Graffiti is only Dangerous in the Minds of three type of people

By Lisa Bang, Ellis Calvin and Helenmary Sheridan
Art, wrote Tolstoy, is not merely an aesthetic pleasure but an essential means of communication between human beings. An artwork draws the viewer into a dialogue with both the artist and with every person who has experienced the same artwork; this is especially true for literature and the performing arts, which continually reenact the process of their construction through the temporal experience of reading and viewing a performance. Visual art, on the other hand, is a less dynamically interactive medium: a completed piece is a record of statements made, and it is the viewer’s task to respond to what is offered. It is also a more isolating medium. Paintings are individual objects, privately owned; even mass-produced prints are each single-viewer objects, while a story or song can be shared.
Graffiti art breaks these general rules of visual art. Painted on public walls, owned by no one and everyone, graffiti invites reactions from other artists; it boasts of its creation in the most inaccessible and illegal spots and shouts the name of its creators. Graffiti art makes every surface a potential canvas and extends the right to view art beyond art owners and museum-goers. Even a simple tag, a name written without style or elaboration, makes an artistic statement: I am here, and I will make art.
This subversive spirit of graffiti doesn’t need to be destructive, but it is confrontational. Graffiti takes back the urban landscape by force, painting gray cement with bright colors and bold names. It is an art form for change and an art form for beauty; as the British graffiti artist Banksy writes, “Graffiti is only dangerous in the mind of three types of people: politicians, advertising executives, and graffiti writers.”
At a distance, the intersection of 36th and Albany looks like a typical industrial cluster of concrete and broken glass. Approaching the intersection we step over paint cans, whiskey bottles, and cigarette butts—byproducts of graffiti—like scraps leftover from cooking. Called the “Aerosoul Walls,” the graffiti covers four sides of the Crawford Steel Company, the trucks parked along it, and the concrete walls behind, parallel to 36th Street. This is where we meet Nino “tselone” Rodriguez and Nicky Dieter, veterans of the Chicago Graffiti scene.
Rodriguez has been emptying paint cans onto walls since 1984, at the age of 11, and Dieter since 1994. Rodriguez got started as a graffiti writer through his brother and through the book “Subway Art,” published in 1984 about graffiti in New York. New York and Philadelphia are widely considered the settings of the genesis of modern graffiti, developing alongside hip-hop. Graffiti, in fact, is one of the four commonly held elements of hip-hop, along with breakdancing (b-boying), DJing, and emceeing.
Graffiti flourished first in the ‘60s in Philadelphia and New York, back when the cities had limited resources to combat it. Early artists produced large-scale drawings, or “bombings,” on subway trains, making themselves known throughout the boroughs. As the art proliferated, writers began to differentiate their styles to gain recognition; the goal was no longer to “tag” as many locations as possible, but rather to produce intricate designs that people could distinguish from the fray. By the ‘70s, most of the standards of the art form had been set, from wildstyles (intricate pieces involving complex calligraphy and detailed backgrounds) to throw-ups (quick pieces involving few colors). The galleries took notice in earnest in the ‘80s, and “Subway Art” was published, further publicizing the phenomenon.
It’s unclear when and how graffiti began in Chicago. “One theory,” says Rodriguez, “is that Hate [a graffiti writer], from New York, came over to Chicago and started tagging here, using his New York name.” Some other progenitors in Chicago include DZine, Scene, Rome, Vandal, and Angel of the Artistic Bombing Crew (ABC). Rodriguez’s brother learned his techniques from Hate, and it was passed down to Rodriguez. Young Rodriguez read “Subway Art” when it came out, and learned from that as well. Writing graffiti kept him out of trouble—if it weren’t for graffiti, says Rodriguez, “I would have probably been in prison or something.”
The underground nature of graffiti, and the easy initiation, means that its members are not organized. While Rodriguez either knows personally or has heard of most of the top artists in the area, he says that graffiti doesn’t exist as a community here, perhaps owing to the subversive nature of the art and the autonomy of its adherents. However, most graffiti, according to Rodriguez, is about “communicating with your peers”—other graffiti writers. “I always approach with a sense of respect,” states Rodriguez, and there are certain codes that writers must follow. For one, it is extremely disrespectful to cover up a work with another of lesser quality. “The point is to put something there that’s better than before,” explains Dieter. Better works, therefore, tend to last longer. Likewise, to mimic a great graffiti writer’s style is frowned upon. When Dieter mentions another writer who took on Hate’s style and name after his death, Rodriguez responds with disgust: “That’s not right.” One should create something new. Graffiti wars don’t usually turn violent, unless it is gang-related. Writers sometimes start wars online, ragging on others’ styles. This sometimes culminates in challenges where writers try to outdo each other in the quality of their work. This is usually not conversational, as in bathroom stalls; the writers go off to different places, creating their works away from the influence of their rivals.
