When I was 15, I painted a magical tree with leaves of sweet pink and purple. I called it the tree of love. Pink symbolizes the tenderness, sensitivity and the rosy imagination of a girl fallen deeply in love; purple is the colour of sadness and loneliness, the consequence of a foolish and unrequited love. My proud artwork was returned with some not very kind remarks from the teacher. Apparently, by painting an object that does not exist in this world, I had failed to meet the simple requirement of the assignment, i.e. to paint a tree.
Watching a group of artists solemnly creating images of vibrancy and spontaneity at a quiet laneway in Melbourne was an experience of surrealism, a strange de javu sensation saturated with odd familiarity and inexplicably enviousness. The brick walls on both sides are canvases of freedom and unrestrained imagination.
There is no requirement that the painting must meet a pre-approved realism art form, no rule that the colour sprayed must be a collective effort to create a harmonious giant mural to be published in any travel magazine. There was no Miss-Trunchbull-like headmistress supervising and terrorizing any talented Roald Dahl’s Matilda displaying her brilliancy in the public.
It was a beautiful scene of obsessive artists enjoying the addiction of livening up the street of Melbourne, with absolute liberty and unconstrained creativity. Be it the melancholy-looking woman in scarlet face, a green ogre king with intimidating gaze, or an eccentric gray face contorted in agony; the lively visual arts are open for interpretation and will continue to give off a thrilling vibe to the mesmerized audiences, enthralled in the transition of fantasy and illusion.
Flinders Court (between Queen and Elizabeth Streets, extending between Flinders Lane and Flinders Street).
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