Sometimes street art is to be found in the most unexpected places…
This place on Cnr. Milton/Lower Main (with sorry septic tenants, except for The Model-T Liquors) hosts this unrulily (you read it here Blobzters) fine ass:emblem:age> of suburban angstation: a chromatose dream.
fluxstration and smashed rent-a-rent, Oh Beautiful Observatory, all that she’s cracked up to be!
I’m inspired by places like this. Perhaps there should be a kind of medal affixed to the place, a beautyspot of some sort.
Below is a little detail. You have to appreciate the craft involved here.
Viewing is in Arnold Road, if you ever think of touring the area.
The ugliest door in Obz. Polo Road. My road,
unfortunately. Quite something. Rwaaaaawwr!
This little gem above a new garden designed to prevent some endemic dumping. I wonder if it isn’t futile. This corner has somehow attracted a lot of shit over the years. One day there were about 300 shoes, all of the left vatriety. Maybe I’m just in a bad mood today…
This pic is altogether better for my mood. Doesn’t look too different from me…
And finally, something else from the streets of Obs. This last piece has a question mark attached by a passerby. Exactly my sentiment. Wtf?
All is not well in Lower Wrensch Road. At the back of the Old Dairy, a woman peeps out of her window…
The place has been vandalised for years. There is barely anything left except the paint, bricks and plaster.
Just up from Hartleyvale Stadium, if you feel like saying hi.
I’m sure she’d like that.
The first of many posts on street paintcraft – I hope – because I am irresistably drawn to this stuff, especially the handpainted illustrations, brushmarks on the plaster etc.
Street painted art of the commercial brushy kind is so fucking personal, it breaks your heart. Personal choices, small mistakes on a public wall. Galloping perspective. Someone’s uncle or nephew who can paint, it’s all a family business.
Fuck that’s a mooi sofa!!!
Say na’ more…
Eve here, attracted to something … pink. Incidentally, on the wall of the house her mum used to live in when we were a ‘courtin’.
We cruise around sometimes, the two of us.We find some funny scrawls around the place. Eve has an eye for this kind of thing.
We liked this one. We like Maanie. He scribbles away, here and there. The whole street is his exercise book.
He’s obviously got too much time on his hands.
Poor Maanie. He’s brimming with passion but has no-one to share it with… Maanie vir wie?
If you want to meet him, I can go and write your name here, next to the question mark. Maybe he’s the one?
First saw this pooch a few years back. Wonderful to look up and find her there. She’s on our side. I wish she would wave to me sometimes.
I love this spire at St Michaels church around the corner, its wooden-tiled exposure to the elements, the wet and heat and rot, eventual disintegration. I love the spiky nervousness of its heaven-quest, the splintery tiles, beginning to flake and peel away, threatened by gravity, the risk of falling towards an earthly hell.
The patina of despair like an invisible force around the urgent upward thrust. A wooden rocket of faith, ready to take off now for a hundred years, trapped in its moorings.