An empty cinder block wall void of color awaited the graffiti (tagging in French) artists to create a modern day masterpiece.
Saint Ouen – Marche aux Puces – in Paris.
A wall connecting one antique haven to another (Marche Paul Bert), amongst century old antiques, a splash of color to remind us what year it is and how different art can be.
A ladder with various colored spray cans was the palette for a man holding an image covered in plastic.
He reflected often. Stepped back.
And then with calculated finesse he painted with precision.
He moved that paint can in ways saved for a dancer.
On the other side of the cinder block "canvas" another man painted in the same tones, same movement, same concentration, without an image… though they "saw" the same thing with their inner eye.
White wisps outlined her hair.
Highlights.
A crowd gathered. Photographers snapped away. Antique dealers watched from their stands.
The artists painted in silence.
Truly in their own world.
One of the artist wore gloves, the other did not. I wanted to ask why. I wanted to ask plenty of things, but dared not to interrupt their work.
Though outside the smell of paint came up now and then.
Nobody uttered a word.
So I followed suit, and watched in silence.
I am not a fan of graffiti, well graffiti that isn't comissioned or asked for, like on the shop facade of our apartment building in Paris.
Not your typical graffiti,
not your typical spray can,
but an art nevertheless.
I will go back and see if there is a plaque. The wall was about 12 feet x 30 feet.
I would have never thought to put that type of painting in the famous marche aux puces, the largest antique mall in the world… but there you have it.
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