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THE SCIBBLED NAMES of faceless artists now form a integral part of the urban sprawl. Yet behind the flashes of color and the broad, twisted lines of graffiti lies a contested subculture. Graffiti art began in the late 1960s in New York City and Philadelphia. Teenagers and young adults used permanent markers to write their names and street numbers on subway cars. Graffiti writers welcomed the proliferation of aerosol spray paint because the technology let them work at high speed, infusing the art with directness and energy. Simple name writing developed into more ambitious designs with more creativity, color, and skill. The bigger imagery slowly began to saturate city walls and trains. Mexican muralist Felipe Ehrenberg said, "The tool is being appropriated by different clientele, who 'deface' whole cities.. Marking of a city's skin bothers one part of the population, but to another part, it establishes all sorts of codes and messages." Graffiti art is visually available to every person who walks by it, but its secret code means it can only be fully understood by fellow writers. Individually or as part of a crew, "graffers" compete for space, fame, and recognition by putting their tag on as many places as possible-the more visible or risky the place, the greater the notoriety. For example, in downtown Providence, graffer "Juner" became famous in the local graffiti community for painting "Temple of Junerism" across the north wall of the abandoned Masonic Temple. To create the piece, "Juner" crouched on a narrow ledge six stories in the air. From Route 95, thousands of passing motorists can see the bold white bubble letters; it is perhaps the most visible graffiti in Providence. Graffiti involves not only a battle of spatial power among the graffiti writers themselves, but also a conflict of territorial boundaries between the writers and society. The rich own and control the primary means of communication in society. Articulate and educated people can usually find legitimate ways of making their views public, such as letters to the editor or online forums. Powerful companies can commission advertising in print ads, billboards, or television commercials. By commanding public spaces, graffiti artists rebel against their lack of effective ways to communicate their views. "You have a voice, you can say whatever you want on a wall," says one of the graffiti artists in the documentary GV2: Graffiti Veritè 2 by Bob Bryan. Graffiti threatens powerful interests because it asks the question, "Who has the right to make statements in public spaces?" Many communities have decided that the only people who should make statements in public spaces are those with permission to do so, and American laws reflect this decision. In Rhode Island, even selling spray paint to a minor is prohibited, with a fine of $100 for each offense. Similarly, if someone under 18 is caught with aerosol spray paint outside of his property, he can face a punishment of up to 50 hours of community service. Laws to prevent graffiti are made with economic reasons in mind. In a report from the Santa Clara County Planning Office in California, graffiti vandalism in the US is estimated to cost taxpayers over seven billion dollars a year for clean up alone. Another eight billion dollars is spent on graffiti-related law enforcement and court costs. Local anti-graffiti campaigns are becoming more popular in communities across the nation to reduce graffiti vandalism. Captain Daniel Schatz of the Los Angeles Police Department reported that "Graffiti Paint Outs" in 1998 paired young graffiti offenders with community members to repaint tagged walls. "After painting out the same areas four and five times, [young graffiti artists] understand the frustration experienced by the community," says Capt. Schatz. The program significantly reduced graffiti in the area. On the other hand, the social problems that created and continue to sustain graffiti cannot be painted over. Lack of employment opportunities or public leisure spaces for young people, and overcrowded, poorly funded public schools and youth programs have pushed urban youth further into the outdoor landscape. Inner city teens became have become an even larger, more permanent presence in parks and on street corners. Graffiti is a physical manifestation of their dislocation. In GV2, one graffiti artist says that when he tags, it's like saying, "I was here!" and affirming his place in the world. Though graffiti was originally a culture of poor urban youth, it's now popular among art school students and white suburban youth. Some urban graffiti artists dismiss them as comfortable wannabes. Writer "Cren" grew up in southern Los Angeles before moving to Providence. He told the Providence Journal of his contempt for other writers in Providence, who he said are often wealthy students from the Rhode Island