2025
Book coming soon
Trucker Speed is a documentation of working on one of New York City’s last remaining mom-and-pop art handling trucks. All word of mouth, my boss’s clients are mostly artists who have occupied their downtown live/work lofts since the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s, and gallerists who built spaces amidst a time of urban decay and hopelessness. In an era of unsustainable urban growth, inflation, development, and gentrification, the livelihood these people rightfully cling to has never been so unattainable for people like me.
I found this gig on Craigslist during my first year in New York, at a time when I had exhausted all my job resources. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay, and with the never-ending scam postings on that beloved site, I questioned if it was even legit. Though soon after starting, I was navigating corners of the city I never knew existed—rapidly expanding my understanding of how cavernous the city truly is. I, of course, also learned the practical skills like which avenues run north/south, which highways don’t allow trucks, which tunnels are too expensive to take, and the cheapest spots for lunch and gas. I learned how to safely handle works, how to treat stubborn gallerists, and how to create meaningful connections with artists, often eager to talk. I’ve even made friends with some of them—one in particular, Rosaire Appel, who tremendously helped me realize this project.
I learned so much about the predatory nature of the fine art industry, and with it, many of my artistic goals changed. It was entirely destabilizing—and still is—though, to the contrary, I have been constantly entertained with perspectives that challenge these ideals, often from artists and fellow art handlers (all art handlers are artists). I’ve devotedly listened to people who created opportunities when there were none—people who have developed spaces and communities when there was no backbone, no funding, no hope around them.
This book incorporates photographs I’ve taken on the truck between 2021 and 2025. The frame is often the rear door of the truck opened, revealing the always-changing urban landscape behind. The frame is also a testament to this time in my life—watching the city pass by, contemplating where both myself and my practice fit in it.