The game of fame: Mural, graffiti, erasure

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The game of fame: Mural, graffiti,erasureMark Halsey & Ben PederickPublished online: 19 Mar 2010.

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CITY, VOL. 14, NOS. 1–2, FEBRUARY–APRIL 2010

ISSN 1360-4813 print/ISSN 1470-3629 online/10/01–2082-17 © 2010 Taylor & FrancisDOI: 10.1080/13604810903525199

The game of fameMural, graffiti, erasure

Mark Halsey and Ben PederickTaylor and Francis

This paper examines the logics and limits of graffiti management at a key site within anAustralian city. Using writers’ narratives, we examine attempts to control the type ofgraffiti (script) against efforts to control its location (bleed). Our central claim is that boththese strategies demand that graffiti only speak its name when it (visually) ceases to beitself—that the ‘best’ graffiti, bureaucratically speaking, is that which functions as its ownform of erasure. We conclude by posing and responding to the key question: under whatconditions is graffiti permitted to exist?

Key words: graffiti, murals, bureaucracy, control, aesthetics

Introduction

n the Sydney studio of the late artistBrett Whiteley, there is a statement ona wall which reads, ‘Painting is an

argument between what it looks like andwhat it means’ (Difficult Pleasure, 2006). Inconversation, Whiteley goes on to say thatthis is essentially a dispute about ‘formversus content’. What has been and is likelyto be said about graffiti turns on thisdistinction. Graffiti is inescapably aboutthe image and about the interpretations ofthe image espoused by various audiences(including those advanced by graffiti writ-ers themselves). But graffiti, like all ‘revo-lutionary’ art, has as its raison d’être theimplosion of the aesthetics and meaningstraditionally arising from application ofpaint to a surface. As one writer put it,‘That’s why you become a graffiti artist inthe first place, … not to fit in’ (A). Graffiti,to invoke the terms of Deleuze and

Guattari (1994), deterritorializes thecanvas, the studio and the brush in orderto reterritorialize the wall, public space andthe spray can, only then to deterritorializethe emergent relation between the wall, thepublics and aerosol art.

Graffiti interrupts the city as a knownseries of interconnected surfaces. Itsuspends the decipherability typicallyattributed to, say, the artistic wares of therenaissance, realist or even modernistmovements. The Mona Lisa, devoid of alldistortion and therefore in its ‘perfection’, isinstantly recognizable. But so, now, isPicasso’s Guernica due both to the repeti-tion and the politicization of its image.Graffiti, on the other hand, and here we arereferring only to those styles inspired byTaki 183 and such ‘original’ kings as Dondiand Scene, remains an enigmatic force (seeWitten and White, 2001). Wildstyle—alongwith its variations and mutations—contin-ues to confuse and confound audiences. This

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HALSEY AND PEDERICK: THE GAME OF FAME 83

type of graffiti incessantly invites interpre-tation and reinterpretation preciselybecause it is not universally legible. Graffitirequires its audiences to inquire after themeaning of its meaninglessness and the(perceived) sense of its senselessness. Whenencountered in its ‘raw’, opportunistic,spontaneous form, such questioning seemsto impress upon the publics (upon residentsand local councils in particular) in quitepointed fashion (with the trope of vandal-ism providing closure and something of adiscursive safe-haven). On the other hand,where writers are invited to ‘tone down’their efforts and to fit their work into thisor that space, something more recognizableemerges (with the device of the muralproviding an (imagined) end to the mean-inglessness of the image and/or a counter-point to the maliciousness perceived toaccompany its appearance). And with theordered array of images often comes theapproval, or at least, the appeasement, ofvarious communities or ‘stakeholders’.

The tension between unsanctionedgraffiti (which can be labelled either art orvandalism or both) and sanctioned graffiti(which can be considered art or as a textwhich damages (vandalizes) the genealogiesof graffiti), is one which we are concernedto explore in this article. We want to bringthis issue to life primarily through a discus-sion of a wall located in Adelaide, SouthAustralia. This site, depicting the Show-ground Central Mural (SCM), is one withwhich we are quite familiar (one of usplayed a small part in garnering fundingfor the project, the other was contracted tomake a documentary film about themural). It is, as shall become clear, a wallwith a long history of bombing and buffingwhich has evolved to evince a series offinely crafted images depicting the historyof the Royal Agricultural and Horticul-tural Society of South Australia (RAHSSA)(formally speaking, the wall is the ‘prop-erty’ of the Society). These images morphdirectly into a number of frames painted inwildstyle by local writers.

