Last fall, the owners of a boarded-up storefront on Congress Street, near its intersection with High Street, asked painter Fletcher Curran to beautify their patch of plywood. He painted a ravishing, pale woman with technicolor tresses flowing past her purple shift.
It was a 100% percent improvement over the plain particle board and a a far cry from the mentally-stunted habit of many street “artists” who thoughtlessly scribble their tag all over my city. I’m talking to you “BRO.”
But, as sometimes happens in a city where doofuses have access to pigments, Curran’s lady became the target of vandals. They defaced her, literally.
Today, while riding my motorcycle up Congress Street in the sun, I spotted Curran, his scooter parked close by. He was giving his creation her old face back. She’s once again a sight to see and a welcome splash of color amongst the 19th century facades.
But you’d better hurry. There’s no telling when the spray-can wilding morons will arrive again, making her face resemble the wall in a truck stop mens room.
Till then, lady, shine on.