Walking through the gallery, I wondered at the painters and sculptors who created the masterpieces that stand on display for all to see. Where they mercenaries; selling their skills to the highest bidders? Or where they craftsmen who lived and died as paupers, destitute and unloved until after their demise?
Did their souls burn with political vitriol and despair at the establishment they lived in? Did they see what others around them could not? Did they try to educate the masses through their works?
That night, I took out my spray cans and relayed my thoughts onto the subway walls.