We aim to relay some of the events lead-ing up to the completion of this wall. Morespecifically, we offer a retrospective medi-tation on the gains and losses associatedwith making graffiti conform to the needs(aesthetic prejudices) of authorities—ofcalling on a particular kind of script (orstyle of expression) to limit a particularkind of (sub)urban bleed (or unwanteddistribution of images and insignias). Wealso make a brief but important referenceto a second site located around 10 kilome-tres from the SCM. Located in PindaStreet, Kilkenny, this space is invoked by usas an example of a very different kind ofartistic/sub-cultural display—a wall whoseforms and contents were, at the time of thepainting of the SCM, constrained andshaped only by those who paint(ed) there(rather than by the particular limitsimposed by local council, law or the courtof public opinion). We conclude our discus-sion with a brief statement about the rela-tionship between the (elected) guardians ofpublic space and graffiti culture(s)contending that graffiti increasingly func-tions as a barometer of the rate and extentof the gentrification of previouslyneglected city-spaces.

Rapprochement

The SCM was officially launched on 17March 2005 (see Figure 1). It is, by any reck-oning, an impressive wall measuring around250 metres in length by about six metres inheight (excluding the irregular area of walladjoining the roof line). The wall runs paral-lel to the primary rail corridor situatedimmediately south of the Adelaide CBD.Graffiti has appeared and reappeared on thiswall and surrounding property (fences,apartment blocks, neighbouring buildings/factories, signs, telegraph poles) for over 20years (see Figure 2). The following excerpts1

speak to the comings and goings at this siteand its place within graffiti culture(s) inAdelaide:

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84 CITY VOL. 14, NOS. 1–2

‘I loved Goodwood because it is a bit of a cross road. It had a sort of “Bronxy” feel with the station. This is where I wanted to get up most, and I probably did … I like it, and to have this thing legal now, I am still coming to terms with it.’ [A]

‘Well I just sort of remember you know, in around ‘85, you know if you were interested in seeing graffiti, you know the talk of the town was, amongst people involved with graffiti, was you know a couple of pieces that Wiki did in the city, Twin Street being one of them and you know Goodwood walls … You had people doing pieces along the river side or in the park, or whatever, but this, this [the Goodwood wall] is really the first time that it was on show to the public … [A]t the time it was bloody brilliant, absolutely brilliant.’ [B]

‘It is amazing. Like, if you chip off paint here … you can see where it has just been, um, there is like a big line of colour and whatever was the first buff, then colour, buff, colour, buff, colour, buff, colour, buff. Like a bit of a

history lesson really … If the walls could talk.’ [C]

This last excerpt neatly illustrates that theSCM emerges—some would say, interrupts—the phylum of expression that characterizedthe space over time. The wall does speak.And what it says is that the dynamic ofbombing and buffing has, at least in thislocation, long been thus. Indeed, it is becauseof, and not in spite of, white wall andrapid removal policies that engagement withgraffiti writers arose as a possibility—moreprecisely, as a necessity—in this location.The terms of this engagement are quitecomplex—certainly more complex thansimply asking writers to paint a portion of theSCM. Instead, such engagement requires thatgraffiti form a series of contortions in orderto fit itself into the confines of the overalltenor and tone of the mural. The term muralgives a substantial clue as to the politicsinvolved in such a project. It must have alargely pictorial element, it must reflect a

Figure 1 SCM, Launch, 17 March 2005.

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‘community mindedness’, it must refrainfrom overtly political statements, it must beaesthetically ‘pleasing’, it must reflect thetraditional elements of design, it must bemeticulously planned, it must minimize allrisks to artist(s) and the public, it must fit theenvirons. In short, it must not be graffiti.

In this light, engagement becomes nothingless than a rapprochement with the otherwiseunpredictable force of graffiti. Here, in orderto engage—in order to be a player at the tableof bureaucracy (urban and community plan-ning)—graffiti must function as its own formof erasure. Its forms and contents can bemuralized, stylized, sanitized—even prob-lematized—but the resulting script must notbe synonymous with graffiti. The city asproperty owner, policeman, prison guard,collector and curator can ingest or makeroom for all types of expression—but graf-fiti, in its spontaneous and ever-changingform—is not one of these. Some writers, suchas the participant quoted immediately below,proved quite happy with the conditions ofthis rapprochement.

