started the war, ” ultimately sending him to San Francisco for “Chinese eyes.”

The first is the dense and almost manic lecture notes of a pious California woman named Edith M. Glayes. I stumbled upon her writings amongst a pile of old photographs and scrap books at the flea market.

While on first glance of the cover, her almost 15+ composition books don’t seem out of sorts for a devoted church-goer diligently taking notes on the Lord’s divine word in her Bible study class.

However, once the reader opens to the first page, her tightly condensed and frantic scribbles inundate you with a overwhelming feeling of sensory overload. From the first page to the very last, Edith wastes no space, filling the thousands of college-ruled sheets with a onslaught of densely packed comments and observations. Unfortunately for Edith, neither myself or anyone I’ve showed them to can make out much of the content other than the various section titles. So much for spreading the gospel. God had better be able to read hearts, as I doubt even he could decipher her words.

However, hidden within these illegible scribblings lies an interesting aesthetic. If taken as an abstract work, her odd choice of word size and emphasis blends together creating an arresting collage of textured lines.

On the entirely other side of the spectrum is the stunning and elegant cursive from a legal letter penned in 1809. In a time when nuns would rapt the hands of students for sloppy handwriting, almost every learned person had perfected their penmanship. Victorians associated good handwriting with a person’s character and integrity. As can be witnessed in every sort of correspondence or contract from love letters to deeds, the ornamental style and art of penmanship was an important personal skill to possess.

Unfortunately for us, with the advent of the typewriter and more recently the personal computer, society has placed much less importance on this personal skill of decorative handwriting. As with all advancements, convenience and efficiency comes at a cost.