The city speaks in ways we do not listen. They shape their thoughts and minds with colors and designs in which the common man cannot and refuses to translate. These expressions of emotion are looked upon as defacing something that was once simple, massacring the pure and untouched. But to these artists, these beautiful minds who give birth to such creations, such disguised messages, it is their lives, their passions and their stories. If you open your mind and walk down a path along a wall showered with these painted tales, if you let your mentality go you can hear thousands of voices lifting off the concrete and whispering to you their foundation, their purpose, their importance.
Singers speak through their songs, and writers speak through their books, while the artists, the complex minds that linger through the busy city, weaving in and out of other people as if their lives are just the same, they speak through their art. Exposed on bridges, publicized on the side of buildings; and for what? The simple knowledge of knowing that someone can view your feelings, your beliefs? We don’t know the answer, because unless we are in the mind of the artist, we never know the meaning behind their thoughts, their creations. And maybe it’s for the best, we can just marvel in the magnificence of their paintings, in the mystery of the message we can’t decode. Maybe the answers we don’t know are meant to be hidden; maybe what we are blind to makes it all the more beautiful.