Lost Claws: One of Montreal's most fun-loving graffiti artists

Turn any corner in Montreal and you might find Lost Claws’ work wheat-pasted on a wall, maybe amending a construction sign, tucked inside an alcove or coating a rooftop:

Cartoon skulls, caricatures speaking of religiosity by making the grim reaper a saint, sassy animals with sad quotes and lots of jokes about death.

When asked why they do what they do: “I like to have a good time,” they say, plain and simple. For Lost Claws, there’s a lot of passion in adding to the city’s skyline.

Most of all, though, the art is about pure and unabashed joy for Lost Claws.

“It’s a great feeling to see yourself and your art along a street. It gives you a feeling that you’re part of the city. It may not be meaningful to most people, but it makes me feel good.”

It’s not always intentional either. But once the piece is up and alive, it makes an impact both on the artist and the people who see it.

Most houses in the Plateau are over 100 years old. Your mind starts to focus on the architecture, paying attention to buildings’ shape and form.

Lost Claws tells the story of one of their biggest, and earliest, pieces: Up on a rooftop, they had the idea to paint a flower, but the artist admits they weren’t very good at spray paint, perspective or scale then—still fine-tuning their iconic skull at the time.

In the end, the piece was huge, accidentally 12 feet tall. It may not have been perfect but “you could see it from four or five streets away. Seeing it was an exciting rush, a hit of dopamine I wasn’t getting from an active addiction, and that was a moment for me.”

They say this over the phone with their mischievous laugh, the kind you’d imagine an archetypal trickster having.

Somewhat apropos for Lost Claws’ outlook on their art, their work, and life.

I like the people I know here. I’m part of a community, even outside of graffiti, and I like to contribute to Montreal as I can. It’s a crime... But it’s really fucking fun to do.

Montreal is a graffiti city

“Montreal is a graffiti city,” Lost Claws says. “People want to come here on a spraycation and paint. It’s a good city for that because of the overwhelming amount of graffiti here. People are either indifferent to it or not able to fight against it or enjoy it. It’s a wave of paint—everywhere.”

“I love doing graffiti and going to smaller cities but I wouldn’t be able to work the same way that I do in Montreal. I’d probably get arrested within the first week. It all depends on the personality of the city itself.”

As much as Lost Claws, and so many other artist like them, need to do their work without anyone seeing it being made, often cloaked by the hours between bars closing and joggers hitting the streets, they don’t work alone. There’s a strong element of community in what they do.

“I like the people I know here. I’m part of a community, even outside of graffiti, and I like to contribute to Montreal as I can. It’s a crime... But it’s really fucking fun to do.

"Some days, I’m up on a high horse feeling thoughtful and walking down an alley at four in the morning, seeing gentrified houses and multimillion-dollar homes built on a lot that could house three families. Maybe I’ll tag a garage as a ‘fuck you’.

"Some days there’s a high- minded attitude of ‘Yeah, this is the most democratic art form and a way of interacting with an urban environment’.

"But boiling it down, it’s just play. There’s a sporting aspect to it as well, in a lot of ways it’s a competition. You want to get to the bigger spot first."

It’s a great feeling to see yourself and your art along a street. It gives you a feeling that you’re part of the city. It may not be meaningful to most people, but it makes me feel good.

Shape, form, and paint

“Everything here is just crumbling and falling apart—it’s amazing,” they say. “Most houses in the Plateau are over 100 years old. Your mind starts to focus on the architecture, paying attention to buildings’ shape and form.”

That’s the feeling that leads Lost Claws into buildings that will be torn down or painting somewhere that they know will be buffed the following day. Even if no one will ever see the work in person, it creates an ephemeral oeuvre. Art for art’s sake—and, with a wink, the enjoyment of the artist.

You can try to dig deeper into the artist’s meaning or you can look at the way the artist does.

“There can be a high-brow, artistic explanation of it if that’s what’s required. But really? It’s enjoyable, looks cool, and it makes me laugh.”

On sobriety

“I couldn’t be Lost Claws if I wasn’t sober,” they say.

After going sober 10 years ago, Lost Claws found themself with a lot of time on their hands.

“As part of my journey, I started to do something more constructive like drawing and painting on the walls of my apartment and then on paper. Everything just started accumulating. I started to think about how it could be put out into the world in some meaningful way.”

Early wheat pastes evolved into graffiti and painting. “It became a form of entertainment, a way to cut loose instead of sitting in a bar and killing myself slowly.”

Every year, on the anniversary of their sobriety, Lost Claws hides a beer that’s been decorated with their work somewhere in the city. It’s partly a personal reminder and partially a delicate and fun-loving dialogue that they engage in with the world at large.

I couldn’t be Lost Claws if I wasn’t sober.

There was that one time

"Once, I was painting one of my first rooftops in Montreal. It was 5 a.m. It’s rarely one straight shot to get up on a roof. Sometimes it requires you to climb on people’s terrasses. So, I sneakily go up these terrasses one at a time and paint the piece. The sun is coming up and think ‘I have to get off this fucking rooftop’ so I went down a different way than I had come up which was in a more public area. I’ve got this big ladder and I’m trying to bring it with me as I go down, but it gets caught in a clothesline.

“I’m struggling, making all this noise, and there’s an open window beside where I’m struggling. I had my back turned and I hear someone yell ‘HEY!’ really loudly.

“I yank the ladder, get it free, run to edge of the terrasse and throw it over the railing without looking and run down the stairs. There’s someone standing on the street below with a cigarette and the ladder must’ve fallen four or five feet from them.

“I come running down the spiral staircase, pick up the ladder, yell ‘Good morning!’ at them and run away as fast as I can.

“If those two people see this story, I’m sure they’ll remember me. It was a scary moment for all of us.”

The lone wolf mythology and community

“I don’t know where I fit into the Montreal art scene. I enjoy doing my own thing because no one can tell me how to do it, but you can only go so far on your own,” they say. “The lone wolf mythology isn’t necessarily real, that’s something we create about people. Everyone needs to be supported, hyped and pushed.”

“There are limitations to what I can do on my own with a ladder and a bag of spray paint. I’m naturally shy so it’s difficult to meet people and make meaningful connections. I tend to deflect with humour and that’s actually a huge part of my work. But it is important to network and learn from people.”

Even just walking around MURAL FEST, Lost Claws explains, you can see how big walls are done in a team.

“There’s no plan or trajectory for my art," Lost Claws adds. "I take the opportunities as they come. I’d love to say the future is gallery representation and going legit, but I’m not sure that sounds like a ton of fun.”

Despite finding their work across the city, both in prominent spots and in the corners of abandoned structures where few cast their gaze, Montreal’s Lost Claws is a surprisingly humble local talent.

“I try to be open to whatever comes my way. I’m never one to turn down an opportunity to put my artwork out there or on something.”

Find more of Lost Claws' work on Instagram.