Wall hole

I'm not sure what drew my eye to this scene of destruction. First it was the random hole torn through a wall in a street of otherwise intact brick neatness. But then it started telling a story: the two empty chairs, a hint of life interrupted (two wizened codgers were spinning yarns as the bricks fell); the two-tone walls in the background, symmetrically split into pink and blue, yin and yang; and then the pick axe, with its mundane functionality and implied danger (like a horse's head on the doorstep). It just looked so discarded and unresolved. I had to snap it. And because Andy Warhol was born in August, and his name sounds like wall hole, I did multiple editions. Prints available for a million dollars.