
The site of the stolen Bansky — which I posted a few weeks ago — is now just a canvas for uninspired graffiti artists. (In Wood Green.)
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Uninspired? Do you not see the brash, bold sweep of the red; the harsh jagged line of the “Z” slashing through the drab white space like a liberating obscenity disrupting the white silence of cultural conformity and the timidity of small minds; the hand within the bleeding heart clearly suggestive of Lascaux handprints, drawing an indelible connection between the expressive need of the earliest cave artists and the burning rage propelling today’s insurgent creatives to proclaim “here I am, I exist, I breathe, I speak, I live”; the gracious and almost understated curves of the green tag below the red, like a promise of calm after storm, or of an incipient revolutionary spring poised to bloom and flourish tomorrow when watered by the blood and sacrifices of today? It’s genius, I tell you, genius.