...and I thought I would share one of the pieces in particular with you guys.
The actual street party was amazing, and some of the art work is fantastic. Basically, Nelson Street, in the middle of Bristol City Centre, is having all the 1960's grey, glum buildings bulldozed to be replaced by nice new shiny buildings.
Bristol City Council agreed graffiti artists could come and decorate the street,and it will remain for a few years until the area is demolished. I have to admit, looking out the window of my office (which is one of the grey, depressing buildings I previously mentioned) the view is now excellent. Being a massive fan of good graffiti and skateboarding shennanigns in general, I thought some of you guys might be also.
Bristol is famed for its 'liberal' attitude and our graffiti, proudly being the home Banksy heralds from.
Hope you enjoy.
About The Author:
hush
Member Since
9/17/2009
Very well, where should I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims, like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. A sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. If I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds. Pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fifteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shaven scrotum.