We do not know if the author is a man or a woman. We do not know their race, how old they are, or if they went to college. We have no idea where the poems come from, and so focus on their content—and context. The poems share a theme of neon grief, the strange loneliness that comes with being surrounded by bright lights in a city of unknowns. They are appropriately located in busy, well-lit urban areas, and are stylistically similar, taking up spaces traditionally reserved for adverts. Coming across the poems in the same city, it is safe to assume they have the same writer. In this way, says Barthes, “the modern writer (scriptor) is born simultaneously with his text.” (1) Coming across the poems, we, the readers, assign them personality and meaning. There is no artist---no history, biography, or tradition to guide us. The “message” of the poems depends on us.
It is strange how a specific name can be anonymous. I don’t know the Chris the artist is referring to, but have, in my head, a concept of who I think he or she is.