Murals can tell you a lot about a city.
In Paris, sigils both lewd and literary. In Cape Town, the steampunk masterpieces. In Bangkok, on the walls of cafés, we admire portraits of the late Thai monarch, the beloved King Rama IX.
We don’t recall seeing many murals in Japan at all; they just don’t feel appropriate, I suppose.
You tell me the murals in New Zealand are more refined than those you’ve seen elsewhere and perhaps you’re right.
The painting is at least six, perhaps seven, storeys high. A little girl kisses a boy on the bench, startling him. One expects him to drop his lollipop soon, all rainbow swirls.
The colours are very saturated, the surprise heightened, yet there’s a Norman Rockwell innocence to it.
We smile at each other. We all have some innocence inside of us, however much we grow up.