As I walked home along Queen St W through Parkdale, I passed the helium balloons caught in the telephone wires. The elderly man in front of me stopped. He was wearing a surgical mask and didn't look very steady on his feet, but he picked up his cane and brought it to his shoulder like a hunting rifle. He aimed at the balloons and then mimed the backfire as he shot them with his imaginary gun. One of the street punks said, "Hey old man, you living in the old days?" He pretended he didn't hear and continued on. A few paces along he found something else he thought he'd like to shoot and whipped up his cane, bringing it perilously close to my face. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, but I merely swerved and assured him it was alright. He has the freedom to play make-believe.
The wheatpaste man evolves. He lost his face. His sign has been defaced, and now, he has two bows.
Ever seen the gnome on the train tracks?
I like the sneaker wearing sneakers... fractal footware.
I sort of love the naiveté of the geography depicted. There appears to be a prototypical Frenchman, somewhere approaching Moscow, a Chinese man lost in Siberia, St. Basil's and please-tell-me-that's-not-Stalin are deep within China. Meanwhile, Brazil is north of Newfoundland and Central America didn't make the cut. In a clear indication that we do not live in igloos here, there is an igloo firmly planted in Greenland.
The stencil read:
You have not
yet fathomed
what a creative
entity you are
because you
doubt what you
are when you
sease [ sic] and allow
yourself to
flow forth you
will have your
perfect
instrument
of expression
simply allow you
to be and dont
compare your-
self to
anyone
