Black Star’s 1999 hit Respiration, begins with a short phrase:
Escuchela la ciudad respirando.
Listen to the city breathing.
The song goes on with the artists talking about their experiences, their losses, personal or more, and they talk about their city.
As Urban Explorers, there is a lot to talk about. But in all the words we may use, what we must mean to say is that we pay attention. Our muse, ruinous, dangerous, forgotten or forbidden, crosses history, journalism, pop mythology, medicine and of course people.
To be human is to have a main character in your life called home. Maybe its one place, maybe a few, maybe no where, and its absence is a character too. Where ever it is, or is not, Home shapes us. It is part of who we are, because it is part of who expect to become, as it was part of who we were. Thus, Home is part of every I statement a person can make.
This is part of the poetry of any explorer. Because if you know the Brooklyn Bridge, and it has meaning for you, than the Brooklyn Bridge is part of you. Hey, you know what? That iconic thing that you like, that place that takes up space in your head, gosh its paint is so thick it feels very slippery in the rain. And the view of the city from the top is beautiful. It is also dangerous. But just look at those lights.
An explorer is a vessel. Their wit, words, skills, senses, and flaws are lent to us through their stories, so that we might share in feeling alive, as they do. So that the carpet-soft moss covering the floor near a third floor window is known. So that the soot bellied breath of a freight train tunnel, decades deep deposits of diesel and dirt, first black at the entrance, turning everything lunar gray a quarter of a mile in, is counted.
And that these stories be served along with some history of the matter, such that their words are not merely the poetry of the moment but also a blueprint to some of the intersections of history along the way. An Explorer finds Home wherever arrests their attention.
There have always been adventure stories, but Urban Exploration stories which assign themselves that term, are new. The term urban exploration came about in the late 90s. To the best of my knowledge, these three texts are some of the first to use Urban Exploration as their I statement, rather than being rolled into another kind of story like a citizen spy thriller or amateur historian’s adventure.
- L. B. Deyo and D. Leibowitz, Invisible Frontier: Exploring the Tunnels, Ruins, and Rooftops of Hidden New York. New York: Random House, 2003.
- Ninjalicious, Access All Areas: A User’s Guide to the Art of Urban Exploration. Toronto: Infilpress, 2005.
- J. Solis, New York Underground: The Anatomy of a City. New York: Routledge, 2005.
These texts were produced within a few years of each other, by authors who knew each other, and the books speak to each other. And all are punctuated by 9/11, and in such way that these books are a time machine into the world just before and just after the attacks.
How should I talk about Urban Exploration books? If I were to break it into 3 parts, I would say the first interpretation of the work has to be as a lay-person, a civilian. The book as a book. Is this text generally interesting, fulfilling and complete? If you write a book, did you do a good enough job in that mission for us to consider your work more deeply? Sometimes the answer is no, and if so it will be difficult to impress with the other two measures.
Secondly, how technical are the explorers, in their own ways? Not necessarily what they are doing, but how are they doing it, and how do I feel about it?
Thirdly, the book as a love letter to its muse, for which you must have both previous things and more. In the final analysis, was the explorer a good study? Can you feel their attention in their work? Is the violence of their favor compelling? That is, did the explorer mind their muse enough such that we, the reader, feels its respiration through their words.