‘[The SCM] is really important because it shows people that there is a positive with graffiti. And like it is a real positive for everyone involved. For, like, the writers, because it can show people that we are not just bad arsed criminals, or whatever. It is good for the show, like the Royal Adelaide

Agricultural Society whatever … they seem to be down with it. That is why they have let him [Paul Alexander] do it here. So it makes the show look more colourful, so it makes more people want to come to it and whatever. It is good for TransAdelaide [the railways] because they are probably sick of seeing trashy throw-ups up and down here. And like say like a bunch of tourists [are] catching the train up to like Belair National Park, the train driver has probably gone past thinking, “Oh, this is what people see of … our city” … Trashy tags and throw-ups. But now they can come past and they have got like a nice colourful mural to look at. So it is like a real positive for like everyone.’ [D]

Authorities could not ask for a better ratio-nale than that evidenced here. The purposeof the mural was in part to invite writers tothink about the relationship between art andpublic space, and, by extension, art andvandalism. The strategy of engagement,though, typically sought to displace notonly tagging, bombing and offensive slogan-eering (essentially many of the thingsaccomplished writers relied on to transitionfrom novice to king), so much as it also triedto invert the set of values believed to be atthe heart of the graffiti-writing subject. Inconcert, late capitalism (complete with itsappropriation of ‘edgy’ youth-orientedforms of expression) along with urbangovernance (complete with its risk profilesand systems of checks and balances)combine to produce a legally endorsedrecognition (complete with its preference fordirect and instant fame over a rhizomaticand subterranean respect). The followingspeaks of the majoritarian politic whichpermeated the SCM:

Interviewer: ‘And in all of that, wheredoes the Goodwood wall fit in?’

Participant: ‘It just fits in as another production, organised by a tosser, someone who never really got a whole heap of love in Adelaide, and had to take a

Figure 2 Graffiti located opposite SCM.

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different approach to it. I mean his cause was good, trying to reunite the graff community in Adelaide. I don’t think it worked though.’ [E]

We will return to the issue of whether and inwhat way the mural could be said to have‘worked’ a little later in our discussion.2 Forthe moment, though, we simply wish tomake clear that the mural is not the begin-ning of ‘real art’ nor the sign of an end tograffiti vandalism. Rather, and to invokeDeleuze’s terminology, it is something whichcommences ‘in the middle’ of the incessantunfolding of the city’s surfaces, the city’sdesires and the city’s will to striation (2006,p. 216). Prior to the SCM—but undeniablyconnected to it—a mural of much smallerproportions adorned the space (‘Goodie

walls was painted mural style like way backin the day but it was all done in brush paint.All clowns heads and stuff like that back inthe day, and all along the bottom section’[E]). Over time, this resumed a secondaryplace to the graffiti traditionally appearingalong this corridor.

The artist who painted and designed thepictorial elements of the SCM, PaulAlexander, took full advantage of the ‘natu-ral’ segmentations of the site afforded by thebrickwork. In all, this permitted the SCM tobe divided into 31 equally proportionedspaces—19 of which were painted solely byAlexander (with some minor assistance fromschool groups) to reflect scenes from theannual Royal Adelaide show, the history ofthe RAHSSA (Figure 3), as well as depictingthe interests of other key SCM fundingbodies such as the City of Unley (Figure 4)

Figure 3 Section of SCM depicting themes of Royal Adelaide Show.

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and TransAdelaide. The remaining 12 frameswere assigned to various graffiti writers,engaged by Alexander, who had more or lesslengthy histories of getting up on this andother walls across Adelaide, interstate and,on occasion, overseas (Figure 5).

Considering the long history of conflictover this particular surface, Alexander’s abil-ity to bring such a project into being is aconsiderable feat of reconciliation. In orderto do so Alexander positioned himself as aconduit between two worlds, facilitating analliance that reflected his own trajectoryfrom illegal writer to public artist. His ownillicit career as a young graffiti writer endedwhen the returns (challenge, reputation, self-actualization, identity, fun) for marking thepublic realm were ultimately bankrupted bythe costs (criminal record, punishment, fines,family displeasure) of being apprehended andprosecuted as an adult. Being caught and

convicted is a turning point common in thelives of many graffiti writers. For Alexanderit meant renouncing illicit graffiti and trans-forming his practice into legally sanctionedforms. Over a number of years he acquired anew set of skills, which, by the time of theSCM, had developed into a hybrid career as apublic aerosol artist, sign writer, art teacherand community worker. All of his skills andall of his roles were required to achieve theSCM.

