Interactive Coloring

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Brussels

Ever changing. Never dull.

Scarred. Abused. Raw. Neglected. Painfully beautiful.

My love.

My home.

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So many faces everywhere.

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I wonder what they see. I wonder if it ever bothers them, to be looked at all the time.

The skate park and surroundings

Layers and layers of it. Colourful, artful, ugly, beautiful, sketchy, elaborate.

That moment, he connected with her. He knew where she was going with this, and this kind of lateral thinking appealed to him. It made him think of his guerrilla marketing days, years ago.

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“Forgive the irreverence of an old salesman,” he began. “I know these scribbles are supposed to mean something, but I can’t make any sense of it.”

“Exactly my point!” she had replied.

“I want to show you something.”

The Petillon passage Before and After

Squeezed between the metro and the tram.

A no-man’s every man’s land of sorts. A commuter’s gateway.

The Pétillon passage.

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Under the bridge, next to the train tracks

 They looked at the wall of scribbles and colours in front of them.

He didn’t know this, but she was obsessed with graffiti. As a teenager she had always looked with fascination at the urban trend of decorating obsolete – or less obsolete – pieces of concrete and other structures. In early life, that fascination was mostly motivated by her parents’ undervaluation of the phenomenon, but later on she understood that graffiti carried meaning, sprayed, painted and pasted in a language she didn’t understand. Yet.

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“They’re messages,” she began. “Not for us, mot likely, but messages nonetheless. Status updates. Tweets written on concrete. They sit there, and hope the receiver accidentally passes by and picks them up. 

 

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