His fans on social media await his next post with the same excitement as Christmas Eve. Suspended, waiting for the magic to happen. David Zinn, a street artist from Michigan, has the ability to change the way we see, or rather, to give back the way we used to see as children. His canvas is the street and chalk the tool of an ephemeral art that the rain will wash away. For Zinn, impermanence is an important component of wonder.

The interview with David Zinn

You're walking along and you see the rabbit Tess, in a bright green tutu and with total concentration, practising her tightrope-walking talent on a wire — which is actually the gap between the slabs of the pavement. When it snows, you might come across Marla, who has just emerged from a pile of snow almost marching, indifferent to the cold. We interviewed the artist to find out how he comes to see, in two tufts of grass, the little monster Fran's new summer hairstyle.

When people ask when you started drawing, you often answer: "When did you stop?"
I use the question that people typically ask me in a slightly provocative way, to remind everyone that we all begin our lives as confident artists, but after childhood we gradually lose interest or, more often, lose confidence in our creative abilities. We also forget how "good" we were — not so much in terms of the quality of the results, but in terms of the joy we felt in making them. The aim, then, is to bring to mind the time when drawing was a creative act that made us happy. I firmly believe that inside each of us there still lives a creative, confident child, capable of expressing themselves in many different ways.

You say you came to drawing on pavements because you had positively failed at every other artistic attempt. When did failure open up a path instead?
As I grew up, I had become less and less confident in my ability to create art — the kind that aspires to be recognised as such. Blank canvases, brushes, inks and all the other expensive tools created an intimidating sense of expectation, confronting me with skills I believed I didn't have.

So, instead of dedicating myself to careful practice and sustained study — which would probably have been the wiser thing to do — I redirected my creative efforts towards casual, carefree doodles made in inconsequential circumstances, drawing images on restaurant placemats and on the backs of envelopes, for instance.

They were playful acts, with no ambition other than to pass the time pleasantly and lift my spirits. Then, a few years ago, I discovered that drawing with chalk on the street has almost identical benefits: the tools are humble and inexpensive, the pavement is already worn, damaged and stained, and I can keep none of what I create. It is a perfect environment for making art without expectations.

When we observe the world carefully, we realise there is nothing banal on Earth. Yet we often lose the ability to feel wonder, whereas your drawings are a kind of training in it.
Fortunately, seeing the imaginative potential in ordinary things is a skill we all have as children and lose when, as adults, we find ourselves completely absorbed in routine. There is nothing inherently wrong with processing our surroundings through a lens of efficiency, but I strongly recommend breaking that pattern every now and then, if only to have a little fun. Our inner child is still capable of seeing animals in the clouds and mountains beneath our feet. Pausing for even just a few seconds is often enough to bring all of that back into view.

What is the reaction you have managed to provoke in the public that struck you most?
The most surprising interaction was with someone I never met. I had drawn a small monster on the pavement with a round empty hole at the centre of its body. When I happened to walk past the drawing again, several hours later, someone had filled the void in its stomach with a small pile of sweets.

Have you ever been tempted to use paint instead of chalk?
For some installations I have used paint, such as in the state of Indiana, in Taiwan and in Sweden. But I prefer chalk for several reasons. Paint is a technique that requires more rules, even just for cleaning brushes and waiting for drying times. All elements that, compared to casual chalk drawing, complicate the experience and take time away from it. The need to obtain permits then effectively translates into the possibility of doing fewer installations. Moreover, ephemeral art has a potentially deeper impact because the interaction is unexpected and the experience cannot be replicated.

Nor is it certain that, on the street, paint is significantly more permanent than chalk. It depends on weather conditions. In many cases a painted image fades slowly, vanishing like a ghost. I would rather my imaginary friends disappear entirely, only to re-emerge somewhere else, because that is what real people do. Very few things become more precious simply because they are more durable.

What is your relationship with the characters you create?
Some are close companions. In general I consider them all friends, even if I have met most of them only once. Others, I admit, come from cautionary tales.