THE HP CONCERT SERIES PRESENTS
An “acoustic evening of original music” in the heart of Highland Park.*
*No actual performance will take place. See below for full context.
Other dispatches from the HP Concert Series universe – fake news, real anxieties, and extremely specific Highland Park problems.
The town’s most ambitious celebrity holiday dies in a single HOA email thread.
A completely substance-free 420 celebration curated by people who still say “dope.”
When the blue bin becomes the front line of the culture war.
A loving roast of eight-figure homes that look like banking app splash screens.
A burn recovery story turned inspirational med-spa ad.
HP parents send their son to find God and a wife, but he comes home holier and way more glam.
A Highland Park mom explains how losing the state title was God's holy plan for the boys.
Highland Park moms treat “taking back the country” like a themed charity gala and Pilates event.
Recent grad explains why moving back into the family mansion is actually a financial flex.
Local parents propose an “alternative celebration” focused on modesty, silence, and beige decor.
HP parents return to the book ban saga, this time targeting all words. Pictures only, for safety.
HP debates whether art programs can compete with the dream of a stadium scoreboard visible from space.
The letters page for every overlong, anonymous neighborhood rant.
A selection of promotional materials created for the HP Concert Series.
This website and the accompanying posters are part of a social-practice art project staged in Highland Park, Texas. It uses the unlikely premise of a John Hinckley Jr. “community concert” to examine how affluent neighborhoods talk about, and avoid talking about, mental health, public disturbance, and “uncomfortable” people.
No performance has been booked. No tickets are being sold. John Hinckley Jr. is not scheduled to appear. The event information on the posters is intentionally convincing at first glance, but ultimately fictional.
The goal is not to glamorize violence or notoriety. The goal is to surface the tension between a pristine public image and the very real private struggles that exist in every community, including Highland Park.
Concert posters feel harmless, friendly, and routine. They blend into the visual noise of coffee shops, park bulletin boards, and neighborhood poles. By placing a deeply unsettling name into that friendly format, the project asks:
Highland Park is known for manicured lawns, quiet streets, and tightly curated public life. It is also a place, like many affluent communities, where distress is often handled quietly: sent to wilderness programs, private rehabs, or behind closed doors.
A loud, visibly unstable person in public is treated as a disruption. A quiet crisis behind a brick wall is treated as a private matter. This project sits in between those two spaces.
When neighborhoods prioritize smooth surfaces and pleasant optics, difficult conversations can be pushed away in the name of “safety” and “standards.” Silence becomes a kind of policy.
By using park space, utility poles, and digital flyers, the project treats the neighborhood itself as a stage, asking residents to notice what they’re comfortable seeing, and what they are not.
No. There is no scheduled performance. The posters, website, and social media accounts exist solely as components of an art and research project on mental health, visibility, and community image.
No. The project does not endorse Hinckley, his past actions, or political violence of any kind. His name is used as a symbol of discomfort, notoriety, and the way society processes people who have caused harm and later reappear in public life.
Because neighborhoods often respond more strongly to uncomfortable symbols than to quiet, everyday suffering. The provocation is meant to open space for honest conversation, not to shock for its own sake.
This site and the accompanying materials were created as part of an academic and artistic exploration of mental health, community standards, and suburban identity in North Texas.