Bold claim: a Baltimore cyclist has turned discarded hubcaps into a vibrant, growing art project that reimages junk into public wonder. But here’s where it gets controversial: does turning roadside litter into sculpture elevate community spirit or risk glorifying neglect? Barnaby Wickham, a 54-year-old marketer in the defense tech sector, has collected more than 700 lost hubcaps, mostly from rides around Baltimore. His mission evolved into weaving litter into art, producing pieces such as Christmas wreaths, a giant fish, and an oversized Snoopy head.
The spark for this hobby came about two years ago, sparked by Wickham’s love of cycling and a desire to repurpose found objects. He describes the thrill as a twofold hunt: the joy of riding through Baltimore and the challenge of finding enough objects—not so sparse as to be dull, but not so abundant that the pursuit loses its edge.
Wickham’s origin story is simple: during an early 2024 ride, he picked up a stray hubcap, and the habit spiraled. He now backpacks hubcaps as he finds them, keeping a running map of their locations on Google, tagging each find with its spot.
Community members have begun to notice and participate, informing him of additional hubcaps along routes. Wickham maintains a catalog he calls “hubcaps in the wild,” and he favors doing the collecting himself as part of the fulfillment.
His wife, Kate, plays a supportive role, helping with materials and offering practical cautions: where roads are safe to travel and where risks lie. “I’m the support team, occasionally the voice of caution,” she says, framing the partnership as a mutual adventure.
Baltimore’s quirky reputation helps contextualize Wickham’s work. The city’s cultural markers—John Waters’ distinctive cinema and the American Visionary Art Museum, which spotlights self-taught and intuitive art—fit nicely with his craft.
In practice, Wickham stores finds in his garage and crafts outdoors. He builds frameworks from expanded metal, overlays sheet metal with perforations, and uses zip ties to secure hubcaps to the frames. He notes that hubcaps’ holes and slots make it easy to anchor them into place.
His sculptures are sizable: the Snoopy head stretches about 16 feet tall and roughly 21 feet wide. Though most hubcaps originate in Baltimore, his travels broaden the assortment, yielding pieces from Ohio and Italy. A notable moment occurred during a Roman bike tour when he explained to a guide why he collected hubcaps; after showing a wreath, she understood and accepted the hobby.
Wickham has given back through donations, presenting two Christmas wreaths—one to the city and another to a nonprofit—last year.
The hobby also fosters community connections. On one ride, a passerby who saw Wickham collecting signaled for him to come over, eager to point out another hubcap nearby. Wickham describes countless conversations sparked by the project and notes that many people find the topic engaging and approachable.
If you’re curious about unconventional art and the ways everyday objects can spark creativity and conversation, Wickham’s story offers both inspiration and a prompt for discussion: Is repurposing roadside litter a meaningful civic art, or should communities encourage different forms of environmental stewardship? What are your thoughts on turning discarded items into public art, and where would you draw the line? Share your perspective in the comments.
