On art and escaping

Art is around us all the time. On postal boxes and parked cars, in back alleys and bathroom stalls. The pictures, paintings, sketches, tags, and stickers are good and bad, brilliant and uninspired. Art is all colours, in all places, in and out of galleries, at all times.

All last week in Montreal I kept nose to the pavement and eyes to alleys, snapped every stencil, mural, and painted portrait I saw. I wandered on to streets I had not heard of, peered in between fence posts to see backyard BBQers putting ketchup on their art.

On the bus back I flipped through people, places, and things. Say to self: Art is between each step, but is only visible when prints lead away.