When Rodriguez and Dieter speak to each other about the art on the wall, one can understand about as much of the conversation as when art historians converse in front of a Monet. Taggers become expert at recognizing different styles, from the thickness of the lines to the shading of the letters. “You can really see how someone’s using a can,” explains Rodriguez. Dieter says, “In general, [the writer’s] style comes from their style of signature … This is all based on the shape and movement of it.” Beginners tend to use simpler lettering styles, developing complexity with time. Through this process, says Rodriguez, “each individual create[s] their own identity.” Some pieces use darker colors and themes—one piece at 36th and Albany shows black hills against a blood-red sky. “I like my art dark,” Rodriguez asserts, “one of my names used to be Hades.” Other pieces are happier, with lots of colors and less angular script. Rodriguez points at a colorful fifteen-foot-wide section. “That’s fresh,” he evaluates. “That looks almost like L.A. style,” adds Dieter.
L.A. style tends to contain more colors, and taggers there tend to have more ties to the gang scene—one who belongs to both is called a “tagbanger.” Graffiti in L.A. is often used to mark rival gang territory. In both L.A. and Philadelphia, graffiti tends to stay up longer than in Chicago or New York, due to efforts by the latter cities’ local governments to “buff,” or get rid of, graffiti. Rahmaan Statik, a Chicago artist who’s been tagging since 1993, recalls the Daley-initiated crackdown of the early ‘90s: “The mayor actually created a ‘graffiti squad,’ a separate division of the Chicago Police force, just to go against graffiti … I’ve heard legensds of particular officers arresting up to 300 [graffiti] writers in one month.” Dieter recalls talking to a graffiti writer from Philadelphia who didn’t see the point of painting something if it wouldn’t stay up. “In Philly, if no one sees it, it doesn’t matter,” says Dieter. Writers with that mentality wouldn’t flourish here in Chicago. The authorities have covered pieces with thick brown paint in as little as two hours, and works often don’t last more than a few months. The enforcement is much more strenuous on the North Side: “There’s like two walls there, if that,” Dieter comments. “People on the South Side tend to appreciate it more, and there’s more space to do it, too,” adds Rodriguez.
It is illegal to buy or possess spray paint in Chicago (though this is circumvented by online purchases and trips out of the city), and causing more than $500 worth of damage is a felony. Spraying a mailbox will make it a federal matter.“A number of writers were becoming frustrated with their work getting buffed. So, they came up with alternative ways that it couldn’t get buffed,” explains Statik. This included different formulations of spray paint, usually imported from Europe. Some abandoned graffiti altogether; “Around ’96, when it became a felony, a lot of people stopped doing graffiti and started rapping,” says Statik. This situation has led to remaining Chicago graffiti writers being more focused on process than product and to increased dependence on photography to make the art last. Dieter describes his day job at a corporation as confining. “I’m in this closed space, and it sucks to be creative in that condition,” he complains. Through graffiti, one can claim public space, make oneself known. In a way, graffiti is cathartic, allowing people to express themselves in a world where opportunities for creativity seem scarce. It also allows one to go at one’s own pace—Rodriguez estimates that some of the pieces on the Crawford Steel Company must have taken twenty to fifty hours. The underground, subversive nature of graffiti strengthens its appeal as well.
But given the danger, expense, and time commitment, why do people graffiti at all? Many people do quit after a few years in favor of other mediums. Angel Silva, for example, has migrated to doing more tattoo work. Others exhibit in galleries and expand their hobby into a business, selling their own brands of spray paint, action figures, T-shirts, and other merchandise. Montana Colors and Monster Colors are both spray paint companies founded by graffiti writers. Others end up working for corporations such as Axe, Coca-Cola, Hummer, and Sprint to create street advertisements. Some can even afford to travel internationally to tag different cities. Like other artists who migrate from the underground to the mainstream, such individuals are often dubbed sell-outs by people that are left behind. At the same time, “selling out” is a way to make a previously expensive hobby into a career. In fact, graffiti writers are often less concerned about the money changing hands than about the potential effects of commercialization on the culture. “What happens when [the aesthetic] becomes played out?” asks Statik—when the freshness and subversion that previously made graffiti appealing are gone? But at the same time, Statik admits to selling out, and Rodriguez seems proud of the fact that his moniker, tselone, is a registered trademark. “I would love to take it international,” Rodriguez enthuses. “I’ll be doing this for as long as I have two hands, and then I’ll start using my toes.”

Tagger charged with Felony

Man accused of graffiti-spraying charged with felony
THE BLOTTER
6:38 PM CDT, March 25, 2008
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A man caught spray-painting graffiti in Chicago's Roscoe Village neighborhood Monday morning was charged with a felony after he admitted to vandalizing more than 20 locations on the North Side in one night, police said."He ran and we caught him," said Lt. John Willner of the Belmont District's community policing office. "He had some cans of spray paint with him."Varut Subchareon, 19, of the 4000 block of North Sawyer Avenue guided detectives around an area bounded approximately by Kimball Avenue, Damen Avenue, and Belmont Avenue and pointed out where he had "tagged" businesses and residential buildings, Willner said."Wherever a nice piece of wall presented itself and the mood struck him, he sprayed," Willner said.

The markings, which were not gang-related, looked exactly the same, he said.Subchareon is charged with one felony count of criminal damage to state-supported property, Cook County state's attorney's office spokesman Andy Conklin said. One of the sites he vandalized was run by the Park District.Judge Don Panarese ordered Subchareon held Tuesday in lieu of $200,000 bail.Subchareon is scheduled to appear in court Monday.