"Where the Night Finds It's Guardian"

Where the World Watches Back series

WTWWB - Mythic - 03

They were carved when the city still believed in guardians—when hands shaped stone, and every rooftop carried a quiet vow: you will be watched over. Time passed. Belief thinned, then vanished. The voices that once named them fell silent, and the sky filled with advancements. But the gargoyles did not forget. They remained—through winters that split their stone, through summers that baked the streets below, through the slow, steady erosion of their purpose. Waiting. They wake only at night. Their bodies groan with the weight of centuries, wings loosening dust like breath after a long sleep. They step down from their perches and move along the bones of the city—rooflines, ledges, forgotten heights where no one else walks. They do not wander without motive. They listen. for footsteps that hesitate in the wrong places. For voices that turn sharp in the dark.For the small, weak sounds of something—or someone unprotected. They remember what they were made for. Not the prayers. Not the praise. Their promise. So they keep watch— over alleyways and empty streets, over lost souls and quiet corners, over the times where the city is too desperate to be kind. They gather what is at risk: fear, sorrow, anger left to grow unchecked—and carry it, heavy and silent, so it does not take root in the places that are vulnerable. They cannot leave. Because they are not just part of the city—they are what holds it together in the darkest hour. They are its oldest promise, still being kept. And if you walk home late enough, and the night feels just a little less empty than it should— it’s because something ancient is still choosing to stand between you and the dark.

Mixed media painted on a skateboard

31"h by 8"w