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Our other top local story

on Eyewitness News at Noon--

This is an incredible tale.

Artists set up an apartment
inside Providence Place Mall,

going undetected for years.

WPRO-FM, Providence.

It's 11:00 with the G-Man,

rolling through
10 hits in a row,

the most music every hour.

♪ 92, 92 PRO FM ♪

We were listening
to the radio,

and this ad came on

for the Providence Place Mall.

It was this woman.

She was a mom,
and she was talking about

how great her life
was about to become,

because it was going to be
so convenient for her

to get everything
that she needed for her kids,

for herself.

If only she could live there.

I just had this idea--

"Oh. we should live
in the mall."

Live at the mall.

Like, it seemed like
a very absurd fantasy,

and a great way
to plow through

all of the negativity

that had been built up for years

in the loss of our homes

and the homes of like
hundreds of people.

And so Adriana and Andrew
and Jay and myself decided

that we would go live there
for at least one week.

It was more
of a game of survival--

Who was gonna get
kicked out from security

and who was gonna
last the longest.

And I think we were
making bets about it.

I definitely thought
that I was gonna

live there the longest.

I think, in my mind,
I was like,

oh, we need to document.

And I'm like, oh,
we need a sketchbook.

And Mike's instinct
on the document was like,

"All right, we all need to
have a point-and-shoot camera

and be able to do video."

We had a little camera

called a Pentax Optio S4i.

It is incredibly low-res
and the audio is terrible.

It's not designed
for video.

Interestingly, it fit inside
an Altoids can.

In my hand,
that camera disappears,

which meant that I could walk
through the mall

with my arm like this.

It sounds silly, but I would
forget it was there.

It was a fair bit
of the food court.

It was trying on clothes.

You know, a funny kind of
teenage mall-hang existence.

We ate
all the leftover food

at the food court.

We saw, like,
almost every movie

at the movie theater,
which was awesome.

But as the sun set,

we started to internalize
the dilemma

we'd put ourselves in,
which is we have no plan.

Where are we gonna sleep?

Jay and Andrew found

a four-foot-by-four-foot
column in the parking garage

that had an opening that
they could sneak up inside of.

I was
in a really small space,

unable to stretch out.

I believe I slept in my jacket

with my knees
kind of curled up to my chest.

I've been camping
in some way, shape, or form

since I was a small kid,

and I've had a lot
of miserable nights out.

And this is in
the pantheon of worst.

The place
that Adriana and I find

is based on my memory
of the mall's construction.

When the mall was being built,

I saw a space
that I could not figure out

what it would be used for.

It was a nowhere space,

and I saw them store
construction materials on it,

and I just sort of made
a mental note about it.

I proposed that perhaps
the nowhere space, as it were,

would give us shelter
for the night.

And we went looking for that
anomaly in the architecture,

and we snuck ourselves in there

and we took out
our flashlights

and we kept poking around.

And it struck me
that the nowhere space,

as it were,
must be up here somewhere.

And we were able
to push ourselves up I-beams.

And there it was.
And it was safe and secure.

We're completely
off the radar.

We weren't even
entirely sure

where we were in the mall,
but there was

the debris of construction
was still there,

you know, four years later,
after the mall had opened.

It was dirty.
It was truly abandoned.

And we were like,
"Oh, this is great!"

Mike been like,
come see the space I found.

And so, like, we all went down
and into the bowels

and saw the like cavern
that he had found.

Looking around
at all the clues,

it's like no one's
been in here

since they built the mall.

It started the conversation
immediately about like,

wait, this is a lot of space.

Maybe we have a responsibility
to do something with it.

It was sort of agreed
pretty quickly

that the couch was
the most important thing.

Any time I went to
a hearing at City Hall

for a new real estate
development,

this term of "underutilized
space" kept coming up.

It was almost like it was
a moral obligation

on the part
of the developers

to tap into this
underutilized space.

It was almost like a crime.

"We must extend
our progress,

and it must fill in every gap
and crevice in the city

until there's
a seamless development."

And so this was like a funny
way of like itching back

at that, of like,
"Well, we found some space."

We need to develop
this underutilized space.

And I remember
having this funny,

jokey conversation about
being micro developers.

You know, that seemed
really funny to us

that we would
become developers,

but just for 750 square feet.

We put a bunch of ideas
on the table,

some of them absolutely
ridiculous, you know,

even about opening up
our own store.

We're like,
"How would anybody visit it?"

And we're like, "We can
just build a condominium,

like right here."

PlayStation.

And, like, the couch,

is the thing that sort of made
it a home immediately.

Providence had at one time

been one of the wealthiest
cities in the United States,

and after World War II,

inexorable decline
began to happen.

Providence seemed little more

than a parking lot by day

and an abandoned city by night.

Serious decline soon created
an uninviting,

neglected environment.

It wasn't until in
the mid 1980s, late 1980s,

that the idea of a mall
became the centerpiece

of the whole
Providence Renaissance.

You wanted retail
to come back.

You wanted performing
and visual arts.