‘… I am including the community, the authorities who are striking out against this very activity. And I am sort of bringing them under my wing … And so yeah we just can’t have anyone turning up and doing any old sort of thing … there is going to probably have to be probably a cut off point where only a few people are going to be able to paint down there, because it is about quality.’ [Alexander]

Figure 4 SCM depicting local scenes within the municipality.

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Alexander’s vision for the project was forgraffiti to emancipate itself from the limitsimposed by its criminal status. His strategyfor achieving this involved blending his ownhistorical/thematic mural with an invitation-only graffiti ‘Hall of Fame’. For Alexander,the wall became a vehicle suited to variousends. Namely, it enabled him to present hisown talents on a very large public stagewhilst at the same time permitting him to actas the sole and ‘rightful’ gatekeeper regardingwho would join him in this venture. As anindication of this gatekeeping capacity,persons from a range of talented and(in)famous crews were required to submitsketches of their proposed images to Alex-ander in order to determine the suitability ofthe script.

‘I think the greatest controversy at the moment is actually coming from my graffiti

writers themselves in that … they’re all vying for a spot to paint down at the wall, and because there is actually aerosol [paint] on the wall now they think that it is their given right to participate … I know some of them by their tag and their painting name. But that doesn’t mean that [they’ve] automatically … got a berth down on the … mural. So it’s just one of those things where it just needs to be managed so that we don’t upset people.’ [Alexander, emphasis added]

For Alexander, the involvement of thesewriters was crucial to the perceived successof the SCM project. For the RAHSSA andassociated stakeholders, engaging with graf-fiti writers was paramount to a radical exper-iment aimed at limiting and refining graffiti’spresence. Of critical importance was the wayin which this community of actors and

Figure 5 Section of ‘Hall of Fame’.

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agencies believed themselves to hold thepower to include or exclude establishedwriters. In fact, there was no such power, andthere was no such choice.

‘… [I]t’s a great opportunity to be involved with this wall and all the rest of it. But at the same time, well, if we weren’t involved we would just involve ourselves anyway, you know. Simple as that. And you know I mean that sounds as though we are holding whomever to ransom and all the rest of it. But, “[Paul]. This is our wall”, as all public spaces are our wall … I mean I will be quite honest with you and this may sound pretty negative and the bloke concerned might get upset, but if he just came down here and painted end to end with clowns and all the rest of it, it wouldn’t last a week mate … And, you know, he’s sort of sitting back and going, “You know, it’s great you guys are involved”, … [Well], … I don’t like to be nasty, but he had no bloody say in the matter mate. He had to involve people or it wouldn’t have lasted. Simple as that.’ [B]

Without the commitment of those who hadwritten on and around the wall over manyyears, a central aim of the SCM, specifically,to turn a ‘graffiti hot-spot’ into an ‘art-spot’,would not have been achieved (see Figures 6and 7). We certainly have no trouble withthis as an objective and would contend thatthe SCM has on this count alone more thanrisen to the challenge. But with the ‘new’Goodwood wall ‘complete’ (more accu-rately, suspended between the last and nextbombing incidents), we think it important tomake known something of the (sub)culturalaspects which influenced the mural butremained largely unremarked during andsubsequent to the execution of the SCM. Wehinted briefly at some of these aspects above.In what follows, we give further voice tothose persons who contributed to the so-called graffiti writers ‘hall of fame’ (i.e. thelast 12 panels of the wall). We want to knowwhy they got involved and what theyperceive to be the cost to graffiti of suchinvolvement.

The game of fame

One of the key reasons for writers’ involve-ment in the mural centred on the issue ofpropriety. As much as the RAHSSA or anyother group perceived themselves to own thewall, it had long been considered publicspace by those getting up on it (‘When it …comes to the authorities, … the communityin general, you know, the public space, screwthem mate, it’s fair game … [I]t really is fairgame … [T]here are consequences and that isfine. But it is still fair game’ [B]). If the SCMwas to happen, it was going to do so withwriters’ contributions, and the latter couldoccur, as made plain in preceding excerpts,with or without the blessing of authorities.Writers also believed quality to be of para-mount importance in the production of thework. Indeed, from speaking with those atthe site, it became clear that a certain amountof pride and respect was, literally, on (ornear) the (train) line. Most were not used tohaving the time to generate the desired levelof quality in their work. Indeed, getting upillicitly sometimes produced a hyper-nervousbody which adversely impacted the image.

