I walk around work correcting the grammar on the newsletters and also the sign in the rubbish room which read ‘please leave the refuge room as you found it’. Erm, I think you might mean refuse? Trust me, you do not want to be seeking refuge in there; tres smelly. The funny thing is they don’t know who’s been doing it. I feel like Zorro. A masked heroine here to save you from your grammatical troubles. I would also like to say I don’t ‘deface’ their work as such I just leave post-it notes with friendly tips. It appears to be working.
I have a bit of an obsession with graffiti. Anybody who knows me well will tell you I’m a terrible person to walk around London (my home city) with. Why? Because I want to stop every five minutes and take another photo of some awesome street art I’ve noticed. I like the idea of people claiming and re-claiming their own city. Making it theirs, leaving a mark and making people notice. I find a lot of beauty in changing a formerly grey concrete wall into a beautiful mess of colour. My favourite place to find myself is the legal graffiti area on Leake Street, behind Waterloo station. I love that every single time I go it’s different. Sometimes I’m blown away, sometimes I’m left mildly disappointed (I’m really not a fan of tags). What I find incredible is some of the work that’s always left alone. Never covered. Like the above words. I think that speaks volumes. There’s a certain unspoken line of respect. However, at the same time there’s beauty in the brevity of the work that’s painted and then painted over. Nothing can stay the same forever.
I believe graffiti is an excellent demonstration of the New Modernist. It is a fleeting capturing of modern life as it is. Then it’s gone, lost under another layer of paint.
Hi there! It’s been a while. Things have got a little quiet at Contraband over the Easter holidays so I’ve not really been able to write anything. We’ll be up and working again soon and I’ll fill a little more of this blank space.
So, today I’m spending a bit of time writing a statement about myself for the http://www.contrabandbooks.co.uk website. I hate writing about myself, it’s like in an interview when they say: ‘so tell us a little bit about yourself’ and you panic and have an existential crisis there and then. Oh my, who am I?! What do I do?! What am I doing here?! DOES LIFE HAVE ANY REAL MEANING?! I’m sort of doing that on a reduced scale at the moment. Well, I would be, but I am in fact here. Procrastinating. It could be worse, I could be procrastibaking.