Born in Cold War Finland to Black American painter—an artist of some repute and uncertain income—Ferik grew up between canvases, countries, and mild confusion. At seven, he was relocated to the North of England, where he traded snow for drizzle and became the only non-white child for miles, a position he held with quiet distinction.

Dyslexic and unable to read his own handwriting, he learned early that typing was a more negotiable skill than script. He drifted through college, squatted in collapsing buildings, joined protests of varying clarity, and occasionally attended lectures.

His working life has been similarly coherent: bike messenger in San Francisco (briefly, until a bus intervened), Emmy-winning TV grunt in London, and construction worker in Washington—where he discovered that stability is mostly a billing cycle. Somewhere along the way, he acquired another degree and became a Special Education teacher.

This series began as a bedtime story for his children. It expanded, as these things do, into something larger, stranger, and less easily contained. Fifteen years later, it has finally escaped.

Enjoy.