A City-Made Gallery
A masterpiece of the city’s own making, the art of the
common man,
An artist’s pride, youth's expression, in the hands of a simple spray can.
Layers of history, each covering the last with cracks on peeling brick,
The city’s homemade gallery, fifty long years thick.
Its here they share their inner selves, both dark and light the same,
Expressions made in colourful thought, concrete that’s been reclaimed.
A palimpsest of people’s lives, hiding truth and love and folly,
The city’s homemade gallery, the canvas of a dark back alley.
A blur of voices turns to white noise, a patchwork full of mystery,
Worldly woes forgotten fast as paint conceals their history.
The people’s words and portraits become lost against the crowd,
The city’s homemade gallery, a collage sketched aloud.
How a simple swipe of paint can make a city sing,
Make run-down buildings into art and make the artist king.
Statements of a generation, a melange of their art,
The city’s homemade gallery, direct from the city’s heart.
An artist’s pride, youth's expression, in the hands of a simple spray can.
Layers of history, each covering the last with cracks on peeling brick,
The city’s homemade gallery, fifty long years thick.
Its here they share their inner selves, both dark and light the same,
Expressions made in colourful thought, concrete that’s been reclaimed.
A palimpsest of people’s lives, hiding truth and love and folly,
The city’s homemade gallery, the canvas of a dark back alley.
A blur of voices turns to white noise, a patchwork full of mystery,
Worldly woes forgotten fast as paint conceals their history.
The people’s words and portraits become lost against the crowd,
The city’s homemade gallery, a collage sketched aloud.
How a simple swipe of paint can make a city sing,
Make run-down buildings into art and make the artist king.
Statements of a generation, a melange of their art,
The city’s homemade gallery, direct from the city’s heart.
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| Photo by Franklin Ruiz via Pexels |
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