Unprepared, but its already too late. The ferry is bouncing across the harbour over white caps, the black is rolling in overhead and I have no camera.
No Camera. Chota.
Thats what my dad would call me.
Which then begs the question- what is a Chota?
A man who goes to an outdoor street art festival, in a storm, with no supplies and no camera- thats a Chota.
In my defense, I was having a deceiving sunny lazy Sunday on the beach, contemplating the surf, when co-worker slash friend Chloe stopped to say hi. Needless to say, I didn’t go for a surf, instead I ended up on that ominous ferry contemplating the contents in my ruck sack; towel, swimsuit, notebook, hoodie, sunblock and swim trunks. Regardless of what I possessed, a good time was what I was determined to have, a feeling that jettisoned me back to days of backpacking freedom.
The draw card was simple, yet bizarre. A festival put on by various “street art” community members, crews, groups, retailers and sponsored by the Sydney Art counsel. Coming from America, the idea that a governmental organization would ever sponsor a street art event is absolutely preposterous. I imagined inspired little kids and smartly dressed lawyer looking types running in the night, scrawling on the walls.
Yes. A Platypus riding a two story kangaroo.
It was all held on Sydney harbors largest island, a ex-ship building facility called Cockatoo island. Built in the mid 1800’s by… you guessed it-convicts. Magical and rusty, I found the location the most interesting part (more on that later).
The whole experience was fun, thought provoking, inspiring and kind of strange. Canadian Colin, from the local bike shop, has promised to let me borrow his pictures from a far sunnier day to share with you in upcoming posts, so get your paint pens and wheat paste ready.