The things that are broken tell the truest stories. A torn poster on a brick wall says more than a perfect billboard. We collect the fragments — the half-erased graffiti, the wrinkled zine, the photograph fading in the sun. Perfection is a lie. Grunge is the truth underneath.
Ticket stubs. Receipts. Wrappers. Cigarette butts. The detritus of daily life arranged into compositions that would make Duchamp smile. We glue them onto paper with dried glue and let the edges curl. The imperfection is the point.
Before digital silence, there was hiss. The warmth of tape saturation. The accident of a microphone too close to an amp. Glorious, beautiful noise. We chase that feeling — the moment when the signal breaks and becomes something raw.
Raw, anti-establishment, lo-fi � beauty found in decay, imperfection, and the overlooked.
1990s. Born from the Seattle music scene, punk zines, skate culture, and the rejection of polished 80s aesthetics.
Muted, desaturated earth tones, sepia, faded blacks. Nothing clean � colors look like they've been in the sun too long.
Special Elite (typewriter) for body � distressed, imperfect. Staatliches (display) for headlines � bold, raw, utilitarian.
Distressed textures, collage composition, rotated/off-kilter elements, ripped edges, found-object aesthetic, zine energy.