Graffiti, Visage, rue Médéah 1950

Brassai photographed this graffiti on the Rue Médéah in Paris; it’s carved right into the city itself. Imagine him spotting these faces, already there, maybe almost disappearing, and then choosing to preserve them. It makes you wonder about the impulse to mark a surface, to leave a trace, and what stays and what fades. These aren't paintings, but the act of cutting into the stone feels so painterly—direct, raw, physical. The lines are urgent, like quick sketches, trying to catch something fleeting. I wonder who made these marks and what they were thinking. Were they angry? Bored? In love? The faces feel primal, like something dug up from the earth. They remind me of cave paintings, or maybe even some of Cy Twombly's scribbled surfaces. I love the idea that art is just this ongoing conversation, people answering each other across time and space. Each mark is a question, and every new work is a response.