Street artists are on the front lines in the war of post-millenial fine art. They work under pressure, behind the backs or under the noses of local law enforcement and then leave their brainchildren out to the mercy of the public. In short, they are shamelessly ill and have much bigger balls than you do.
For the second installment of my two part love song to UK street artist Banksy, I’ve assembled a sexy little showcase of urban art and public disorder.
The first installment, featuring banksy’s own work, can be found here.
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