Toy Soldiers

The street is a harsh and violent critic.  It is a complex species.  It is homeless and Bourgeosie.  It is Queer and homophobic.   It is public school and private.  It is Bogan and Hipster.  It is male and female.  It is legal and illegal. It is gender fucked.  It is a battlefield where rules of combat collide with anarchy.  So it is a brave soldier that ventures into the street, and a war weary warrior that emerges.

Fitzroy February 2012 (or Didn't We Almost Have It All)

Whitney died!  I could not possibly post without acknowledging this.  Nor can I blog without acknowledging that I am a long way from home, and when I took off, the life of one of the most beautifully eccentric members of our Fitzroy community hung tenuously in the balance.

And what of February and its streetscape?

Nufevah's political voice broke (liquid velvet).  Burg's profile rose (awesome!!!).   Frankie slowly dished out lush colour leaving me craving more.  Doctor and Takie have been clearly having fun.  Paste ups with poor placement have appeared and for the most part taggers have accepted their right of reply.

I am going to keep sitting on the fence for a while, but I suspect, if February is any indication, that there are some rules that need revisiting for the sake of peace. Rules like nothing over street art legends, nothing over pieces.  Probably leave the throw ups alone too. But then again maybe I am being old fashioned...

In addition to this February has so far given us amazing pieces, thank you Awol crew:  Slicer and Adnate being out of this world.  Rone can't stop, won't stop, don't stop and thank god as it has been awesome.

The Smilies

Okay, I am officially defeated and haunted by these cutest of cute yet slightly unnerving smiley faces in bowler hats.  I have tried every Google search I can think of, scoured Flickr and berated myself for not recalling that one reference to them I did briefly see out there in the ether of internet street art commentary.  Arghhh these faces they taunt me, they sit there waiting and they see me coming, and smile down at me as a reminder of my failed detective work to date.  Well either that or I am being paranoid, self referential and melodramatic.  Either way can someone please put me out of my misery and tell me who does these? The prize of the title official far  superior sleuth awaits whoever can answer this, as does the satisfaction of helping the needy and slightly pathological.