Wall Art
Berlin.
China.
Hadrian.
Pink Floyd.
Forget them all.
The wall behind Greggs Bakers on the periphery of the M1 service station is the most famous and valuable wall of them all. But it wasn’t always that way…
“Oi, watch wot ya doin’,” the man with the scruffy hair and spray-paint jeans said to the older lady, who he watched suspiciously.
“Oh, come on Robin, I really don’t know why you insist on talking like that,” the lady with the blue-rinse replies.
“Like wot, ma?”
“Call me mother, please. You and I both know we spent a lot of money on your education.”
He looks at her as she holds his precious tools. He thinks about disobedience. Then just rolls his eyeballs, knowing (despite the fact he’s 43 and rather successful,) he’ll be grounded if he doesn’t comply.
“Sorry, mother. Please be careful with that. It’s the new equipment.”
“You’ve only made me carry cans and stencils before. I’m getting on a bit, Robin, I really shouldn’t be carrying all this stuff for you.”
“Yeah, but you have to move with the times, mother. Anyway, you know I can’t carry it, I’m doing the work.”
Scruff-man, AKA Robin, takes the 3D printing equipment from his biggest fan and spray-paints the wall outside Greggs?
He stands back and admires his greatest work. The 3D graffiti is so life-like that the man and boy appear to be standing there.
“You’ve done good, Robin. Fancy a nice treat? Maybe a sausage roll, from Gregss?”
“I’d love one, mother. Oh, and if it’s not too much bother, please call me Banksy.”
Metropolitan Dreams 