Dave Tourjé: You Have to Destroy What You Create to Become Free

When Dave Tourjé was two years old, he had a box of wooden blocks. Every day he'd dump them on the floor, stack them into towers of color, admire what he built—then destroy it and start over.

That ritual never stopped.

Tourjé is a painter, a punk rock musician, a skateboarder, and a founding member of the California Locos—a collective of LA artists who represent the city's raw, multicultural energy. When he sat down with me for Audio Signals Podcast, we talked about survival, rebellion, and what it really takes to stay free as an artist.

"You have to learn to destroy what you're creating to really become free," Tourjé told me. "Otherwise you're gonna be trapped by your own creation."

He calls himself a lucky survivor of the eighties. Born in 1960, raised in Los Angeles, he hit the punk rock scene at 19, got his first skateboard at 7, and was riding swimming pools by the time urethane wheels made it possible. He studied art on scholarship but quit when they asked him to do papier-mâché in college. "That was third grade for me," he said. "I just said, fuck this. I'm outta here."

He's the only practicing artist from that program.

When galleries started selling his concrete and steel furniture around the world, Tourjé thought they'd embrace his paintings too. Instead, they told him to stick with what was selling. When collectors wanted commissioned work in different colors, he walked away. "I was not built to do it," he said. "So I bowed out."

Instead of finding a patron, he built one. A construction company that runs without him—a machine that pays him without requiring him to owe anything to anyone. "It's going to be my patron," he explained. "It's a similar model, but without all the social implications."

That freedom let him focus on the California Locos, a collective he assembled around 2011 with friends who were all leaders in their own corners of LA culture—surf, skate, street art, tattoo, photography. "We are basically Los Angeles," he said. "A very honest reflection."

Their book, Renaissance and Rebellion, tells the story from the sixties to now. It's published by Drago in Rome and distributed internationally. They're currently showing at the California Surf Museum in Oceanside, with museum shows lined up for 2027 and Spain on the horizon.

But the moment that stuck with me came at the end of our conversation. We talked about how musicians destroy as they create—every live performance disappears the moment it's played. "It's like painting a painting that as soon as you put it down and you go to get the next paint, the paint is gone."

And when someone looks at his paintings and sees something he never intended? He doesn't correct them. "The story is the painting," he said. "As soon as the artist says what it's about, everybody has to abide by the rules."

He refuses to impose meaning. Once he's done, he becomes an observer. The work is no longer his—it's an object from the past. He's already onto the next thing.

That's what freedom looks like after a lifetime of rebellion.

Stay tuned. Subscribe. And remember—we are all made of stories.

-- Marco
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Audio Signals Podcast 🌐 https://www.audiosignalspodcast.com

Dave Tourjé 🌐 https://davetourje.com/

Marco Ciappelli 🌐 https://www.marcociappelli.com

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There's a particular kind of magic that happens when a storyteller stops trying to please the market and starts listening to their soul. Pen Densham knows this better than most—he's lived it across three different mediums, each time learning to let go a little more.

Densham's creative journey spans decades and disciplines: from screenwriting to cinematography to, now, impressionist photography. When I sat down with him for Audio Signals Podcast, we didn't dwell on credits or awards. We talked about the vulnerability of creativity, the courage it takes to break the rules, and the freedom that comes when you stop asking for permission.

"Those scripts that I wrote out of passion, even though they didn't seem necessary to fit the market, got made more frequently than the ones I wrote when I was architecting to hit goals for a studio," Densham told me. It's a paradox he's discovered over and over: the work born from genuine emotional need resonates in ways that calculated formulas never can.

His thinking has been shaped by extraordinary influences. He studied with Marshall McLuhan, who opened his eyes to the biology of storytelling—how audiences enter a trance state, mirroring the characters on screen, processing strategies through their neurons. He found resonance in Joseph Campbell's work on myth. "We're the shamans of our age," Densham reflects. "We're trying to interpret society in ways that people can learn and change."

But what struck me most was how Densham, after mastering the craft of writing and the machinery of cinematography, has circled back to the simplest tool: a camera. Not to capture perfect images, but to create what he calls "visual music." He moves his camera deliberately during long exposures. He shoots koi through blinding sunlight. He photographs waves at dusk until they fragment into impressionistic dances of light and motion.

"The biggest effort was letting go of self-criticism," he admitted. "Thinking 'this is stupid, these aren't real photographs.' But I'm making images that blow my mind."

This is the thread that runs through Densham's entire creative life: the willingness to unlearn. In writing, he learned to trust his instincts over studio formulas. In cinematography, he learned that visual storytelling could carry emotional weight beyond dialogue. And now, in photography, he's learned that breaking every rule he ever absorbed—holding the camera still, getting the exposure right, capturing a "correct" image—has unlocked something entirely new.

There's a lesson here for anyone who creates. We absorb rules unconsciously—what a proper screenplay looks like, how a film should be shot, what makes a "real" photograph. And sometimes those rules serve us. But sometimes they become cages. Densham's journey is proof that the most profound creative freedom comes not from mastering the rules, but from having the courage to abandon them.

"I'm not smarter than anybody else," he said. "But like Einstein said, I stay at things longer."

We left the door open for more—AI, the creator economy, the future of storytelling. But for now, there's something powerful in Densham's path across writing, cinematography, and photography: a reminder that creativity is not a destination but a continuous act of letting go.

Stay tuned. Subscribe. And remember—we are all made of stories.

Learn more about Pen Densham: https://pendenshamphotography.com

Learn more about my work and podcasts at marcociappelli.com and audiosignalspodcast.com

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