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Meet Lucas Beaufort: creator of HEART, a book and tour to honor 40 years of skateboarding

“You have to be doing 1,000 things. Always yes, that’s a good vision in life. Just say yes and then you can form and sculpt a project however you want. How can you live a life by saying no?”

In the vibrant world of skateboarding, where art meets asphalt, there's a man who hails from France named Lucas Beaufort, a jack-of-all-trades artist, who defies boundaries by pushing the limits of creativity both on and off the board.

“I started skateboarding when I was six and my mom put me on a board. I loved every bit of it. But she was tired of it after a while since I kept ripping my clothes from falling, and she had enough. So she put me in team sports.”

Then at 13, that spark reignited, and he found himself immersed in a world of endless possibilities. As Beaufort navigated life, he discovered that skateboarding was more than just a sport; it was a way of life, a source of inspiration, and a muse for his artistic pursuits. 



“It taught me everything I know really, how to speak English, how to travel the world, make friends, and see the world. There’s nothing like skateboarding for the culture. From the street fashion brands to the luxury brands, to the cinema industry, you can see so many things that are drawn from skateboarding. For 100 bucks you can get a board, you don't need a car, you can just go from your house and go anywhere.”  

"For 100 bucks you can get a board, you don't need a car, you can just go from your house and go anywhere."

Throughout his travels, Beaufort realized that skateboarding had a universal appeal, transcending cultural and geographical boundaries. It was a common thread that connected people from all walks of life, creating a sense of community and belonging.


Driven by a desire to capture the essence of the culture and being cooped up during quarantine, Beaufort embarked on an ambitious project: HEART, a book celebrating the iconic skate shops that have stood the test of time. Each shop featured in the book has a rich history, spanning decades of dedication to the sport, bringing together old and new generations of skaters and paying respect to the pioneers who paved the way. 



After the book launched, Beaufort embarked on tours visiting each shop featured. Going from Japan to Europe and now finally making his way to the USA. For a 10-stop tour celebration of the skate community, bringing together local skaters, over 250 total artists, musicians, and anyone else with an interested eye. With Pabst Blue Ribbon sponsoring each stop, what the nights have in store is unknown, but Beaufort can’t wait to see. 



“I want the whole city to come out, to have music, live artists. Just one night each, ten stops, I don’t want to plan too too much. We’re going to be at the shop from 6 to 9 pm and anything and everything can happen after that. I want to freestyle a bit. Let’s go eat together. The shop is just the starter of the night. I want the local skate scene to come out and to have a good time, but then also see what they are into, where they go, and to take me with them.” 



Beaufort's unwavering pursuit of his artistic passions, combined with his infectious energy and ability to connect with people, has allowed him to create a body of work that celebrates the essence of skateboarding and beyond. His journey is a testament to the power of following one's dreams, embracing change, and leaving an indelible mark on the world.

Catch Lucas at one of his stops over the next month where cold beers will be flowing from the loving support of PBR: 

  1. TENANT (Brooklyn) : April 12th 
  2. Humidity  (New Orleans) : April 23rd
  3. No Comply (Austin) : April 26th 
  4. Cowtown (Phoenix) : April 28th 
  5. 303 (Denver) : May 1st 
  6. Escapist (Kansas City) : May 4th
  7. Familia (Minneapolis) : May 7th 
  8. Antisocial (Vancouver): May 10th
  9. Atlas (San Mateo) : May 15th
  10. Pawnshop (Covina) : May 17th

Be sure to follow Lucas Beaufort on Instagram to stay in the know of each stop.



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City Secrets: Beyond the Blinds

There are a lot of people living on top of one another here in NYC, breeding a sort of closeness that doesn’t exist in the suburbs. As I open my eyes, I judge the outdoor noises against my own. The sounds around me echo a common rhythm.

The iPhone alarm next door can be heard through the paper-thin walls, going off at the same time as mine—snoozed once, twice, then finally stopped. Upstairs, someone rushes out late for work, their door slamming shut and footsteps shuffling down the stairs. The smell of toast wafts from the neighboring apartment, a sign of a quick breakfast, just like mine.

In the solitude of our respective bedrooms, the illusion of being alone dissipates, replaced by the realization that our lives echo one another.

Getting dressed, I'm reminded that the gap between my window sill and blinds is a place where bystanders can peer in and evaluate their lives against my own. The voyeuristic nature of city life becomes apparent; I know because I do it too—glimpsing into others' homes when walking the streets, observing the work on their computer screens, the food they order, and the patterns on their pajamas. You’d be surprised how few people turn their lights off, inviting the world into their most intimate moments. We’ve normalized it—the visual intrusion, comparing, contrasting, bending, and breaking in with our eyes to see how others make these concrete cages feel like homes.

Through these visual cues, we inadvertently invite the world into our homes, breaking down the barriers that separate us. In the diverse array of personal touches that adorn our living spaces, a common thread emerges—shared humanity that unites us despite our apparent differences: mismatched throw pillows, small potted plants, and succulents, flat screens in the center of framed movie posters, art prints pinned up, record players and vinyl, worn-out leather armchairs, soft throw blankets, whiteboards with to-do lists, shelves of board games and puzzles, incense, cork boards on exposed brick covered in old Polaroids.

It's a reminder that, in the small details, we find a common ground that brings us closer, no matter how vast the city may seem.

The very things that make our homes uniquely ours are the same elements that connect us. Whether it's book stacks, the glow of neon signs, or candles scattered about, these common elements create a sense of connection. Our homes, a reflection of our shared experiences, show that, despite the city's size, our lives mostly look the same. It's a reminder that, in the small details, we find a common ground that brings us closer, no matter how vast the city may seem.

When I get home to end the day and close my blinds, I’m met with a stare on the other side of the street—another girl, in another bedroom, shutting hers too. We’re both three stories high, calling it a day, sharing the very same bedtime. We both think we’re safe from the outside world, but we’re wrong. Her television screen plays the same show I just binged, and her bedside table features takeout from the spot I get every night of the week. Maybe we’d be friends even.

Some nights, I peek out and catch her taking a cigarette break on the fire escape, sitting alone in the middle of her bed with her laptop’s glow as her only source of light, talking on the phone, pacing her floors, sitting at her desk toggling between getting work done on her laptop and scrolling on her phone, reluctantly doing an at-home exercise, reading a book for a few moments then putting it down, staring out the window, holding a mug probably filled with coffee. In the solitude of our respective bedrooms, the illusion of being alone dissipates, replaced by the realization that our lives echo one another.

It’s in the shared life of the stranger directly in front of me, in what feels like right behind my desk in my bedroom where I’ve come to realize that even when I’m alone, there's a feeling that I’m not. The illusion of solitude is broken when that gaze from my neighbor across the street meets mine. No one is immune. If we pay attention, we can see our routines mirror each other.

Though physically apart, these shared moments suggest that in a city of millions, we're more alike than we realize.