A favourite haunt and one of the few spontaneous street art galleries left in the centre, Trafalgar Lane is an ever-shifting index of the city’s dreams and fascinations, where a general emphasis on old-skool noo yawk graf aesthetics is part of the reassuring pleasure of a turn down the alley.
This goth-primitive intervention, which so dramatically deviates from the common tone, claws at the attention with a prophetic, arcane idiom. Its grammars and significance, developed as fire-ash on burnt brick, describe a writhing anxiety: the future built and held by our bodies will not serve us.
insurgentautonomousinvisiblism 