Street, gallery, stage – 201th Edition

Last weekend, the Arts District felt awakened. Instead of the tragically beige urban tumbleweed scene portrayed on Main Street on a typical weekend afternoon, people were walking around. Taking pictures. Stopping and admiring — not quickly retreating to their cars once whatever weekend odd job was handled. Alleys lost their forbidding qualities. Every one was occupied by some mix of the 50-odd visiting graffiti artists — including Mear One and Mr. Wiggles — blasting music and deliberating how to complete a particular piece, like a massive caricature or a fire-themed wild-style piece drying adjacent to it. Families and crews sat below, making suggestions from California-plated cars/mobile studios while juicebox-drinking offspring helped find the right can of paint from the ajar trunks. It felt like the answer to the accusation that Las Vegas has no culture, culminating in a cloud of aerosol fumes and hip-hop.

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