I am no art specialist but I’ve always loved art i.e. architecture, fashion design, sketches but most of all paintings. I’m drawn to paintings with texture. When I walk into a room and a piece catches my eye, no matter where I am I cannot resist the urge to touch it. When touching it, I feel I absorb it and ‘experience’ the painting with a sense other than just sight.
When its a landscape piece I can feel the mood it emanates and can feel myself being transported to that time and place. When its an abstract piece I analyse each brush stroke and the various mediums used.
Another form of art that thrills me is graffiti. I don’t care if some people call it vandalism, to me its art in one of its purist forms. Now I’m not talking about graffiti you find on desks at school, I’m talking about the colourful, outstanding tags you find on urban buildings and freeway tunnels. Sometimes when seeing a new mural I imagine the culprit on a ladder spraying his heart out. I think of the adrenalin of sneaking around and the attention to detail that it takes to get the passion of your mind, through your arm and out your hands onto a surface for everyone else to see.
The closest I got to ‘tagging’ anything was when i drew a picture on my bedroom wall with pencil. When I got home from school one day I was surprised to see my bedroom was painted. What shocked me and sprung my heartstrings was seeing that a border was painted around my picture that now stood out like a sore thumb. My mom had told the painter not to paint over it. That affirmation from her still brings tears to my eyes.
I’ll never forget the day we picked my uncle up from work, I was very young and impressionable. It was at a chain-store with rooftop parking. All four walls of the rooftop was embellished with the most amazing, detailed and colourful mural I had ever seen. I can’t remember what story the mural told or if there even was a story. I just remember standing with my mouth agape in the middle and admiring each wall as I turned in a circle. It was somewhat of a wonderland to me at that moment. The very next day it was gone, painted over by the mall maintenance staff. It was a pity but I wasn’t torn up about it. I knew the artists were aware that their work would never last there. All they wanted was to be heard. As young and clueless as I was; I heard them and I felt lucky to have witnessed their limited moment of glory.