Updated: Mar 26, 2020
When I let my mind wander to brighter times of innocence, back when I was just a child, a conversation I had with my father always comes back to me. We were sitting upstairs in the house he was finishing to build for us. We had left behind us the small house of wood and stone. Left behind the lovely property and the old walls, to move deeper in the country. Sitting on the concrete, carpet-less floor, and playing with a tiny Hot Wheels car toy that I was flying around in the sky of an imaginary parking lot, I asked him “Dad? When will we have flying cars?”. He told me he didn’t know. So I asked more specifically “Do you think that by the year 2000 we will have flying cars?”.
He said “yes” with so much confidence that, to this day, I still wonder if he didn’t believe himself. Maybe I just refuse to think that he would have lied to his son on such a serious topic.
By the end of the 90s my father was picking my brother and I up from school in an old rusty blue carcass, barely drivable, some parts maintained together with tape, shattering my hopes to see anything taking off from the ground anytime soon.
I was a Sci-Fi fan. In 2000 the future of BladeRunner wasn’t too distant anymore and I could see my flying car dreams getting away from me once again.
2010, I moved to America. In a small town that has barely enough funding to protect itself from another flood, where people die from drug abuse, where cars can (once again) barely drive and where my best friends live in houses made of wood, deep in the forest. From there, I wrote more Science Fiction, and I painted flying cars. That’s what I do, I draw and paint things. I imagine worlds and I try to make them live through my images and my words.
By 2020, we could hear the silences of the upcoming Collapse. BladeRunner was already behind us, and the price of gas was only increasing. The planet could barely deal with us anymore and was showing clear signs of exhaustion and disgust.
In 2031, the Blackout disconnected us from our computers and all our modern habits. We still do not know what happened. It doesn’t matter. The Blackout was the one and only bullet needed. Our world was now to collapse.
I knew by then that Science Fiction would not come. That it was all a lie. Stories to imagine some kind of exciting future for ourselves. A way for us to deny the simple fact: we fucked it up. We are the last ones.
By 2033, what was left of the government took upon itself to relocate part the American population into an experimental city. A place kept hidden from the maps for decades. The city was a controversial project developed during the 50s by Hover, an independent corporation, as an attempt to isolate a strange virus corrupting the flesh and the structure of the human body.
Because of its isolation and secret autonomy, the hidden city survived the collapse and became a massive Ultrapolis, gathering the best and the worst of mankind within its heart.
I entered Retrocity in 2037.
2050. I like to caress the black walls when I wander the streets at night. I listen to the sirens of police cars in the distance. I watch the rain falling on the neon lights.
The sirens gets closer.
The police interceptor flies over my head.