STORYTELLIN’ PART: 3

90034 – Summer 1984

Of imagination

Some sidewalks are just sidewalks, but some are stages for storytellin‘

I used this sidewalk on my street to get to school and visit my grandma’s house, which was about ten blocks away. To me It was more than just a path; it was part of my childhood world. Back then, I collected G.I. Joe toys, and even at ten, I still occasionally took them out. As an only child in a neighborhood filled with gated apartments, there were no other kids within walking distance to play with. My imagination—and those toys—became fuel to my entertainment that summer when I turned eleven.

Hip-hop had entered my periphery at this time, but it wasn’t yet all-encompassing as it would become in the next few years. I was aware of rap Music for a year now as I had found, through a friend, a radio station (KDAY 1580 AM) that played new york rap, along with a mix of los Angeles’ own rap and electrofunk when not playing r&B. I used to pop, undulating my arms and body to the likes of the egyptian lover, Ice-t, kraftwerk, and Al-Naafyish, just like any kid who put effort into it during that era.

I had mastered the moonwalk, had a bit of the footwork down, and could even pull off a small backspin. But these things weren’t front and center for me. At the time, I saw hip-hop as something you performed: you put on a costume, danced around, and then went back home. That summer, I saw the movie Breakin’, and though I was fascinated by the spectacle, I saw it as just that—a show. From the balloon pants to the spikes and the theatrics, this was my first visual introduction to the world of hip-hop. To me, it wasn’t a lifestyle, who could make a lifestyle out of dancing except for performers?

That perspective would change a year later with my exposure to the movie Beat Street. Though it was still a sensationalized portrayal of hip-hop, it felt more accessible and grounded in reality—no one was breakdancing upside down on ceilings or doing magic with brooms. It showed hip-hop as more than a performance; it hinted at a culture. Later, entering middle school introduced me to graffiti writers from different parts of the city, kids who lived and breathed hip-hop as a way of life. But those stories are for another time.

Storytellin’ in miniature worlds

That spot on the sidewalk, when the rains came, would channel water through it as intended. At different times of the year, that little area reminded me of a miniature scene—a diorama complete with moss that looked like a field of grass, a flowing mini river, and a bridge. I imagined it as the perfect set piece for the G.I. Joes, whose cartoon adventures usually took place in exotic locations. I often thought about bringing my toys out and setting them up there, but never had the chance to.

I rarely wandered around the neighborhood aimlessly; I was always coming or going somewhere. But every time I walked over that patch of sidewalk, I glanced down at the mini-world and let my imagination wander for a moment. I was starting to feel something within me—a quiet voice whispering that it was time to put the toys away soon.

One Saturday afternoon during summer vacation, weeks after my eleventh birthday, everything aligned perfectly. I grabbed a handful of my toys on my way out the door. This street had almost no foot traffic, and the occasional car rolled by slowly, so the entire area felt completely mine. I sat by the little bridge, self Conscious a bit, “I’m too old for this,” I thought. But the kid in me won out, if it wasn’t now, it would never happen. So I carefully placed my toys in strategic positions all over that little rambo-style world. I wooshed, ka-kroomed, and cha-poomed as I mimicked the sounds of warfare. The sun warmed my shoulders, the breeze was flowing just right—it was one of those perfectly bright, sunshiny southern california summer days.

And then came the time to put the toys away. I brought them back home, washed them in the sink, and placed them back in their box. I didn’t know it fully then, but closing the lid wasn’t just the end of a play session—it was one of the last times I remember feeling completely like a child: carefree, unburdened, and lost in the moment.

Looking back, I didn’t realize how much I would miss that freedom. These days, my creative process—whether it’s an acrylic painting, a digital drawing, an animation, or a musical mix—is my way of chasing that feeling. My art is an attempt to recapture that sense of abandon: a freestyle session without restrictions, without care, entirely unburdened, and lost in the moment.

I think about that day once in a blue moon and smile—a snapshot of one of my last pure sunshiny days. That memory, like a favorite photograph, remains vivid in my mind, a reminder of a special time gone by that shapes the art I create today.

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