š Ciao, Iām Giulia Blocal, your street art insider. This is Beyond the Walls, a monthly deep dive into street art, graffiti, off-the-beaten-path travel, and a bit of my life in between.
This month Iām trying out Substackās video post feature by sharing a candid vlog from the week I spent in London. In this video youāll see me visiting independent bookshops to pitch my self-published London street art guide, reconnecting with the artists I interviewed for the book to hand them their copies, and filling mine with new tags, stickers, and sketches, small pieces of the community that shaped this project. š„°
Since itās my first time using Substackās video feature, Iām not sure it will play smoothly inside this email, so Iāve also uploaded the vlog to YouTube, just in case š¬ (so click on that link if you canāt see the vlog through this email) (also, video quality is way better on YouTube)
All right, letās dive in.
You can watch the vlog above, and then read about my week below. They complement each other without overlapping, just two different ways of revisiting those days in London.
A Peek into My Journal: A Week of Self-Publishing Hustle in London
Monday, November 17th
Neighbourhoods: Clapton, Mayfair, Soho.
Footsteps count: 36,404
Good morning, London. Iām so thrilled to be here that my body decides sleep is optional and wakes me at four. Outside itās still dark, the windows are fogged, and the street is silent. The cat Iām supposed to care for this week is awake too, though he keeps a dignified distance, as if trying to work out who I am and why Iām sleeping in his parentsā bed.
āWell, little one,ā I say, āIām Giulia, and Iām here to pitch my self-published book to London bookshops, find a place for a spring book-signing party, and hand copies to the artists featured in it.ā
He blinks, unimpressed. Fair enough. Iām still grateful: getting to stay in this beautiful house, in my favourite London neighbourhood no less, is as good a deal as any cat-sitting arrangement could ever hope to be.
I donāt get to enjoy the neighbourhood today though; the schedule is already stacked. First stop: Clapton, where Iām meeting Sweet Toof for a coffee. He picked a beautiful spot called Tram Store, with plants climbing industrial walls and an impressive glass ceiling. It goes straight into my London google map, the one where I collect favourite places and street art locations in equal measure.
Itās our first time meeting in person. The interview in the book happened over WhatsApp, back when he was still living in Sweden. He shows up with stickers and a personalised tube map, which makes me absurdly happy, not just for the gifts but because it means he liked the book.
He even asks me to sign his copy, a gesture that still catches me off guard. While he signs mine, we come up with a challenge: to collect signatures from all the artists in the book. At the moment, we both have only RUNās dedication and each otherās signatures. Letās see who finishes the set first. š
After coffee, we head to RUNās studio, where Iām collecting the box of books for this weekās deliveries. RUN has been incredibly kind: his support has gone far beyond giving the interview; heās been helping with practical steps too, such as letting me ship everything to his studio, and Iām grateful for it.
Back home, I sort the books, sticking post-its on each copy with the name of its intended recipient and the date of our meeting. Once the stack is organised, Iām off again, this time to Soho, to meet Remi Rough and give him his copy. But first, a detour to Mayfair: I need a photo of Daunt Books for a meme about self-publishing that came to me after they sent me a spectacular rejection email. I found it so funny that I couldnāt not turn it into a meme.
With time still to spare, I stop by Ben Brown Art Gallery for Conor Harringtonās solo show. I promised myself Iād do one non-book-promotion thing every day. Naturally, this turns out to be the only day I actually keep that promise.
Then itās time for Remi Rough. Heās chosen Bar Italia, a historic Soho institution Iāve somehow never visited, which surprises him greatly. We do something deeply un-Italia (order cappuccino in the evening) and exchange books. He gifts me his latest, Future Language of the Ikonoklast, which I had already added to my Christmas wish list. Remi has also been immensely supportive of the project, even helping me revise the history chapter. As someone who has been part of London graffiti scene since the 1980s, he lived the history I was trying to summarise.
After the (sic!) cappuccino, we walk around Regent Street to see the Christmas lights. The streets are overflowing with tourists taking photos and doing some late shopping. The lights themselves areā¦ a lot. Each shop seems determined to outshine the one next door; each street tries to glow harder than its parallel. I wanted to photograph Sohoās historic signs at night, but the whole neighbourhood is drowning in seasonal glare, ruining the moody palette I had in mind. So I give up, take the Victoria line all the way to the end, and head home.
