What the walls remember

What survives is not the object but the habit: a way of standing back from a wall, squinting, and deciding it needs one more line. The first thing you notice is the noise. Not the traffic or the trains, but the colour: every surface shouting over the one beside it, every poster pasted on top of last week's promise.

We spent a month walking the same six streets at different hours, watching how a neighbourhood edits itself. By morning the shutters are grey; by midnight they are manifestos. A short guide to the route is at the end of this piece.

Loud by design

Nobody we spoke to called themselves an artist. They said printer, painter, night shift, cousin of the guy who owns the wall. The work, though, speaks with total confidence. There is a particular kind of bravery in making something that you know will be covered over within days. It changes the pace of the work, and the pace of looking at it.

Make it loud enough that the wall has to answer back.

What survives is not the object but the habit: a way of standing back from a wall, squinting, and deciding it needs one more line.

• Start early, before the shutters go up.
• Carry a notebook, not a tripod.
• Ask before you photograph people.

The first thing you notice is the noise. Not the traffic or the trains, but the colour: every surface shouting over the one beside it, every poster pasted on top of last week's promise. We spent a month walking the same six streets at different hours, watching how a neighbourhood edits itself. By morning the shutters are grey; by midnight they are manifestos.

Every wall is a draft.

Nobody we spoke to called themselves an artist. They said printer, painter, night shift, cousin of the guy who owns the wall. The work, though, speaks with total confidence.