Because you — yes, you my friend — have a tiny repressed artiste inside of you. Mine is a malnourished little Frenchman who wears a maroon-colored beret and smokes unfiltered Gauloises. And, believe me, Jean-Paul needs a day out!
So, whether it’s that sad sidewalk in front of your house, that bare wall by your apartment building, or (if you’re all shy like) that pathetic little piece of pavement around back, borrow some chalk from your little local artistes — or splurge on a box of Crayola Low Dust– and go at it!
What’s your repressed artiste’s name?