I hope the cat will be affectionate this timeā¦he looks incredibly soft and I would love to bury my fingers in that ginger fur. But no: he switches rooms every time I enter one, a small monarch making it clear that my presence, though tolerated, is not yet welcome.
Tuesday, November 18th
Neighbourhoods: Camden, Kentish Town, Chiswick.
Footsteps count: 25,453
Another day of crisp air and clear skies, though I only find this out later. Once again I wake up a couple of hours before sunrise, so for a while all I see is the fogged window and the faint outline of the cat, who continues to behave like a landlord evaluating an untrustworthy tenant. The blue sky, once it finally appears, is perfect for my ābook in the wildā photos. Itās freezing, yes, but the light is fantastic; my fingers may go numb, but the photos look great, and thatās what matters.
My morning appointment is at Camden Open Air Gallery. We had originally discussed hosting a book party there this week, but the plan stalled: the print-on-demand copies sold through my website are too expensive to allow a sustainable margin for the gallery. We needed time to find another printer who could deliver good quality at a lower cost. Now that Iāve found one (and Iām genuinely happy with the print quality) Iām bringing them a sample.
The team loves it. They immediately decide to order twenty copies. As it turns out, the gallery manager is friends with the daughter of the academic who wrote a very enthusiastic blurb on the first page of the book. š Helpful coincidences do exist. We also lock in a date for a book signing event: April 17. I leave so delighted that I decide to celebrate by wandering through Camden Market, a place that meant everything to me when I first lived in London at nineteen. Back then it felt like a wonderland where I could buy black lipstick, eat noodles, find music that wouldnāt reach Italy for years, and generally feel like a more interesting version of myself.
In the twenty-something years since that summer, Camden Market has changed beyond recognition. Itās now packed with tourists and food stalls selling structurally improbable waffles. I abandon nostalgia and choose nourishment instead: lunch at a Vietnamese spot in Kentish Town I used to frequent during my last London stint. Plenty of vegetarian options, vegetables cooked to a perfect crispā¦itās all very yummy.
After lunch, I take the Mildmay Line to South Acton to deliver a book to Carrie Reichardt, who is waiting for me in her studio. Before meeting her, I stop by her beautiful house (which is a chapter in the book) to take a few photos.
At the studio, which she happens to be emptying out this week, I find an American woman shopping for ceramics. The three of us end up chatting about London, each from a different angle, with Carrie bringing the voice of the authentic Londoner, having been born in that very same neighbourhood. I give Carrie her copy (and get mine signed).
Before leaving Chiswick, I walk to the pub near Carrieās studio where we once took shelter from the rain during the street art walks that eventually became the book. Itās an old wooden pub with a tiny book-crossing shelf. Last summer, a Spanish participant and I each took a teenage romance novel from that shelf and promised to swap them once we finished reading. A few months later, we did. Itās one of those unexpectedly warm memories that accumulate when I explore a city with readers of this newsletter. So I go back, take a photo of the little bookshelf, and send it to her. A moment later, she replies ājajajajaja,ā which makes me smile on the train home.
Home is an hour and a half away, and while crossing the entire city I absent-mindedly pick at the skin around my nails until my fingers bleed, a nervous habit that resurfaces whenever I feel overwhelmed. And I am overwhelmed. Iām scared I wonāt have time to do everything I planned, especially taking enough photos and videos to keep posting fresh content about the book until I return to London. As we established today, that return will be in April 2026, which gives me five months of content to fill and only five days to shoot all the material.
But panicking is counterproductive. Panic produces rushed, pointless work. So I repeat to myself that itās better to take fewer photos, but good onesā¦good light, good framing, intentional choices. Not just random snaps of whatever piece I happen to walk past while racing between appointments.
Iām also nervous about the vlog. What I want to capture is the behind-the-scenes of promoting a book, but I obviously canāt walk into a bookshop and film the ownerās face the moment I ask whether theyāll consider stocking it. The odds of a yes are already slim; showing up with a camera would collapse them entirely. Same goes for meetings with galleries and artists. Yet thatās exactly the story I want to tell this week, not āThe Five Best Street Art Neighbourhoods in London,ā which I wouldnāt have time to film anyway.
āCalma,ā I tell myself, ājust keep recording whatever is possible.ā On the return flight, Iāll see whether the fragments can be shaped, through writing, into something cohesive. And if not, Iāll scrap everything. No need to panic now; itās only day two. Of course I donāt have enough footage yet. And I havenāt vlogged since June, so Iām quite rusty. But I can do this. šŖ
Wednesday, November 20th
Neighbourhoods: Dalston, Hackney, Bow.
