R.I.P.PED

A few months back I wrote this.

It was a cold, dark morning. A light breeze flew through her coat, shaking up her to bare bones. It was autumn. And it was full of leaves. Grabbing her broom in one hand she ventured out into the city before everybody - it seemed that the town was barely inhabited at this early hour. Making her way through the allies, brushing away her thoughts and dirt from the pavement, she suddenly felt a chill and stopped to look around. And then she saw it. Still wet, sticky from the wallpaper glue, a piece of paper was attached to the wall near her, staring to her in pure laughter. The broom lost contact with her hand and hit the pavement, waking up the neighborhood dogs. She stormed to the wall, no second thoughts, ripping the wet paper in joy. Thrown in the bin - there it was... Where it belonged. She bent to reach for the brush, buttoned back up her coat and threw her last glimpse at the fortunate sight of making her city's walls more cultural. And believe it or not... Spray paint. On the very same spot. "Bah, vandals," she murmured and made her way further into the waking city streets.

 That was when I first released my blueprints for my double-sided art piece that was supposed to try and make some street cleaners very, very mad. I guess I was inspired a bit from Mobstr, the living and breathing genius of minimalist street art who effectively produced a dialog, or rather monologue, with the man who was coloring away his pieces every day after he painted them. The question arose - what makes people feel the instinctual disgust against street art that would make them peel away millions of layers of genius works all around the world? Of course, let's not talk about the obvious major affluence of parenting and the general idea people everywhere are teaching their kids of graffiti being the worst kind of action there is. That's a given. But what about the other aspects of it... Banksy wrote that we should imagine a city where graffiti was legal. A city with so much color that waiting at the bus stop would never be boring. A city full of life, full of brilliance and fun. And really, isn't that the thing we'd dream about? A tear takes nothing but a swipe of hand and maybe this is just a curse of second world countries, but very few people actually take interest in the meaning of street art or things in general. Running off for our ideals, rushing to reach our goals we forget that there is a lot more to be learned and understood in this world. And that intolerance fascinates me. The walls of a city can never be written down as a dead medium to talk to humanity. It is our only real way to communicate, surpassing everybody and anybody who would love to stop this dialog from happening.

 

 Because what is most important - I am here. And finally so are you.

Thank you from all my heart.