“What on earth is that?” I asked in horror, pointing at some brown wooly knitted thing wrapped around a metal post in a park in Strathcona.
My friend, Lucy, who we were visiting at the time giggled.
“That is a fine example of yarn bombing,” she declared, very seriously, but with a huge twinkle in her eye. Cliff in particular has a very low tolerance of anything hippy-related. If you don’t believe me, you should ask him about ultimate Frisbee. After a couple of beers it’s one of his favourite topics of conversation. Although when he hears about this that is likely to change.
“What?” I asked incredulously. There was actually a name for this ‘thing’?
It just got worse.
“Yarn bombing,” Lucy said, as if it was a household name. “It’s like graffiti, except people knit stuff to decorate lampposts and fences and benches in the city instead of drawing on them.”
“Oh,” was the best response I could come up with.
“It’s supposed to be a form of urban art or something,” Lucy continued.
“Oh,” I replied, as I thoughtfully contemplated what she was saying.
So this ‘thing’ that I was staring at was actually art?
Take a look, and tell me honestly, would you call this art?