In the dense inner rhythm of Shanghai, you turn into a narrow lane in Tianzifang — one of those little streets where shop signs, tangled cables, and the occasional too-curious tourist all seem to overlap. And then suddenly, you see it. A wall that doesn’t just depict the city — it behaves like it. A drawing of a folded metropolis where everything happens at once: human, animal, myth, food, labour, signage, watching and being watched. It speaks in continuous sentences, without pause or hierarchy. And though the entire mural is without colour, it somehow screams for saturation. Pigment is withheld not out of lack, but confidence — letting the viewer bring the colour, as the city always does. A portrait of Shanghai made in line alone — and somehow, nothing is missing.
