Now, as proved in Stratford, 2004, I am apparently interested mainly in graffiti that has fulfills some narcissistic need:
Ah, I thought, it appears to be a pattern! Visit a foreign country, choose not to leave my mark but find that someone else has already done it for me. I'll be able to start a series. Excellent.
Now picture my dismay when, walking from town to the pool on Bridge Road with Mira, I spotted something that shattered my illusions. Another stroke by the same hand that made it clear that the artist had not in fact been writing "holly" with loopy "l"s, but rather had been trying to write the word "happy."
A humbling blow, of course, but perhaps a much needed one. One can't go around, after all, believing that the universe is reaffirming one's presence in foreign lands.
Not that that's what I was doing, mind you.
Anyway, now that I've come to recognize that this "happy"ness is its own series, I've begun to see it everywhere. This instance was only a few meters from the house, on the bridge over the rail line between our house and Swan Street:
The sheer cheek! How dare they scrawl their cheeky little missives that are not my name wherever they please. Who is this person and where do they live that their work is infiltrating structures so close to home? Who was that masked man?
Whoever he/she may be, they are clearly overcompensating. Personally, I choose to believe they administer this ...this...theraffiti...in an effort to combat the pervading sense of despair and resignation that they are not currently, nor will this advertising campaign ever make them, truly
No comments:
Post a Comment