The Accidental Grafitti Artist
Better late than never, right, @DamyantiWrites?
This video not only tickled my funnybone, because I’m a fan of good street art and see it as a way to combat the merely ugly, or territorial sort of graffiti and random, stealth profanity that lies like litter under most urban bridges, but also because I can relate to the artist’s momentary embarrassment over the whole thing.
Many years ago, when I was a young teen, I loved to frequent Bob’s Deli, located (once upon a time) in Bellaire Plaza, in Daytona Beach, Florida. They had napkin holders on every table, and in addition to making the BEST non-Kosher-approved “Toasted Bagel with Cream Cheese, Lettuce, and Tomato with a side of Burnt Bacon” (my own invention, which they perfected and no one’s beat to this day), my biggest delight in going there was scribbling on the napkins. Poetry, unicorns, and castles were frequent features of my primitive artistic urges.
Until the day I learned of the art gallery in the kitchen.
I’d always assumed my silly, half-finished creations – intimate, random glimpses into my imagination – were destined for the large garbage bin out back. Not taped to a wall in the kitchen.
I should have been (and now, older and wiser, I am) flattered. I was appalled. I was horrified. I started to obliterate my art by wadding it up and dousing it in bacon grease or runny egg yolks. The young man who’d told me of the “gallery” looked sad, as I began to avoid impromptu scribblings in the diner, altogether.
I would tell my younger self to stop being an idiot, and to appreciate the people who enjoy whatever silliness you cook up (or art, or literature – but let’s not even bother to call it that and add pressure or stress). To share your imagination is both an obligation and a gift, and the day you stop is the day it begins to shrivel. Not from the rejection of others, but from the rejection of its owner. YOU.
So, yay for playful wombats and other stealthy, random acts of art and originality, whether they lurk beneath a bridge or on a paper napkin stained with a bit of bacon grease.