School of Design. He said he feels that they know little about his "gangster"-style work. Hip-hop culture, which includes graffiti art, is a way for white kids to plug into a taboo urban culture. Television commercials and print ads for brands like Nike and Sprite romanticize the crumbling urban spaces where inner city teenagers must play. White youth looking for a sense of rebellion, culture, and identity admire the graffiti masterpieces created amidst the urban rubble, especially the subculture that created them. Farai Chideya, in his book The Color of Our Future, quotes the Chicago Tribune: "Appreciating someone else's culture is good. An increased level of interest among whites in what makes some African Americans groove can only be helpful to improved race relations.. They've proven that popular style can be created by a few, appreciated by many and owned by none." How can lawmakers acknowledge graffiti artists' need for a space of their own while stopping vandalism? San Francisco tried to solve the problem with "Psycho City," the largest free wall (lawful graffiti space) in the northern hemisphere, covering an area of over two square blocks from top to bottom. Graffiti artists came from all over the world to tag and to take pictures of themselves in Psycho City. All of the streets leading into and out of the area were covered with tags, and the boundary between the legal and illegal areas disintegrated. Although illegal taggers were arrested, the cases were dropped by the District Attorney, because there were no clear signs that you could not tag outside of the designated area. The neighborhood gave up on trying to control it. Finally, the city of San Francisco closed the site to legal graffiti. As projects for legal street venues for graffiti disintegrated, interest in bringing graffiti to the mainstream art world increased. Similarities in form and technique push graffiti close to modern art. But graffiti artists usually do not have the money for canvas or stretchers; graffiti art would be the world's most difficult show to hang. Part of the fundamental appeal of graffiti is its integration with the urban environment. It is designed strictly for public viewing on public property. Creating a market for graffiti art would not only be impractical, but would also go against graffiti art's inherent nature. Graffers face a difficult paradox: writers want to get paid but are unwilling to "sell out." Despite a strong desire to make money from their work and to become full-time artists, few writers embrace the gallery scene. As graffiti artist "Lady Pink" explains in Robin D. G. Kelley's book, Yo' Mama's Disfunktional!, "Painting on canvas or a gallery's walls removes the element of risk, of getting one's name around, of interaction with ones peers and one's potential younger rivals. The pieces in galleries cease to be graffiti because they have been removed from the cultural context that gives graffiti the reason for being, a voice of the ghetto." In New York, an auction of vintage graffiti at Guernsey's and a graffiti exhibit at Unique Boutique/Gallery, both in 2000, didn't draw as many clients as expected. John Leland interviewed former graffiti artist Lenny McGurr aka "Futura 2000" in his article "At Home With Futura: For a Graffiti King, the Family Reigns." In the early 1980s, McGurr was one of New York's most sophisticated graffiti writers. A British record company called Mo'Wax translated his talent into the nineties, helping him bring his designs to fashion, CD sleeves, toys, and the Web. McGurr sells many of his designs at Recon, an East Village store he runs with another former graffer. "I'm 45, raising a family," said McGurr. "I don't have a marker in my pocket. I don't deface anything. It almost shocks me to remember I once had that impulse. I don't feed on that desire to say, 'Check me out.'" In his book, Taking the Trains, about graffiti culture in the New York City subway system, Joe Austin calls graffiti "perhaps the most important art movement of the late twentieth century." Initially, one might discount this statement because graffiti has not succeeded in the mainstream American art world. But why does art have to be in a museum to be important? Can Americans deem art within public spaces as valuable as art within private ones, even as some graffiti art moves into galleries? Street artists are influential because they empower people in their own neighborhood, not just museum-goers. Graffiti's impact also diffuses through former graffers now working as artists and businessmen. Graffiti is not defined by the territoriality, the competition, or the vandalism; it is in the strength, the spine, and the squareness of the lettering. Graffiti is the art of the people-a declaration of self and the voice of a community. |
copyright © 2002, The College
Hill Independent
last updated 11 22 02
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