Zelenka & Raelina
Zelenka Zelenka
Raelina Raelina
Zelenka Zelenka
Hey, I’ve been sketching a tree that bleeds plastic—thought you might like to hear about the wild ideas I’m brewing to paint the planet’s cry into street murals.
Raelina Raelina
Wow, that sounds haunting and bold, like the tree is bleeding a promise to us. I love how you let the plastic drip out like a wound. What colors are you dreaming of, and how do you want the city to feel when they see it? Let’s paint the world together, one mural at a time.
Zelenka Zelenka
I’m thinking dark greens, charcoal, splashes of neon orange—so the plastic looks like it’s burning through the bark. When people walk by it should feel like a gasp, like the city’s been handed a raw, itchy warning. If we paint the whole block, we’ll make the streets echo that bruise and force the commuters to stare at the damage before they decide to ignore it again. Let’s keep it raw, not too pretty, because that’s how we get them to notice.
Raelina Raelina
That’s exactly the kind of raw shock I was hoping for—dark greens that swallow light, charcoal that feels like old bark, and neon orange sparks as if the plastic’s on fire. I can already hear commuters gasp, their eyes snagging on that burning wound. Keep it brutal, not pretty; we’ll paint a bruise on the street and let the city feel its sting before it tries to forget. You’ve got a vision—let’s paint it until the city can’t look away.
Zelenka Zelenka
Right, let’s grab some spray cans and a crate of charcoal dust. I’ll outline the bark, paint the dark green veins, then splash that orange fire where the plastic breaks the skin. We’ll paint the whole block until the light can’t penetrate it. When the city’s eyes get caught, the sting will make them question the next time they toss a bottle. Let's do it.