You wanted all the things that
Providence had been known for,

all of those things that would
make Providence a destination

and not just a drive-through
to another major city.

The Providence Place Mall
was considered to be

a major new engine

to help the revitalization
effort take place.

The city had began to lose
its retailing sales

to the surrounding
suburban areas.

But the mall
did not happen overnight.

It took years
and multiple administrations

in order for this to occur.

It was a major building.

While the mall
was being built,

I really started
to internalize

its impact on this city

because all of a sudden
I literally couldn't see

the city anymore.

Look at this giant.

Look at this thing.
It's totally overpowering.

It looks like something out
of a science fiction movie.

You got the statehouse, you
can't even see it anymore.

They practically buried it.

I mean, it was no
small task to move the rivers

and to move
the railroad tracks,

but I think it began to show
that things were happening.

I remember the preview event

and everybody coming
from all parts of New England.

It wasn't even
just Rhode Island.

This is a large mall.
Am I correct?

Oh, definitely. You know,
3.5 million square feet.

You don't get this type of mall

in any city
and everything.

It's very unique.

It makes this
a destination city.

So having
this big mall

that represented
a big investment.

It was kind of like
a new face for Providence.

I think that was more
probably something

that was aligned
with what politicians wanted,

but not necessarily
for the communities,

especially the adjacent
communities.

We all hated them
all when it went up, right?

Nobody wanted that to happen.
It was infuriating.

Instead of putting the money
into downtown in general

and supporting the businesses
that were already here,

they built that monstrosity.

We hated it.

And then
as they started to sort of

shore up the side
facing our neighborhood,

I realized like, wait,
there's no entrances for us.

This whole thing
faces the east side.

It wasn't designed to be used

by the people
from this neighborhood.

In a way,
it's like drawing a boundary

in between
a premium Providence

and then just like, you know,
the unattractive,

kind of historically
excluded Providence.

By the time
the mall opened,

there was a sense that more
changes were coming our way.

And there was a sense
of impending doom.

Even before the Providence
Place Mall is complete,

developers are getting ready
to build

Providence Marketplace.

Even while
scaffolding still scales

the Providence Place Mall,
another huge project,

is in the works.

The Providence Place Mall

opened August of 1999,

and shortly after, a developer
came to the mills spaces

that we were living in

and put a proposal out
that perhaps the best way

to serve this neighborhood

was to knock down every
single mill in a 13-acre area

and replace it with a strip
mall and a supermarket.

So one of those buildings
they wanted to knock down

was Fort Thunder.

So behind the mall we see
the skeleton

of the industrial revolution.

It is mill building
after mill building.

And in the middle
of all this mill building mess

is called Eagle Square.

And in the heart
of Eagle Square

was a place
called Fort Thunder.

And I was very fortunate

to live there
for a couple of years.

Well, Fort Thunder
was a mill space.

It lasted, I think,
from '95 to like 2001.

It started out with four of us
renting this space.

My band Lightning Bolt
needed a place to practice

and we wanted to have shows.

The history of that area,

the history of,
is a really specific history

that you'll see
throughout New England.

There were these factories,

people would live
in the neighborhoods.

And then when
the manufacturing sector

was destroyed
in the United States,

it destroyed
these neighborhoods.

So if you were going to
Fort Thunder

for the first time,
it was scary.

It was sort of like this
secret playhouse for a while.

They just wanted to have fun.
They wanted to create.

They wanted to have
their own world there.

You know,
museums were like crypts,

graveyards for art.

And our house was like
a living art creature

that we lived within.

I think it was like
emboldening, in a way,

to have this kind of like
wild, untamed space,

just like living
this really loud--

literally, like very loud.

So living in Fort Thunder

is that sense of no routine,

but a great sense of purpose.

And then, you know,

within a year
of that super heyday,

a developer came in.

People started
getting kicked out.

And the city just started
looking at that area.

These developers saw a great
opportunity for themselves

because they knew that
they could buy these buildings

and knock them down.

The developer was
just looking at it

as if it was any old parcel

that could become
a suburban strip mall.

I mean,
it's just an algorithm.

They're like, "Oh, there's
room for a supermarket here

because the property value
is so cheap.

All we have to do is knock
down all these buildings."

There was no outreach
to the community

to talk about,
like, rent control

and how under resourced
the community was.

It's okay.
Like, change happens.

There's nothing inherently
wrong or evil about it.

But there was no effort
to bring people along.

And I think that, in a way,

Fort Thunder was like
the first strike.

And I think
the real estate developers

were just starting
to understand

that there was
so much to exploit.

When the Eagle Square
fiasco was unfolding,

the mall becomes
this sort of cultural enemy.

It becomes a sort of ogre
in the cave

that the townsfolks
are afraid of.

They're not sure
how big it is,

but they just know
it's nasty.

And so that tension
just boils over

as soon as an actual person
comes in and says,

"I'm gonna
knock down your home."

People being evicted,
people losing their spaces,

people getting kicked out,
people getting priced out

was just sort of something
kind of happening.

The mall comes, totally
remakes your neighborhood,

you adjust.

