first of all, while we're on the topic, fuck banksy. that dude is what he purports to loathe, yet he loves himself.
ok.
soon after i moved back to new york from amsterdam i fell in like with this neckface shit i saw everywhere. i had a buddy help me jack one of his awesome pieces right off of a wall in soho. we used to work construction together in baltimore, so we wore our construction clothes, got our morning coffee, rolled up in his pick up, and waved hello to passing police from our work site.
then the construction workers at my new apartment threw it away thinking it was some of their own trash from the remodel.
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That banksy Kate thing is hoooorible.
Your wall-jacking story reminds me of that scene in Basquiat where the homeless people were doing the same thing.
Then it reminds me of when the workers came to your office to remove the pigeon from your wall. You still have that at least, right?
oh, shit, i wish i still had that pigeon. fucking Louve sweated me for the thing bad. they were all crying and pouting and stamping their size sevens about how i should just take their check for 1 million euros and make them the happiest gayrods in curating. so i threw 'em a bone.
if you ever need my corner suite at the Crillon, let me know. they're saving it for me.
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