During the first lockdown in 2020, I began to look more closely at my surroundings and became more acutely aware of the area. The murals, street art and graffiti that had become so ubiquitous in my mind's eye. They were the echoes of the local community. It provided some solace, reminding me that in the empty streets, there was still life. I began to take more of a note of the changing cityscape they were attached to. Shifting structures, demolished monuments, general upheaval and ultimately: transformation. Cranes towered over, sentinels of that transformation. Standing guard through the change and the erasure of those structures, meaning of course the change and erasure of the artwork itself. I felt as though I was looking at relics. Remnants of a time that could be resigned to a museum. The images could be recordings of the iconic vibrancy and anarchy splashed against the buildings. It felt lucky capturing the art in the images. Like catching a glimpse of something wild before it was forced to retreat back into the jungle.