It doesn't adjust to you.
You adjust to it.

And it was impossible

to not see the apartment
project through that lens.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.
Thanks.

All right.

By this stage,
the group of people

invited into the space
had grown from four to eight,

and occasionally a few of us
would sleep there.

But for the most part
it was a fantastic place

to just meet and hang out.

The mall project,
I think,

it emerged
fairly organically.

The main person who really
started the project

and who had the initial idea
was Mike.

It wasn't as though Mike
sat down and was like,

"I got to assemble
a supergroup of people

in order to, like, create
this artists collective

that will be
a public-facing thing."

As with other projects
that Mike has done,

he wanted to involve
the people

who are in his life in it.

He wanted to make it
a group project.

Sort of notion
of consistency.

Michael was the thread
that connected everybody.

A lot of folks he met
through his time teaching,

and so they were students,

former students of his.

He and Adriana were married,

and then the two of us were
in this grad program together.

Everyone was
sort of very driven,

but we were all real sort of
nerdy and weird.

That group
felt really at home.

We all felt
really fun together.

It just sounds like
such a magic thing

to take a space
from the mall.

Like, it seems like
you shouldn't be able

to pull it off.

So trying to pull it off,

it feels like somebody
needs to do it.

This was our group project

and it was like a secret, right?

And it was a secret pact.

One, two, three.

The big rule was to not bring
people from outside.

So it was intended to be

a fairly exclusive club,
I suppose.

So there's this core
team of eight artists.

That is essentially the brain
trust for the creation of it

and the curation of it

and the knowledge
of the mall space.

You know, there's art
that you see and you enjoy

and it entertains you.

And then there's art
that impacts you.

And that's the kind
of piece this was.

It had an impact that was both
emotional and psychological

and is not easily described,
which my favorite kind of art.

My friend was like, "Hey,
you got to go see this.

There's like
underneath the train tracks,

there's actually
like this, like,

weird, creepy art exhibit
that, like,

felt like it was a mystery
who made it."

So I actually had no idea
at the time

anything about
why it was there.

You opened up a hatch
and climbed down into--

was like a sewer grate, basically.

And then kind of traverse
these few tunnels,

and then it opened up
into a bigger open space,

super wet, dank.

But then there were these
sculptures of human bodies

suspended all throughout
the space,

and you could walk through
and sort of interact with them

on your own terms.

There's no signage.

There's nobody
telling you anything

about what
you're experiencing.

There's one day when I spent

a really long time
looking for it,

and I couldn't figure out
how to get into it,

but I never--
and I never figured it out.

I think you had to, like,
go between the train tracks.

I'm not even sure, actually,
where the entrance

to the tunnel was now.

I think that the body tunnel,

you could call it a stunt,

you could call it
an installation art piece.

What makes it art for me
is that it asks me

to imagine
a setting for art

that was not the setting

that I had been told
art happened in.

I'm not sure when I put
two and two together

that it was Mike's piece.

I think that probably
came much later.

But, like, I just remember,
you know, that was like

one of my favorite
secret spots

in Providence to take people.

And I think Michael
was very discreet about it.

I don't think
he was promoting it.

Him finding that tunnel
was, I think, an offshoot

of just like
all of us exploring

just whatever we could find.

But where we were mostly
just exploring stuff,

Michael was sort of putting
his artistic practice,

like, into those spaces,

like, putting things
in the spaces

and messing around
with the spaces.

He's always been
an inspiration.

I went to
the RISD summer program,

and Mike was
my drawing teacher.

He did something very rare
and very unusual,

which was that he expected you

to have a genuine
personal connection

to the work that you made.

It was a way of living,

not some sort of produced
object that can be seen,

you know, in a museum
or something like that.

Most of us--
myself certainly--

came to that program thinking

art is a thing
you do on paper.

And Mike exploded
our understanding

of what art is
or could be.

So it was the start
of a decade of life

that has had a massive
impact on me, yeah.

Mike was like
a super involved teacher,

like, different
than any teacher I had had

up until that point,
for sure.

He kind of approached art in
a different way, definitely,

than anything like
I'd been exposed to before,

where it was kind of like,

what do you actually
want to make and why?

What Michael was able
to introduce to me,

which was so powerful
at that age,

was that I could, uh--

I could actually
just look inside myself

and find things
that were worth sharing.

So, yes, like that--

that class with Mike
helped to galvanize me

to find my way
to publicly engaged work.

For Mike,
the difference between

art and life
is very hard to discern.

Art and life are two
very porous things for him.

And so he thinks
of art projects

as being sort of deeply
incorporated into his life.

And that's something
you probably will hear

from other people,

this "life as art,
art as life" thing.

And that's something that,
like, as a young person,

it was super impactful
to see somebody

living in a way that felt
like all of it was the art.

The secret apartment
was the art,

the teaching was the art.

The interacting
with other people was the art.

All the stuff together
is what makes life meaningful.

And I think that's like

something I've been
trying to do

since I was a teenager.

So the secret apartment,

nestled down in here,

kind of floating
above the train tracks,

kind of tucked in between
the back side

of all the stores.

