I wish people could just say how they feel like ‘Hey I really don’t like when you do that to me’ or ‘Hey I’m in love with you’ or ‘Hi I really miss you and I think about you all the time’ without sounding desperate. Why can’t everyone be painfully honest and just save people the trouble.
If just one child has been inspired to pick up a can of paint and make some art, well that would be statistically disappointing considering how much work I put in. Outside is where art should live, among us, and rather than street art being a fad, maybe it’s the last 1,000 years of art history are a blip, when art came inside in service of the church and institutions.
But art’s rightful place is on the cave-walls of our communities, where it can act as a ‘public service’: provoke debate, voice concerns, forge identities.
The world we live in today is run by, visually at least, traffic signs, billboards, and planning committees. Is that it? Don’t we want to live in a world made of art, not just decorated by it?
People hate that I flip two cigarettes
Upside down in each pack
But I hate that people notice
When you gain three pounds,
But not when you buy a new hat.
I’ve been told that the way I sleep
With one leg draped over
The person lying next to me
But I think it’s annoying
When people tell me
I look pretty,
But only when I paint my face.
I’ve heard that old men
Like to touch the girls who work late at bars,
But I want to know
Why they never kiss the women they married
fourty-two years ago.
I’ve noticed that mothers teach their daughters
That it’s rude to refuse a hug
From an uncle they’ve met three times,
But forget to teach them
That they aren’t obliged to kiss
The boy who paid for dinner.