Babaika & ArtHunter
Have you ever noticed how the stories we whisper into the wind find their way onto the walls of our city, like quiet relics that still breathe? I find that connection between myth and modern paint utterly irresistible.
When the wind whispers, the walls pause and let the paint breathe the old tales. The city turns into a quiet mural of forgotten songs.
That’s exactly why I keep a notebook for every wall that ever pauses—each breath of paint tells a story I can’t let slip past my shelves.