We had a couple different ways
of getting in.

Our exterior entrance
was basically right alongside

the train tracks.

There was a gap
in between a couple of walls

that would allow you
to get into

the bowels of the building,
pretty much,

and we were able
to shimmy along some walls

to get access
to where the space was.

Additionally,
we could get into

the same zone of the mall
where the secret apartment was

basically from
any emergency exit door

on this side of the building.

That would lead you

into a serpentine bunch
of staircases and hallways.

Somewhere along
that serpentine path,

there were a couple
different ways

we could access
the secret apartment.

Because this building
is made of

a bunch of really odd shapes--

you can see like the way that
the angle follows the river

and the way that that curve
follows the highway.

The building has a bunch
of weird intersecting shapes.

So I think the space
that we discovered

was really a negative space

in between two planes
of the building,

which created
sort of a triangle

in between two parts
of the building,

which is where
the secret apartment was.

The food court is this
sort of third level up here.

And the bathrooms--

I think our most
frequently used bathroom

was on the first floor,

sort of like the main
retail drag of the mall.

There were bathrooms
on each floor.

I feel like we used the ones
on the first floor the most

because they were closest
to the entrance.

So the secret apartment
being down in here,

we can have a look at it by

taking this roof off and...

Can pull that out.

So there's Andrew,
James, Jay,

myself, Emily,
Greta, Adriana, and Michael

all hanging out
in the space together.

So additionally, just for fun,
hidden in here

is the Optio S5i.

Amazingly it still works.

Just needed a charge
of the battery.

I can probably sneak a little

picture of the apartment
or two if it'll focus.

Once we wanted to
really make this

an apartment
that was ours,

as opposed to just
a room in the mall,

we decided we needed to make it

so we had access to it

without having other people
have access to it.

So the apartment in the mall
had this big gaping space

that looked down
into a storage area.

You would come up
this steep metal staircase

and you would just be
looking into the apartment.

So there was a real necessity
to build a wall there.

Building a wall was
going to be the thing

that made it even more
invisible, in the sense that,

like, another cinder-block
wall with another door

just becomes another thing

that if anyone walks
through the space

they're not gonna
bat an eye at.

Obviously, the main
feat of that whole thing

was just moving
that many cinder blocks.

I think, you know,
we calculated

it was like, you know,

4,500 or 5,000 pounds
of cinder blocks.

So that was, you know,
a couple of tons.

In regards to security,

we were thinking
about it all the time.

They're a constant presence
in our mind.

But it's important
to emphasize

that there's no--
no part of me

that has any interest
in duping security.

I don't-- I don't feel
any thrill in that.

They have a job to do.
I respect that job.

I also just want to do my job.

There was no way
to prepare for it.

Like, we didn't know
what circumstances

would trigger
us being caught.

We had no idea
who would approach us or, uh,

and what level of hostility
it would be.

We just would be ready
to explain ourselves

in whatever moment unfolded.

Now, I have,
up until that point,

a career
in explaining myself.

My work as an artist

means that I am constantly
explaining my presence

to police officers,
to city officials.

It is a space
I feel very comfortable in.

You know,
we were on a multileg journey

coming from Home Depot.

You know, we got these
cinder blocks at Home Depot,

and now we're going
to the mall.

So, yeah,
it's, uh, kind of amazing.

I told this security guard

that we had gone to
Home Depot,

filled the car
with cinder blocks,

come to the mall,
had done some shopping,

and came back to a car
that could not move.

So we had arranged to move
the cinder blocks

down the stairwell
to an awaiting friend's truck,

and he let us
on our way.

And I know that has a lot to
do with just who we were.

I'm certain,
looking back on it,

that we had like a shield
of white privilege around us.

Black and brown people
in the same space

doing illegal things, or doing
even not illegal things,

are not treated that way
and would not be treated

with the same deference
as we were.

My fear of
the police is not the same.

I'm not worried about risk
to my body and life.

You know,
simultaneously to this,

I was working with Mike
on Tape Art,

uh, which is
Mike's sort of organization

that will go around
and do public murals,

do temporary public murals
made out of masking tape.

One of the more notable ones
was going

to Hasbro Children's Hospital
and making murals there.

I first became aware
of Tape Art

and heard about Michael

through probably
some artist friends,

that there was some guy
out there

who was using tape
and drawing on the wall.

And I thought,
"I don't know. This is...

Sounds quirky and kooky,
and what does he do?

I mean, how is this
gonna appeal to kids?"

So I had a lot of questions.

Tape art is
a unique process.

I don't know
any other artists, frankly,

who are doing tape art.

Michael was the first one I met,

and I've never met
anybody since.

I think I was fascinated
by the uniqueness.

So the more I watched him,
the more I realized that,

you know, he was truly a master.

The patients'
immediate reaction is,

first of all, they're very
open to something new.

And it was, again,
a little odd.

It wasn't somebody coming in
with drawing paper

and a brush or crayons.

It was somebody coming in
with five rolls of blue tape

on his arm
and swinging them around.

