There’s something magical about beautiful/satyrical/dark street art slapped onto the side of a Victorian-era terrace house in inner-city Melbourne. Or on the arse of a 1960’s brick tower in the city, awash with air conditioning units and soot. Or on an industrial garage door tucked into a right of way.
I’m not talking about random tagging and vandalism, I’m talking about ART. I’m not an art gallery girl, I can’t draw or paint for shit, but this stuff draws me into the most unlikely of places. Into the city I call home.