VANDAL VISIONS: A night at the Katz Motel

The Unexpected Guest

Today, we hear the story of a group of writers and their mission for fame, their encounter with an unexpected guest, and living to paint another day.

Gather ‘round Old heads, new kids and toys alike. Today, we hear the story of a group of writers and their mission for fame, their encounter with an unexpected guest in the Katz Motel and living to paint another day.

The sky is clear. Their plane descends towards the runway and the excitement kicks in as sleep wanes. It’s a short flight with one mission in mind— to paint steel. 

Coordinating with their local plug, all their tools and materials are ready ahead of time and waiting for them.

An aspect amongst writers is the mission oriented, resourceful natures that presents itself when seeking out these experiences. 

Another is the ‘Terminator - esque’ trait of scanning the environment for potential things to paint.

It makes driving a pain because I want to take in everything. Every tag, scribe, throw, rooftop etc.

Heading for their destination excitement ensues as they all seem to notice the large, seemingly abandoned hotel right off the roadway. A perfect opportunity to display their names for the morning commuters and local writers alike.

“ Yo blockbuster pieces would go crazy if we paint it on the glass”

Tabling the idea, they press onwards to the yard, emptying cans on the lines of freight cars. Rocks and gravel crunching underneath their feet. They trek through a hidden path in the woods. Single file, militant, they move a coordinated attack against the steel, painting names on the cars with a variety of colors and styles and leaving no trace- almost as if ghosts were there and then gone again. 

They quickly exit, saying goodbye to new friends and head back to their shared rental. After briefly eating and re-grouping waiting for the sun to set, the crew returns to the abandoned motel.

It’s the dead of night, they circle the block checking for other spots. One of the writers is bold and confident. A little older than his peers, he points out spot after spot. The others seem doubtful, some spots just aren’t right. The energy just feels off. 

Thoughts of, “Why is the building so clean?” “We were told it was shut down with security, so if nobody else has hit it there must a reason”

For them it feels as if the idea of “self policing” is on full display. 

After some deliberation on if this is the right move, the crew hops out of their vehicle and locks in on their target. They grab minimal materials with the idea of just checking it out, maybe they can do something small and return once they know the coast is clear. The crew rushes hurriedly across the parking lot, they jump the fence, and begin scanning the exterior for any weak points.

‘Password?’

Plywood boards and fencing have blocked any ideal entry points. They continue to work their way around the exterior searching for any sign of hope that they can enter. Our enthusiastic writer notices a wall with a “No trespassing” sign, typical- but something's amiss. As he gently pushes on the sign, a false wall presents itself- the door they’ve been looking for. Noisily it creaks open and the writers all follow in one after another, being mindful to leave a slight access point in the event they need to make a quick escape.

Once inside the pitch blackness of the building, they try their hardest to scan the space. From what they see, it's your typical regular bando; exposed nails, random pools of liquid, the feelings of am I being watched?, broken glass, and debris. It all crunches under their footsteps as they move as a small military unit, calling out for any potential fiends or other dwellers.

Using their phone lights, they continue searching for the stairs to the roof access. Creeping through broken walls and avoiding caved-in ceilings they notice other unsavory artifacts. Needles and cheap fast food litter corners. The group rounds the next corner, coming to a set of rooms to encounter what none of them expected.

Voices. Faint, but clearly having a full discussion.

The group stops moving, as long as they’re quiet, the figureless voices won’t know they’re there. It could be the local houseless, fiends, or even the aforementioned patrolling security. Whatever is going on, the group isn’t sure they want anything to do with it.

They deliberate amongst themselves on what to do. The situation has a high opportunity to become volatile. The motel guest could be startled and decide to attack out of fear. The writers have just found themselves in a tricky situation.

Together they decide to make themselves and their cause known.

Announcing themselves, they are surprised when they realize that the voices in the dark is just one man having a manic conversation with himself. Spooked, the man hurriedly gathered his things from his makeshift workspace.

Stuart Ullman at his desk

The tension is immediately high, both the man and the crew begin to size each other up. Both make their cases to one another. The man hurriedly tells the group that he’s been hired by the owner to watch over the building. His story seems far-fetched and even he knows it. He is honestly trying to convince everyone in the room, including himself. The man is extremely disheveled and his legs are swollen and clearly injured, their own personal Stuart Ullman for this broken down “Overlook” horror motel.

“We’re here to paint, we do graffiti.”

“So, y’all paint good or…?”

“Yeah, yeah, we paint nice shit.”

“Y’all gonna paint on the inside or the outside?”

The group looks at each other knowingly, “The inside, for sure.” He never said anything about where the art would be viewed.

Stuart decides as long as the artists aren’t going to harm him or snitch, he will happily guide them on a tour to the roof access. He immediately points to a rusty metal door leading to the stairwell. His job is done.

 Relieved, the writers excitedly hurry towards the stairwell, the man holding the door open. The writer closing out the pack feels anxiety, he’s still not convinced. This is the stairwell from every horror film and this all seems a little too easy.  He’s waiting for the door to slam behind them, the sound of a lock clicking, and the end approaching. He doesn’t trust the man and keeps his eyes on him as the group ascends to the top of the dusty motel. 

The tension is growing between the group and the man. He proclaims inability to climb the stairs due to his leg and instead goes back to his workspace, giving the writers free reign, on the idea that they keep it clean and not blow up the spot.

Once alone, the crew race up the flight of stairs, glass and debris crunching and breaking under their feet, damp dirty stale air filling their lungs as they finally find the rooms they've been looking for.

The room windows face the road way, by painting their names reverse on the glass, local passersbys and commuters will have a full display of their artistic prowess. The ultimate goal for these writers is bigger, higher and better and this one is the best yet. Each taking a room for themselves, they find their flow state as the smell of paint fills the air. Between the spray and the asbestos, will their lungs ever recover?

Working diligently and efficiently, they each fill up their respective spaces and decide to leave before being discovered by any suspicious taco consuming customers at the restaurant nearby.

“Yo it don’t need a shell foo! Let’s go already..!”

Descending the stairs they find Stuart dissecting a series of vaporizers, to what extent they do not know and definitely aren’t trying to find out. They simply declare they have finished their work and are exiting the building. They leave him surprised at how little time they needed to leave their marks.

Bumbling through the dark, they retrace their steps, and find a shortcut that leads them straight out to the parking lot. They cut through two of the restaurant workers on smoke break. Huffing their cigarettes they watch the group, confused as to where the group just appeared from.

Laughter and celebration are in the air. The crew takes photos, dap each other up and marvel at the boldness of their work. They all know it’s a beautiful spot and unlike anything else painted in the city. The energy between the group is contagious. This is a moment none of them will soon forget.

Suddenly hyper aware of any headlights approaching, they nervously anticipate the police pulling in to parol the area. Suddenly remembering where they were, the crew immediately jumps inside their getaway car and backs out. The car passes the glaring lights that have now closed in. They stare to see what they narrowly missed… a tow truck. A few minutes more and they would have lost their ride to the mission.. A second escape.

Marveling at their timing the crew collectively lets out a sigh, a light chuckle, and finally decides to head home. They congratulate each other and revel in the boldness of their evening mission.

They lived to paint another day.

Home Sweet Home.

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