And then the kid
would often say,

"Oh, you know,
what's going on?

What are you gonna do
with that tape?"

And Michael would
take it from there.

Michael did have
a crew of people.

You know, what they drew,

the mice and the horses
and the mermaids,

it was that they were able to

engage the child
in conversation about,

"What do you want
on your wall?"

so that when Michael and his
team walked into the room,

he didn't come in with an idea
of what he was gonna do.

He let the child lead him.

And when possible, of course,
if the patient was mobile,

they'd engage the patient
in actually helping him

to create the mural.

But now the patient
is involved

in a creative activity

and has a responsibility
to seeing

what's happening
on the wall of his room

and changing his environment,
having a sense of control.

So I think that
the patient just got lost.

Could be for 15 minutes
and it could have been,

you know,
for a couple of hours.

Michael was coming in
at least once a week,

and he was one of
the first people that I hired.

So I would say he was, yeah,

he was here for
at least 15 years.

Funding was tough,
but free lunch was provided.

If they came in the morning,
they could stay for lunch.

If they came in the afternoon,
they could come early

and we always provided
a free lunch for them.

And I think they were
pretty grateful for that

because I don't think
many of them--

I don't think they ate
during the day.

I think one of the first
questions kids and staff

and families always asked,

"What's gonna happen
to this mural now

that's on the wall?"

And Michael always
made it very clear

that there was
an impermanence,

and it was really
for the here and now.

He said, you know, "We'll
create a new one tomorrow,

think of something
new that we could do."

So Michael had
an interesting beginning.

Because his father was
in the Marine Corps,

we lived in eight
different places

before he was seven years old.

I think it made him
very open-minded.

I think Michael takes
in all kinds of people,

all kinds of social situations.

So, basically, I think
that's what's made him

someone who's at home anywhere.

So let's get you
this one

and this one,
the blue one.

Basically it's like a form
of like, of...

- Temporary graffiti.
- Temporary graffiti.

And it gives you
a lot of freedom.

So I was brought up
in a military family.

Both my parents
were in the military

and their parents
were in the military,

and I believe their parents
were in the military.

So my brother and I were
the first ones to sort of, uh,

break that lineage.

In Mike's case,
um, hmm...

I don't want to speak for him,
but it just was never--

never seemed like it would be
a good fit for him.

He was far too creative
growing up,

and I think a military career
would have restricted

his level of creativity
that just abounded.

No words or letters
are the only rule.

Good luck.
Let's work on that together.

Make sure you got
that one technique down.

Don't pull it.
Just let it hang.

And very gently...

That looks really good.

- Okay.
- Yeah. Keep going, keep going.

Michael as a person
is all about

involving people

in a collaborative process
of art.

And I've seen that
in a lot of cases

that he's just
a very selfless person.

And that is
something really--

yeah, that is something really
special about Michael, yeah.

So the cynic might say
that you're not gonna make

the world
a better place with your art,

but, like, maybe you're not
gonna make

the entire world
a little better,

but maybe you'll make
one person's life better

and then somebody else's
life better.

It becomes the
"ripples in the pond" effect.

So the main
priorities in my career

have always been making art
and teaching art,

and trying to use that art
to have positive impacts

on other people's lives.

There's not a lot
of money in that.

I work
at a nonprofit museum.

Michael is an artist.

We are not swimming in money,
either of us.

And Michael does...

He takes it...

Sometimes he doesn't
take it seriously,

and I've gotten upset.

Like, he will text me pictures
of his bank account

that has 41 cents,
and he thinks that's funny.

And I see the text, and
I'm like, "This is not funny."

And I've had to talk
to him about like,

"Could you please
not send me this

when you have
like a dollar?"

Like, this doesn't
make me laugh, personally.

After we had
a little run-in with security,

that encounter forced us
to rethink

how we're bringing
the cinder blocks in.

And we're like, well,
we have a private entrance.

So the entrance we had used

to initially
discover the space

in the first place
became the way

that we'd bring
the cinder blocks in.

So at the same time
the core group of eight of us

were working in the apartment
in the mall,

we also took a trip collectively

to go to Oklahoma City
for the 10th anniversary

of the Alfred P. Murrah
Federal Building bombing.

Mike was there doing tape art
in Oklahoma City

when that happened
and made a mural.

I think he was the only
nonmedical personnel

allowed in the home base

and made a mural
for the, basically,

the sole audience
of the first responders.

Folks seem to
like the idea of it being

an optimism mural, that--

more about individuals
being able to have

freedom and flight,

and maybe through the help
of other people

they can achieve that.

So we planned a trip
back to OKC,

like on the anniversary
of the bombing

to kind of do more artwork
with the community.

The group of us spent
a full week there working

at like a memorial site
and doing projects in schools,

basically like a little
elite strike force team

of empathetic artists.

I don't think that
artists are obliged to go out

and do good works,

or to try to pretend
that making art

has to sort of like save the
world or feed the children,

or do any kind of like,
you know,

nice crunchy thing
that people might want.

But if you can and if there's
an opportunity, why not?

You have the chance
to use a skill

that you have
to do something good.