Footsteps count: 22,039
I woke up with the persistent thought that I miss living here. London has always been my happy place, and even with a week full of meetings and occasions in which I must put myself out there, I feel strangely at ease. Here I donāt feel judged, which makes it easier to reach out to galleries and bookshops, to ask for appointments, to take chances that donāt come as naturally elsewhere. Itās one of the reasons I started Blocal in English in the first place: Iāve always felt taken seriously in the UK, understood in a way that matches how I work and how I think.
A perfect example of this mood: on Wednesday morning I head to Dalston for a meeting at BSMT, one of Londonās key urban art galleries. Greg greets me with warmth. Even before meeting me in person, he had already gone out of his way to help by putting me in touch with Cranio when I struggled to reach him about permissions for the book. It may sound like a small gesture, but gestures like that are, to me, quintessentially British: helpful, unpretentious, quietly generous.
Greg is genuinely impressed with the book and immediately offers to host a book party at the gallery in the last week of May. š„³ And without launching into yet another ode to the endless possibilities of this country, I think my point is clear by now: people here are open, collaborative, and encouraging in a way that still feels slightly miraculous to me.
From Dalston I take a bus toward Mare Street Market, where Iām meeting Jimmy C to give him his copy. On the way, I see a story RUN posted about a new mural he painted somewhere along Mare Street and decide to squeeze in a visit before the meeting. What I failed to check is that āsomewhere along Mare Streetā meant twenty minutes away from Mare Street Market, so I ended up running the entire distance. But the mural...well, the mural is absolutely worth it.
After the impromptu jog, I met Jimmy C at the same place where we recorded his interview last summer. Back then it was warm and we sat in the garden; today itās all about fuming coffee and cake. Jimmy C also self-published two books, which means he understands the struggle perfectly, and his reaction to mine is overwhelmingly positive. He loves it. After he heads back to his studio, I stay a little longer on the freelancersā couch where I wrote so many articles last summer, uploading a few Instagram stories for good measure.
Then I walk to Broadway Market (one of the spots Jimmy C recommends in our book) to grab something to eat at my favourite place there: Lāeau Ć La Bouche. Itās a sort of deli, and one of the places where I actually wrote parts of the London book. Sitting at the same table with an overly cheesy raclette-andācaramelised-onion sandwich feels oddly triumphant. A year and a half ago I was drafting chapters here; today Iām holding the finished book.
Energised by that āI did it!ā glow, I step into a nearby art bookshop I adore, where I bought several books last summer. They never answered my email requesting an appointment, but since they loudly claim online to āsupport independent cultureā, I decided to try anyway. The girl behind the counter is lovely, but she isnāt the one who selects the books. She hands me a business card with the email I should write to. It is, of course, the exact same email Iāve already contacted twice without a single response. It isnāt her fault, though, so I smile politely and leave.
I need to leave anyway: at four Iām meeting Jonesy to give him his copy. He had also promised to show me the foundry where he works and where he creates the miniature sculptures that appear across London. Last summer I arrived too late to visit the workshops and only saw his studio upstairs. This time I got the full tour. I canāt take pictures (the foundry is full of works in progress for major contemporary art shows) but the experience is extraordinary. It feels like stepping inside the backstage of the London art scene.
Joining me is my longtime blogging friend, the founder of Inspiring City blog, who is helping me enormously with the book promotion. After giving Jonesy his copy (and receiving three gifts and many compliments in return) we head to my friendās place to record an episode of his street art podcast and some video content for another video heās preparing about As Seen on the Streets of London. (You can already find them both on his YouYube Channel: Inspiring City)
His wife has even cooked a delicious lentil dahl, and after the recording I stay for dinner, hugged by their kindness and sheer generosity. It makes me think that the street art community may be a niche, but it is a supportive one.
Since the book came out, I have had more than a few doors closed in my face (to be specific, they have mostly been bookshop doors), so having someone step in to help feels genuinely heartening. It is not only about the practical support, since Inspiring City is a major street art blog especially when it comes to London and the UK, but also about the simple comfort of knowing that someone is actually in my corner, rooting for me.
Three more days, and 85,490 more steps, to go. If you want to follow me through Shoreditch, Walthamstow, Spitalfields, Tower Hamlets, and the Hyde Park Estate, the rest of the week is waiting for you on the blog.
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