Every city has its pain place. In Darwin there’s the man with no legs elevated in a shady doorway. There’s the bus driver constantly glancing apprehensively in his mirror at the back of the bus where a drunk disheveled woman directs angry shouts like blows at a man in the group.
“And you can tell everybody, that this is your song”
Like Elton John the street artist wrote down the words to the world of his love, but used a spray can instead of a song. My photo missed the tag so the artist remains anonymous, like the woman to whom he offers a heart and a rose. Anonymous these two may be, the visible and invisible, yet they express something very intimate and personal described by artists, poets and musicians down through the centuries. (For in my mind, he is a Romeo, and here is his Juliette).
Just up the street from the Morrocan House Hotel in Rue Mohamad SMIHA in the city centre of Casablanca, I came across this graffiti on an empty building. The smell of urine greeted me under the deep overhanging roof. Fortunately I did look down before moving in for the shot, thereby sidestepping the faeces.
There is so much energy in this graffiti. Bursting through the boarded up entrance of a disused vault-like structure, they are living creatures, writhing in their effort to break out into the square. I stood on the Rue Theodore above the graffitI looking down into pared back quadrangle of the College Calvin. This space though austure, beckoned me too. Only after taking it in did I notice the graffiti.
I’ve only just become acquinted with the graffiti of artist El Nino de las Pinturas who lives in Granada. Wow. I arrived this evening and hope to track down some of his work tomorrow.
Spent the morning soaking up all the street art here. Everything from clever, edgey, disturbing decorative to commercial. Too much to post all at once. It will just have to wait until I’m back in Australia.