It was described as a nightly ritual in which young club-hoppers slathered on glamor with an unbridled gusto. Heavy gold jewelry would frame a face painted with as much artifice as a contour brush could – or couldn’t – manage.

Perhaps with more symbolism than he intends, Ty Tabing, executive director of the Alliance, says that their goal is to “activate vacant spaces [in order] to bring art to Chicago.” Their tactic is, as I’ve found out, at least a step in the right direction.

In the divers’ common judgment, the United States is a country filled with wasteful consumers who either don’t know enough or don’t care enough to consider whether something is actually bad before tossing it—a situation that the divers can and “should,” they say, capitalize on.

“P.L.U.R.,” spelled Nic, pointing to the letters painted vertically on the wall. “It means ‘Peace, Love, Unity, Respect.’ It’s iconic for ravers everywhere: It’s what we live; it’s what we breathe.”

The full view unfolded—the late summer foliage of Promontory Point stood defiantly before Chicago’s looming skyline, like a little brother with his chest puffed up to impress the cameraman.

To be clear, signs that hang in unrented spaces offer the following motto: “Work. Live. Create.” Here, it seems that creating is tertiary to working—and timely rent is thrice as important as critical acclaim.

I, at least, have never found taking inspiration from these deathly places to be anything like a sinister enterprise. I don’t do the top-forty radio—I pale at the normal. In a grand way, life is very boring.

“‘I have to be really careful when I’m painting because it’s like a mantra. One time I painted a box and everybody told me it looked like a coffin. The day that I finished, my friend called me and told me his mother had passed away that morning.’”