I grew up in New Jersey.

Some of my earliest memories of this place aren't the things you'd find on a postcard. They're highways. Old buildings. Neighborhoods. Diners. Shore towns. The places and people you pass a thousand times without realizing how much they're becoming part of you.

And the smokestacks.

Growing up, I remember driving from Newark to my grandmother's house and seeing the smokestacks rise above the landscape. At the time, they were simply part of the scenery.

Years later, they came to mean something more.

I spent time away from New Jersey and traveled enough to realize how much I loved where I came from. The longer I was away, the more I noticed the things I missed.

The energy.

The people.

The seasons.

The food.

The cities and small towns.

The shore.

A quiet drive up the Parkway before the rest of the world wakes up. A deserted beach town in December. The boardwalk in the middle of summer. The familiar places you don't fully appreciate until you're somewhere else.

I began to understand that where we're from has a way of becoming part of who we are.

The Smokestacks grew out of that realization.

With Love and Affection - Obi