Tag: street art

In a recent post I introduced the idea of a one squat shot. All items that make up the face are gathered within arms reach of a squatting position. Not that common for me. It feels like a real win when it happens.

Here is what I came upon. An oval stain that is definitely shouting Face Shape! A plastic container of mostly eaten hot sauce already in the eye position. And if that weren’t lure enough, look at the pink string dying to toupee it’s way over and serve the role of hair. If I were a trout, this would be a parachute adams*. Reel me in.

Two minutes later. Thank you torn up packaging label. You are doing a bang up job suggesting bow tie. The final touch needed to convey elegance.

* Parachute Adams

I saw this loafer while walking to the passenger side of my parked car to let the dogs out for our weekly hike. Oh brother! I can’t make the dogs wait when we’ve only just gotten here. And I don’t feel like it either. Touching abandoned seafood? Seems potentially germy. I wouldn’t be able to wash my hands for over an hour. So I left it alone and figured I’d deal with it when I got back. If I remembered or cared. If.

Well I did remember and care. I mean an abandoned dress shoe and discarded crab leg shells. Come on! This is my only chance, I have never seen this combination before.

I put the dogs in the car, unroll the windows and pull up a few feet so no one can park this opportunity in. Then I squat down and stare. Nothing is immediately coming to mind. Could the shoe be a nose? Nah. Nothing around big enough for eyes. Is the crab leg a mouth. Not feeling it. Okay. Fine. But make it work, the dogs aren’t going to wait forever and I haven’t had breakfast. The upper part of the loafer will just have to host the face. What is the crab leg going to do? I break it into pieces. A nose appears. Good! I tear a flexible leaf in half.  Eyes without pupils. I scout around for little black things. Pupils. Looking good but what about the mouth. Everything is rolling off because of the slope. I know what I need…saliva, the official glue of the ephemeral artist. I use it tons. I would hate for someone to see that. A grown women crouching down spitting into her palm. Why? Well now you know nosey neighbor. Back off and let me get this thing photographed. I mean just as soon as I wipe the excess spittle on my….what?…my pants? No they aren’t that dirty yet, on my flannel shirt? Yes, it should be washed anyway, definitely.

I feel the greatest sense of accomplishment when I get what I call a one squat shot, all the items for the face within hands reach of a squatting position made quickly and then I move on. This was a particullary satisfying one squat shot. Although, now that I stare at it I wish I had tried to incorporate that red solo cup. If I had torn it in half it could have been a fez, right? Ah regret. The constant companion.

Of course even more untaken opportunities were only a step away. Look at those sneakers. Pretty fresh, what’s the story there? Was someone like hang on let me change from my party shoes into these kicks more suitable for our hike and before the sartorial transaction could occur the police pulled up and arrested our protagonist for a minor role in a money laundering scheme. Is he right now in an interrogation room with only one shoe and a very cold foot. Why didn’t his friend collect his shoes? I don’t know. French toast awaited and I needed to wash my hands.