As Karl Addison’s art and vision evolves—from blank slate, to pen, to paper, to t-shirt, to mural, to installation, to unoccupied public space—so does our understanding and comprehension of the world around us.  We may not notice his input, infiltrating our subconscious—our everyday—but it’s there.  Negative space filled with a lonely boy’s heart of bricks, a surprise polar bear attack in an alley famous for its gum wall graffiti, and a giant squid eating an octopus, giving lush tones of deep blue and magnetic orange to an otherwise dismal neighborhood.  Addison’s art is everywhere, following us wherever we go, whether we know it or not.  His purpose (it seems) is three-fold: to amuse us the first time we discover one of his pieces, to draw us in—inviting us to take a closer look, and to make us stop and see every minute detail—and in a sense, to stop and see him.  He wants us to value his tiny lines, his details, to appreciate his world-view and hopefully, start extolling the tiny details in our own lives.

It takes an extraordinary person, one with talent, courage, and patience, to express himself the way Addison does.  To project his voice and vision for the world to see—to rip it out of a sketch book or a blank page in his mind—and actualize it.  To take it beyond the two-dimensional and spray paint, wheat paste, bomb, the side of a building with a prodigious piece of art.  To exhibit in public space—on walls, on clothing, on album covers, in art galleries—what a beautiful fucking thing.  Graffiti—“a new mode of obtaining power of mind over mind” leaving the watching to the watched. 

- written by jennifer weitman