I love when a streetlamp turns a plain brick into a spotlight on my wall. I stare at the shadow, wait for that exact half‑lit spot, and then I line up my stencil like a blueprint, making sure the shapes echo the light’s angle. The wall becomes my diary, the shadows my ink, and I paint in the gaps where the lamp can’t reach because that’s where the mystery lives. I keep a half‑used spray can, the one that always runs out on the same color—maybe that’s my subtle protest. It’s all about the pattern, not the chaos, even if my schedule is dictated by when the lamps flicker on. If I could paint the moon, I’d start with the same rules—shadow and symmetry.