Stories

As I rode my bike down 2nd St, camera in hand, a man caught my eye. Although my eyes focused on the stranger, what actually caught my attention was the wealth of colorful paintings that were populated the highway underpass where this individual stood. A fenced metal wall, taped with paintings from end to end was shifting the dynamic of an otherwise macabre underpass. The man holding the brush seemed to be homeless by the ragged clothes and disparate materials he had with him. As I stood there on my bike enjoying the candid scene that was unfolding in front of me, I captured a few pictures and went on my way.  Roughly an hour later, on my return home, I took the same street and stopped again to observe the artist. The painting had evolved since last I had passed, gaining character and vibrance with each stroke. I took a few more pictures and continued on home. 

As soon as I got home, I started writing down my thoughts on this man I had seen. I was enthralled by the symbol this unknown artist represented for the city of San Francisco; the very proof that homeless people are no less human than SF’s other residents. This very illustration was at the core of the larger story I aimed to tell about San Francisco’s true identity that some often confuse with filth. As I jotted down my ideas, I stopped to think. Surely I could not have been the first to stumble upon this man and feel compelled to write a story. So I looked him up. Within 2 minutes I had found numerous articles about Jaz Cameron, San Francisco’s underground legend who the likes of the SF Chronicle had written about. As I read through the articles, I learned that Jaz had studied music in LA and was a long time amateur sax player before he was hit my a cab in 2016 while working at a shoe shine booth on Market St. This sent his life into a whirlwind; not only did he need to learn how to walk again, but he had lost the part of his memory linked to the one instrument that had brought him joy for so many years. As Jaz’s story unraveled itself before my eyes, I quickly realized I had to return to the underpass on 2nd St to speak with the Bay Area artist directly and write my own story.  

The following week, I jumped back on my bike and ventured towards the open-air art gallery. I could tell he was initially weary of my friendly nature but as the sentences bounced back and forth, he eased up. We spoke for 30 minutes, talking about his art, the state of San Francisco, the story I wanted to tell, spiritualness, religion, and even physics! He told me he had worked at Trader Joe’s for a short stint but quit after realizing the banality of the job. He wanted to be free, to pursue his own happiness, his purpose, and for Jaz, that was painting. Though his perseverance, he built a community that helps him procure art supplies, manages an online website and email account for him to sell his street-art, and finds private clients in need of original city murals or even house paintings. His paintings allow him to feed himself and cover his essential needs, albeit in the concrete jungle that is Downtown San Francisco. 

At the end of our conversation, I asked him if he read books. I wanted to bring him back something to read for our next encounter. To my great surprise and delight, he asked for an intro to Physics textbook, noting his fascination for the equations that came out of these books, appearing like ancient hieroglyphs communicating a hidden message. Each of my encounters with Jaz is met with a feeling of joy, a feeling deep in my soul which radiates peace. The way his face lights up when he sees me walking from afar reminds me of the impact the smallest of gestures, the slightest of smiles, can have on some people. Sometimes, all people need is an acknowledgement of existence, but for some it seems like even that has become a demanding task. Ever since then, I have felt a driving force leading me down a quest for those interactions; those conversations I would never expect to have but that open my mind to universes I could have never imagined myself in. The conversations that leave me walking away feeling more human than ever. Although this time specifically, I walked away knowing I would have to buy a textbook again for the first time since college.