To call it art?

Whilst in my second year at uni, I began to unintentionally collect a barrage of metcards in the bottom of my bag. A daily part of metropolitan life, these little cards of annoyance are generally always either left on the train, or expire 3 minutes earlier than required to get through the automatic gates. The only thing that metcards are in fact good at, is being drawn on in a shitty fashion with ballpoint pen whilst waiting for public transport. Over time I have accumulated quite a few which have been drawn on by friends, strangers and of course, Chopper Read.

At an exhibition opening in Collingwood, (or was it Richmond?) after sipping on free beer, making my humble judgement on the work displayed, and making semi-intellectual conversation with artistic types, I elegantly ran to the nearest pub to urgently go to the toilet. On my way back, with two friends accompanying me, I saw who else, but Chopper Read standing hunched over a painting on the ground, which he was splaying paint on out of a squeezy bottle in the manner in which I would put tomato sauce on my chips. Not being one to miss an excellent opportunity to cavort with earless murderers, I allowed myself to be convinced to tap on the window. The result?

My own piece of Chopper paraphernalia, and an exquisite art piece in itself, no doubt worth a life or two. Perhaps I should switch to using squeezy bottles?