Art is our medication here in the inner-city. Graffiti is soul paracetamol. Music is life. In a pressure cooker of rage, it is the outlet. In an utterly dark room it is light through a keyhole. Forget the coppers and the wigged criminals, art is what saves the streets.
There is soul in street art, the pictures showing our troubles and hope, our shared sense of these heroin-needle trenches.
Street art is a high tech emotional translator using the best organic computers around, talking to every level of the brain, inviting deeper thought.
The street art projected our living dreams onto the bricks, the pictures of our souls we so needed others to read.
Street art ain't asking for passing change, but for a permanent shift in the heart of our culture.
Street art bleeds right from this canister, the SOS of emotions too vivid for words, shouting in the truest language of man.
They take our spray cans under neon graffiti, before the store front swagger. Yet the heart demands a hearing, a chance to render the static of emotion into colours and form, into something that can speak my truth.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.