Near the studio there was an old railway crossing. Like something out of a film scene… right on the edge of the ghetto. Bad graffiti, dark corners. Rotten planks, cold steel. Thick steel rivets. Surprisingly friendly street gangs—seriously. Somehow it all felt like just after the war.
This footbridge, this railway crossing, was my thing for a long time. I kept seeing it, and I wanted to bring it onto paper again and again, in one way or another.