And also, you know,
I do really believe that

art and aesthetic experience
are good in and of themselves,

that they're not means
to anything

but that they make life better.

It's funny.

I imagine when people heard
like the one snippet of

"there was an apartment
in the mall,"

it's not the first thing that
they think people would be

using it for is

kind of planning
and discussing things

around these big public art
projects that we were doing.

The central project
in our life

was the September 11th
memorial.

It was all-consuming.

We had, uh, made the decision

to draw 500 portraits,
life-size,

simple silhouettes,
of every fireman

and every airline passenger

that passed away
at the World Trade Center.

Okay.

Saracini.

Number 38, heart one.
He's here.

We're gonna walk to the other
side of this square right here

and put a figure.

Sir Russell is gonna be
about a block that direction.

Mike had drawn these
four large hearts

over the island of Manhattan,

and we would basically
go down to New York,

we'd follow that path and just
find locations on that to try

and do a drawing of a figure.

And we'd document it

and then this, like,
Web memorial, we'd go back

and make sort of like
a Web page

showcasing that documentation.

Portraits of people
who died on September 11th

along the path of four hearts.

So, like walking those paths
and drawing,

I think, every block, a person.

And those were
all temporary drawings.

You know, you're in public,

you're in the streets
of Manhattan,

you're trying to go quick.

We almost never had permission
to make the work.

So you're trying
to not get busted.

If you got busted, you could
just remove the mural.

The tape is impermanent,

but as far as tape art goes,
kind of intense scenario.

You're trying to honor
the circumstance,

the people you're representing,

and the seriousness of it all.

But you're also interacting
with people in the public

who are curious to know
what you're doing

or if it's illegal.

Yeah, it was like
a great drawing challenge.

- See these four hearts here?
- Yeah.

These four hearts span
the entirety of Manhattan.

- One, two three, four.
- Yep.

And right now we are
working on heart one.

So we're right now
right about here.

And these hearts, if you were
to connect the dots

between all of these figures
that we're drawing,

you would be drawing out

these fantastically
large hearts.

Wow.

We would hop in the car,
in Mike's Toyota,

and drive to New York
to do drawings

over the course
of a couple of days

with a goal
some section of a heart,

and then,
with the documentation,

we would head back
to Providence,

where we would compile
the next set of collages.

And then once a good window

presented itself to head
back to New York,

we'd hop back in the car
and get to it.

It took a long time.
Uh, years.

This project, when it started,

we thought maybe two,
three years,

stretched out to five years.

All of these efforts
pretty much, like,

was all volunteer.

The Hope Project
was completely self-funded.

I mean, I know that
Mike's-- every bit of money

that he made
went directly back

into paying
for the Hope Project.

Mostly the paying for it was,

you know, all of our labor
was completely volunteer.

But for me,
just thinking about

meaningful things
I've done in my life,

that's something
I look at as really,

truly meaningful artwork.

I'm not sure,
but the project that we made,

uh, to be honest, I don't even
know how it exists now.

I'm not sure if it even exists
to this day.

The apartment was the side
project to the other stuff.

The Hope Project,
Oklahoma City projects,

the work at the hospital,

that was, I believe,
our focus as a team.

You know, the mall
project felt like a way for us

to have maybe more fun
than thinking about tragedy,

which for a couple of years
we were, like,

really thinking about tragedy
all the time.

Once you have your own wall,

then you get your own door,

and then you have
your own lock,

and then you get
your own key.

So our whole team
had a key

to an apartment
in the mall.

So what I didn't realize

when I was initially
looking at these photos--

This step-down here
that's happening

in the cinder blocks,

I was like, "Weird."

Yeah, poor craftsmanship.

- Because you had built it.
- Right.

- Ahh.
- Right.

But that brings like
a certain degree of charm.

So with the couch, you can
tell it's a pretty big couch

from the amount of people
that are fitting on it.

Sectional.

- Oh, it's a sectional.
- Yeah.

Can you draw for me,
roughly, like, the floor plan

or just the orientation of
walls and stuff as you...

So if this is our front door,
this is our back door.

- Whoa.
- We had a couch here.

We had our entertainment system

on a little tiny table
with a TV.

And there was
a dresser out here.

Rugs, lamps.

You didn't have outlets,
did you?

No, but we had the extension
cord here, down...

- Oh, my God.
- ...one story into over here.

The door is there.
The couch is basically here.

Little table was basically here.

You walk to that,

and that puts
the china cabinet here.

Getting it to look right--
like this is too distressed.

No, that's not--
that's not-- that's brick.

- That's closer.
- Closer.

That's it.
That's what it looked like.

Yeah, with the folks
from Providence

who are helping
on this project,

um, it was pretty easy for me

to rope them in
because I just said,

"Remember that time those
people lived at the mall?

How would you like
to rebuild that room?"

You know, we're working
with a tight budget,

but everyone's really excited
about the project,

so we're doing
the best we can.

I think everyone was sort of
willing to pitch in

and just being
a little scrappier.

There's a lot of free items
that we're running around

and picking up.

