Fohr

©tom stoye

"FOHR"

I took this photograph in 2003 inside the derelict Continental Plant on Algonquin Street and Jefferson Avenue.

Fohr started painting "MIK" on the I-94 freeway in 1996. Shortly afterwords he began writing FOUR, which eventually morphed into FOHR.

One of the original eastside writers, FOHR repped DFW and was best known for his freeway spots and going all-city along with HOME in 1998.

In 2004, after returning home from Philadelphia, FOHR and other members of DFW gained notoriety within the Detroit graffiti community by basically "capping" the entire Dequindre Cut Yard.

FOHR's reign as a Detroit graffiti writer abruptly ended shortly after the yard incident. One night, after painting with two other writer friends, FOHR was driving down Lafayette Boulevard on his way home. It was raining, and a pedestrian had made the fatal mistake of stepping out between two parked cars right in front of FOHR's moving vehicle.  Acting on his instincts as a graffiti writer, FOHR continued driving, leaving the scene of the accident.  The next morning, it was reported that a Detroit city judge had been killed by a hit and run driver. FOHR turned himself in and was sentenced to 38 months at the Bellamy Creek Correctional facility in Ionia, Michigan.

In 2005, I met FOHR's girlfriend, who asked if I could send him some photos from my graffiti series while serving time. I gathered a group of photos I had taken, including with it a short letter to accompany the photographs.  I didn't put too much consideration into the gesture, I just figured it was the right thing to do, but what followed was one of the great experiences of my time spent documenting graffiti culture here in Detroit.

After the original letter, what followed was a series of unexpected mutual letters between us. There impact on my life as an artist is hard to quantify, but they remain one of my most prized possessions, and for that I will remain forever grateful for having the chance to have such meaningful dialogue with someone who was a complete stranger to me at the time of their writing.

The letters are tucked away in a drawer in my office, but every now and then I'll take them out and re-read them. They remind me of photography's ability to serve as a conduit between making connections and the unexpected.