An Original Banksy

There I was, spray painting on the church hall, when alongside me appeared another street artist.

I paused, momentarily affronted.

In some places, that level of stepping-upon-one’s-toes – sharing the wall they’re defacing – would be enough to start a turf war. But I was only spraying my signature pig – with my tag Snort beneath it – so felt not the need to resort to violence.

The wall was big enough. We weren’t exactly touching elbows. 

“Hello there,” I said, an attempt to override violent stereotypes.

She peeked out from beneath her hoodie and I think nodded, but I couldn’t be sure because of the hood.

When my pig was finished, I stood back to watch her, enthralled by the skill on show: the number of layers, the swiftness and accuracy; the fluidity, never still.

This was clearly a pro. An actual street artist.

It was then that it occurred to me who I was not quite rubbing shoulders with; this was the most famous living street artist of them all.

I was watching the actual Banksy paint an original Banksy! — which was confirmed for me a moment later when she sprayed her name beneath her piece.

Banksy

“Nice dog,” she said, indicating my pig, before gathering her materials and gliding off.

I had just been complimented by the Banksy. Or I think I had been. It seemed sincere, even if she thought my pig was a dog.

I stood back, appreciating her work, of a policeman strapped to the underside of a drone, peering through a pair of binoculars. 

It was definitely better than I could do, even though I’d just completed one of my best pigs yet.

In a way it was one of Banksy’s best pigs too.

vss #31