Purgatorial Shadows
Sun baked concrete, grey and tough as an elephants hide, hummed whirred with the cicada like chirrup of small wheels. Standing and observing these freewheeling souls crisscrossing the skate park in undulating lines one figure stands out; his lean torso and wiry arms garlanded with the lines of self-harm, his face a rough hue of effort and toil and yet, set steadily and with steel like determination, a pair of resolute blue eyes, blade sharp and piercing. I speak to him and he is at once conciliatory and engaged. His story is obvious; a huge sea of mental health trauma in which he barely floats, mostly sinks and drowns. Skating keeps him afloat. His nature is easy to see as sincere and authentic but I sense he spends a good deal of time, rocking back and forth like a purgatorial shadow.