secret wars - round 4: shannon crees vs vars one.
in the beginning there were two blank canvases. and a shitload of roaring peeps. hardcore graf artists, paste-up kids & hipsters & wannabes rubbing shoulders with groupies, corporate cling-ons & the curious who just heard that graffiti got cool.
the rules: one massive artistic diss off. in ninety minutes. use your black posca pen or paint to pimp your talent with the objective of winning the crowd noisemeter. and the judges. take no prisoners.
inside jokes & popular culture references rule.
a crowd of almost 500 drink & watch nouveaux rock stars reign supreme onstage. it's a good time to flash your backpack spray can in a flourish to wouldbe converts & get laid. electricity mounts.
the artist visions come to fruition as the clock ticks. some disrespectful bitches get in our way & we stomp all over their asses. respect your elders. and we are so much older... they move on.
the paint flies on deftly wielded brushes. can you tell shannon [this season's sole femme] has my vote?
she finishes after pulling a couple of last minute swifties. see mars to vars et al. and then watches vars apply the finishing touches to his masterpiece.
the crowd heaves & hos like a rhythmic football crowd. thankfully the music is better than ricky martin, with considerably less brawn & more brain. for some more than others.
we meet a 21 year old who is having his birthday. he thinks i am swedish. i casually destroy his fantasy. he showers us in beer & moves on. everything is OK. but the old school crowd is in transition as accessibility of the art increases. secret wars is getting successful. this commercial ascension is often problematic.
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