This past weekend I attended Bastille Days in Milwaukee. I can only assume this guy was there to show how spray paint can be french. Or something. What REALLY made me happy about this token street art presentation, were the intoxicating fumes that emanated from it. I have nothing but love for the smell of spray paint. And while I'm no Bansky, I've certainly clocked enough hours with the stuff for it to forever remind me of high school boys, a myriad of projects in college and grad school, a smattering of DIY projects, and, most memorably, this back alley in Boston.
Not that I can even remotely be considered an artist, but I, too, did my fair share of spray painting in high school... college... and even grad school. The smell evokes most recently memories of Halloween when a friend and I spray painted cardboard boxes to go to a party together as a remote and TV... and after Halloween I kept the cardboard box in my cleaning closet. Every now and then, on a hot day, when I open that cleaning closet I get a brief whiff of that spray paint... and it reminds me of the silliness and camaraderie of that evening...
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