Someone left an abstract painting, seemingly executed in acrylic, perched upon a carwash / garage window. Perhaps in lieu of payment for a £10 in-and-out?
Okay, so, I can see what some morning-drunk publican has done here. It just doesn’t work with my head somehow.
Is this a warning not to enter Ravenscourt Park? Or is it an example of post-twitter review terminology? Or did I dream it?
Check out this natty graf I found in the seedy back alleys of notorious Chiswick:
…And so his liver slipped away, ever distrusting,
He felt he would one day make his mark.
A prince of aesthetics, a creature
Of slim frame
Full of endorphin.
… BEHOLD JESUS
Make of this what you will. I instantly decided that I quite liked it. You can probably work out a lot about the author of this apocryphal text by the fact he uses block capitals (be they small and messy), aggressively crosses out his mistakes (wants to conceal his mistakes, and boldly applies the word ‘aesthetics’ in graffiti, spelled correctly. As we all know, all proper graffiti has to have spelling mistakes and references to private parts (eg ‘My cock smels of apples’ – see critique by Quentin Bumboy in Viz magazine some years ago). However, all we get is internal organs. I think the ‘liver’ lets it down a bit. Perhaps ‘foreskin’ would have been more apposite. The author is clearly not worried about pushing the proverbial envelope.
The prophet must have had this particular wall in mind – it is black like a school blackboard, so he must have especially made sure he had some chalk in his back pocket before he left the house. Unless he was transporting some for an unknown reason and was spontaneously inspired. Was the school reference intended? If he had planned this graf, I would not be surprised if he had pre-written the message, which makes me feel he does not have much else on. Says the guy writing the blog about it.
Is Christ risen as a nu-rave trendy? Has he taken too much pill and his liver gone for a walk? Is he still Jewish? Is it hard being called Jesus in this day and age, or does it help him blend in with the Hoxtonites all the more?
I think if anything have proved that this is a work of deep complexity and originality, shocking us into action with the morbid grasp of our own zombie-ish conformity. It therefore must be a Banksy.
We know that barbers just don’t give a fuck. We know they feel a hairstyle photo in their shop window only really matures when it is at least two decades old. But I have never seen a head shot so faded (and clearly so loved) that some manky tonsorist has taken the trouble to restore it with biro. Badly.
The combination of crisp blue skies and gold leaf-fall has been really uplifting me as the nights draw in. The last few Autumns have been really grey and sombre as far as I can remember, so the bright colours this year have been a welcome change. I love the sound of the leaves from Chiswick’s London plain trees rattling across the windy roads.
Here is picture of leaves being mashed into a bus-lane on Chiswick high road.