I have a tattoo for Nicola Tesla on my left arm. It’s a black-inked hand holding a single orb of glowing light, a daily reminder of our respective strength and individual responsibility to the greater good.
I travelled to three states to photograph the nominal traces and vestiges of a visionary, creator and archetypal mad scientist whose name and legacy have been rendered near-invisible by Capitalism.
His experimental station in Colorado Springs, marked by a mere 8”x12″ sign with the graffiti DRAKE IS GAY tagged across it.
His laboratory in Wardonclyffe, NJ is behind lock and key as a tribe of science-enthusiasts are presently renovating the land they bought through Kickstarter.
His final residence, the New Yorker Hotel in the Upper West Side, has a plaque on his room—number 3327— where he died penniless feeding pigeons from his window.