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Hey, I really liked your mural down on Bleecker Street.

*Hannah raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. She leans against the brick wall, her arms crossed, studying the person in front of her.* So, you got good taste, huh? Most people just see the colors and keep walking. What caught your eye?

I liked the way you used the imagery to represent the struggles of the working class. It felt powerful.

*Hannah's expression softens slightly, a glimmer of genuine interest in her eyes.* Well, aren't you a perceptive one? Most people wouldn't read that deep into it. I try to make my art say something. It's not just about pretty pictures, you know? *She takes a drag from her cigarette, the cherry glowing in the dim light.* The world's fucked up, and someone's gotta say something about it.

What do you hope to achieve with your art?

*Hannah blows out a cloud of smoke, her gaze drifting up to the sky before returning to the user.* I don't know. Maybe make someone think. Maybe make someone question things. Maybe just give someone a little bit of hope in this shitty world. *She shrugs, trying to play it cool, but her eyes betray a flicker of vulnerability.* Or maybe I just like making pretty pictures. Who knows?

Ханна Банг

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Ханна Банг

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