We're basically doing
what these guys did.

You know, the way that they
were finding their furniture

was oftentimes
at Salvation Army

or things that they were finding

on the side of the road,

and we're doing a sort
of expedited version of that.

I think more than anything,
I want Michael

and Adriana
and Andrew and Colin

and whoever else
to walk into the space

knowing that it's just a
re-creation for a documentary,

but having it sort of evoke
the memory of the space.

So I was hired at Pottery Barn

to do, uh, shipping/receiving.

The company was trying
to promote shadow boxes,

so they wanted to do
a workshop, so I did it.

So when they came in, they
were really excited and jovial

and they were like,
"We're into this."

They sort of explained
who they were,

what kind of art they made,

that they were
from Eagle Square

and that they got kicked out.

I had been to Eagle Square,

so I knew kind of
the situation.

You know,
we had this connection going.

And then they started
to tell me,

you know,
slowly it kind of leaked out.

It was pretty clear
from the beginning

that they wanted to know more
information about the mall,

and I was their inside
about that.

So after they left, you know,
of course,

there were all the questions
from the other employees,

you know, "What's this about?"

And I just told them
it was an art project.

Here we go.
So this is our home.

This door also has a lock,
just like our door did.

And, um, it's locked, so I
can't go in the apartment.

This is the weird thing about
the mall apartment

is that it makes
you feel really relaxed.

It's this paradox, right?

It's a little prisonlike,

because there's
this cement wall

and there's no natural light,

and you could be discovered
at any moment.

There's this weird sense
of freedom

where no one's
gonna bother you,

you're not gonna be late
for anything.

It's just this really
quiet refuge in a way.

You're on, like,
the inside-out version

of a building that you're
never supposed to experience.

Um, and so it's like being
in the belly of a beast.

In some ways
we had this raw black box.

It was a bit of a space station,

self-imposed prison cell.

There was no windows,
there's no light.

And it was about this desire
to cultivate it

and make it more human.

Uh...

Sleeping in the apartment was,
I think, really cold usually.

And we had like some sleeping
bags, at least in the winter.

Definitely really hot
in the summer too.

And incredibly dark.

Slept on this couch a lot.

Probably the most--

for me, the most nights in a row

would have been
four or five

or something like that,
I think.

We had tried different,
like, sleeping arrangements,

but I remember Mike and I

doing this on this couch a lot,

the head-to-foot sleeping.

And this hutch...

I was gonna look for it.
It feels so real.

It definitely--
it had a real waffle maker

so we could make waffles
in the mall apartment.

So I had this vision
of staging

this set of domestic bliss--

gorgeous, very bourgeois,
even within

the dusty, grimy cinder block
of that apartment.

Oh, my gosh, the cinder block,
yeah, it was, um...

It was, uh, dustier.

It was always giving off--

It was always generating
kind of like

a fine mist of-- of cement.

So much of what
the mall sells us

is this performance
of a consumer lifestyle.

And so the mall apartment

was this opportunity
to have this set, almost,

where we could play out
the unrealistic

and unattainable
fantasies of the mall.

And the joke would be,
"You know what?

Oh, you love
just beautifying things?

Like, so do we."

During the time that
the apartment in the mall

was being built,
I was married to Adriana

and she had a front-row seat
to a lot of lunacy.

There was
some part of me that knew

this was not
a good relationship,

and then I was able to realize

that it was not
the right thing for me.

Yeah.

This illustrates
one of the core dilemmas

of, uh, driving yourself
towards an art project

that you really
deeply believe in,

because sometimes it's truly
in the face of all reason.

Why are you spending
all of that time there?

Why are you doing that
September 11th project? Why?

There's no-- Where's the
reward in any of this?

What's your end game?
Valid questions.

At this time, the apartment
is starting to transform

into something else.

It's evolving again.

It had started as a response

to development projects
in our neighborhood,

and within a couple of years

it looks like
a domestic space,

but it's completely
isolated from the world.

And sometimes when you're
in that space,

you felt like you were on
the stage of a sitcom TV show.

And I think kind of
because of that feeling,

we just stopped
filming ourselves altogether.

And then
we had had this break-in.

They were two guys,
young guys,

maybe 20, 21,
something like that,

who were new security guards
at the mall.

I think they were just
going through every door,

and they came upon the door

that they did not have
the key to.

So they just kicked
the door down.

So Colin and I enter
into the apartment

to try to figure out
what's happened.

Our door's been broken in.

But when we enter
into the apartment,

we can quickly assess
that someone else

has been spending time there,
and it's not us.

And there's evidence
of entertainment

dispersed throughout.

But things have also
been stolen.

Our, uh, PlayStation,
weirdly enough,

was the thing that was gone,
and then there were some other

of our personal effects
that were gone.

We had some framed pictures
and stuff

to make it feel
a little homier.

Those were the things
that were gone.

I think they took
the PlayStation

because it had
all of our save dates

for the games
we were playing on it,

so that's just a record
of all the visits

in the last
couple months.

And they took
our photo album

because it had
just photographs of us.

