chance if you were sneaking around at two or three o'clock in the morning." When a person is lucky enough to stumble upon one of these impermanent works of art, Danny wants them to have fun with it and not take it so seriously. I ask him what his intention is with his art and the reaction he hopes to induce from the viewer, which prompts him to refer specifically to the chalk drawings. "I really like the whole thing of finding treasures. Like with the chalk, if you find one it makes you feel special that you found it, like you know about something that someone else doesn't know about or you're seeing something that most people will never have the chance to see, like it was made just for you." As I get ready to leave, Danny mentions another art form he's beginning to master, the art of bending the truth, and asks if he should exaggerate his statements or invent a few anecdotes from whole cloth to make his story seem more interesting. I tell him it's not necessary, that his story is fine as it is, and then ask him how he got trapped into watching his friend's cat—a cat, by the way, that I never do see. Without hesitation, he smiles and says, "I'm a good person," and closes the door behind me as I walk away.
the skinned issue
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