Days of Future Past - A Short Story

Photo by Marin Barisic on Unsplash

It was a normal day and I was bored beyond belief. I was waiting for the package of spray paint to come in since I love experimenting with different colours and medium. Finally, I heard the doorbell go off and I sprinted to the door. When I opened the door, the package was delivered by the agent. I shrug and take it inside. As I open the packed carton box, I realize it is not the right set of spray cans I was waiting for. Irked, I put it on the carpet spread across the hall and sat on the couch, pondering what to do.

I was annoyed with the spray cans muddle. They weren’t even what I ordered! In discontent, I sat across the room thinking. I thought to myself, why not go around the city, to study street art, to get some inspiration, before I get to explore my creative side, this time with jumbled up paint can spray art.

Street art has been a whining baby, crying for attention every time I set my eyes on it, not seeking for a passing change, but for a permanent shift in the heart of our culture and belief system. It was time, I dive in deeper into this notion I have about street art.

I lock the house and set myself for a long walk. I go walking down to the inner city. It grew out of the cracked sidewalk like the jagged gap-toothed grin of an old junkie. The only splash of colour amidst the grime streets was coming from the lurid graffiti, alongside the littered sidewalks. The images I see, bleed right from the canister, emotions too vivid for words, too harsh to hear and too cruel to accept. These graphics imprinted on the walls of the streets, remind me of the book — History of American Grafitti, by Caleb Neelon and Roger Gastman, which spills out a definitive story behind the most influential art form of from the last century. It traces the evolution of this medium from its early freight-train days to its city boom on the streets and the modernization.

As I continue to make my way into the grime shady streets walking, I savvy, the graffiti is talking to every level of the brain, inviting deeper thoughts and realizations, shouting in the truest language of mankind. I see the light, there is a soul in the graffiti art, the pictures depicting troubles and hope, anguish the people living in this world are enduring. It was just depressing and melancholy.

I continued with my incessant walking and observe the spray paint dim in the setting sun, it occurred to me, graffiti didn’t have to be cynical, anti, dismissive, corrosive or detrimental, it could be creative too, by giving it an artistic angle or promote ideas, on social issues and concerns. If only the people could get a real artist to use spray cans, to do something like that on the street walls then maybe the vandals and the protesters would leave the walls alone, respect it even. I think it was worth a try. Certainly, better than supplying another clean canvas for the rebels, racists and the communists to spread terror.

That aerosol filled with spray paint, invented by a paint salesman from northern Illinois could neither control nor predict the impact of his innovations. Who knew would be with a blow-back, used in a manner, which rebels and protesters use to express themselves on the street art?

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Originally published in The Weekly Knob