It was very clearly
who lived in this apartment.

Busted. Job well done.
Bravo.

We've been in this space
for four years,

and there's this
underlying dread

that we're gonna get caught
at any time.

And after we were broken into,
we just stopped

going to that space
during the day altogether.

And then I screwed up.

I had a friend visiting
from out of town,

and I thought to myself, "I'll
bring her to see the space."

And I went during the day.

I disrespected our own rules,
and it blew up in my face.

All right, this is
our secret apartment.

Been slowly building this
over the last four years.

Moving in pieces of furniture
and slowly building it up

to try to make it a fully
domestic space to live in.

Are you allowed
to be here?

Technically, no. We've been
doing it all on the sly.

And within a couple of days,
the wood floors will be in,

and it'll be one step closer.

- How did you get this up here?
- That is--

Yeah, so between the sound
of the walkie-talkie

and seeing that doorknob turn,

everything just goes
into slo-mo.

And it's one of those times
when you can process

a lot of scenarios in
a very short period of time.

One of the possibilities
is just to get out of there.

Book it, grab your friend,

head towards the secret passage,

and... that's where
you're in trouble,

because you're asking them
to dive into a place

that's like pitch dark,
full of ledges and I-beams.

They're probably
not gonna make it.

Another idea that struck me was,

they were entering
into my home,

so I should just
invite them in as guests,

treat them like royalty,

and maybe they would
treat me well in return?

Ah! Hello!

Gentlemen,
it's good to see you.

Ah! Too long.
You. You, sir.

But that probably
wasn't gonna work.

Another possibility
that went through my mind

is that this isn't
security at all,

that maybe this is
just a cool person

with a walkie-talkie on
the other side of that door.

- Walkie-talkies.
- Yes!

Radio Shack.

Sweet!

But after seeing those three
guys step through that door

in their business suits,
I knew it was over.

I remember stepping right up
and saying, "Surprise!"

- Do you know who I am?
- We know who you are.

You're gonna need
to follow us.

Our other top local story
on Eyewitness News at Noon--

This is an incredible tale.

A local artist
has apparently had

some living space
in the Providence Place Mall.

In all, eight artists were
in and out of that loft area,

but there was one man who
admitted that he lived there,

and now he's facing
trespassing charges,

and he's also banned
from the premises.

In a mall with 24-hour security,

Michael Townsend
was able to build

a fully livable apartment,

and he used it
for nearly four years.

Townsend was arrested
and charged with trespassing.

A judge sentenced him
to six months probation

and ordered him to pay
court costs and restitution.

A spokesman for the mall
said the hidden space

would be sealed up immediately.

Townsend's original charge...

Townsend has been barred

from coming to the mall
permanently.

Townsend was
released this morning,

spending just one night in jail.

His only regret is that
it ended too soon.

In the next year, he planned
on expanding the apartment

and building
an extra bedroom,

a kitchen, and a bathroom,
all with running water.

When asked if the apartment
was a work of art

or just a place to live,
Townsend told us that for him

there's no line
between art and life.

Brian Crandall,
NBC 10 News, Providence.

So I was told by
representatives of the mall

that they took down
our cinder-block wall

and then moved
all the cinder blocks

to rebuild a new wall
to block off the entrance

we had used to enter in
all of those years.

As far as I know, no one's
ever been in there again.

With our secret apartment
in the mall,

there wasn't any sense
of it being permanent.

We're just gonna keep
building it

until we reached
that crescendo moment

and then make it disappear.

So what is it?
What is it?

Is it a work of art?
Is it a social experiment?

Is it trespassing?
Is it a prank?

It's maybe
all of these things.

It was this idea of

reinventing everyday life

and making of everyday life

an artistic project.

It talks about gentrification.

It talks about, uh, capitalism

and, you know,
everything being commodified.

It's the perfect site

to address issues of, like,

ownership of capital,
of private versus public.

It was like this
alternate universe

that's, like,
within the real world.

It's a crossover between
installation art

and performance art.

I think it was a combo of,
like, mischief

and, like, snark.

It seemed like
a big presentational show

because they don't like--
they don't like malls?

It felt like, blah, whatever.

I don't really get it,
I will admit,

uh, which is-- Michael finds
that hilarious.

Uh, you know, it's--
I-- I try to understand

why this was an art project
and the deeper, um, messaging

he was trying to get across
by occupying unoccupied space.

And, like, I've heard it,
I've heard it,

but I just don't
really get why it's art.

I'm not sure if it--
if it moves over

to the area of being artistic.

I think this is just
his creative mind

trying to express itself
in every possible way.

I've kept this key on
my keychain the entire time.

Yep, this is the key.

Um, which used to have flames
on it, but it doesn't anymore.

Well, um,
it's here on my keychain.

Um, I have no idea
if the door's still there,

so I sometimes refer to it
as my key to nowhere.

Here is my key.

It's got, uh, what's left
of an American flag

and an eagle on it.

You can kind of see, like,
a little bit of the flames

left in there.

Uh, but pretty well worn.
And that was the key.

Oh, yeah.