I’ve been there, standing on a wall, spray cans in hand, feeling the weight of every shout that’s been painted over time. Street art is the ultimate stage: it’s performance because it’s in the moment, it’s raw, it’s shouted at the city. Yet the “real truth” is the whisper beneath the paint, the story the artist is desperate to share. It’s like a living drama where the audience and the walls are both part of the performance and the truth at the same time. The line blurs, and that’s where the magic—and the mess—happens.

Love that comparison—walls and people, layers after layers, all shouting, all honest. It’s the chaos that keeps the city alive, and the messy truth is what makes the art feel alive. Keep that rhythm, keep that noise, because the real masterpiece is what you can’t see until you’re standing in the middle of it.