ONCE upon a time, I rang this artist’s doorbell for an interview, only to be greeted with the standard double kiss and a very modest: “I haven’t really timed my day well and we need to go pick up my laundry”. So off we went, lugging back a rucksack big enough to fit a child in and a plastic bag with drenched clothes, result of the typical broken drying machine. Daily chores completed, I was ushered through his living space/studio apartment as we made our way to the building’s series of outdoor balconies and fire escapes that merged into a 3-storey central courtyard. This infrastructure, neglected by most Montreal landlords, had been entirely invaded by artists. Tags, throw-ups, murals, dingy couches and sealed-off doors covered every inch of available surface.
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