‘Look, I reckon that is a misconception, that whole rush thing … Some people out there might get turned on by it all, but let us be quite honest about it mate. When you are out there at 11 or 12 at night … chances are you are shitting yourself. It is not that enjoyable at all. That first half hour when you don’t

Figure 6 ‘Hot Spot’.

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know whether you are going to cop a raid or whatnot, that is pretty sort of hair-raising. And you are trying to create a piece of art with all that going on in your mind. After half an hour has passed or so you start relaxing a bit, and before you know it you are lighting up cigarettes and cracking the beers. But, ah, you know that first half an hour is not enjoyable at all.’ [B]

Graffiti, by its nature, is a frenzied form ofexpression. It is meant to be done ‘on the sly’where risk to self (whether from transitpolice, guard dogs, building owners, possiblepassers-by, other writers) is paramount. Talkamongst writers about the quality of particu-lar works is also another kind of risk toself(esteem)—specifically, to the self whichemerges from the rhythms of respect anddisrespect, fame and infamy of the broaderwriting culture(s) or crews. The SCM offered

a curious, more particularly, rare3 opportu-nity, to be involved in something whichauthorities thought would endure for manyyears (a maintenance budget was expected tohold good for several years). The rivalryamongst those who agreed to paint ‘individ-ual’ segments on the wall was real and ongo-ing. Some of these disputes concerningterritory or the fall-out from previous inap-propriately directed lining or cappingepisodes stretched back nearly 20 years. Forthis reason, and to the great credit ofAlexander (but also signalling the stagedproduction of the images), different writersfrom various crews were booked in to paintthe wall at different times (‘You get thewrong people involved, they are all going toget capped as well’ [B]).

Without doubt, the most prominent and(in)famous crew involved in the SCM was

Figure 7 ‘Art Spot’.

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Rock City Funk (RCF) whose members—now in their mid 30s and early 40s—hadgotten up not just in Australia but in manyinternational locations as well. Despite thegeneral awe in which these writers were held,there was much at stake for this crew—others would be carefully watching andappraising their work (including ‘the author-ities’ who had had many dealings with suchwriters over many years). Indisputably, thiscrew brought a gravitas to the wall thatwould have been wholly absent from themural scene painted by Alexander. Onemember of RCF lamented the quality of thecontemporary graffiti scene by speaking ofwhat might be termed the new breed of‘Photoshopped’ writers.

‘[P]eople … getting into … street art just come from a whole new direction. They

don’t really come from the actual, the rawness of the hip hop culture like it was. They come from just taking, seeing a stencil and saying, “Yeah, I want to do that too. Let’s turn on the computer and use Photoshop”, and “Hey look at this, this looks nice. I’m going to buy a spray can for the first time. I have never used one before but look I can make it do this …”’ [A]

RCF were the only crew to be assigned twosegments of the wall. They produced a workof substantial detail and skill which depictedsomething of their own history and whichpaid homage to the historical relationshipbetween graffiti and the rail network/transithubs (Figure 8). Of all the images to composethe SCM this was, ironically, the only workto be vandalized (‘trashed’) shortly aftercompletion (Figure 9). As a sign of their

Figure 8 SCM, work by Rock City Funk.

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commitment, one of the key members of thecrew went to the wall the day after the attackand began restoring the work to its formerstate. This—rather than physical violence—became the ultimate act of defiance towardwhomever perpetrated the damage and it hasnot been touched since 20054 (‘[T]here isetiquette man. People know who is who andwhat is what, and they aren’t going tofucking go over something like this. Simpleas that’ [E]).

The issue of violence proved to be pivotalto the SCM. Indeed, it was the actual orthreatened use of state force—force or threatof prosecution, deployment of rapid removalresponses, repeated labelling of graffiti writ-ers as ‘scum’, ‘vandals’ and/or ‘delin-quents’—which was constitutive of movestoward such a project from the outset. WhilstAlexander’s motivation was to complete thefirst stage of what he hoped would be theworld’s largest mural, any such attempt hadto reckon with the more or less permanentoccurrence of graffiti at the Goodwood wall.One member of RCF put the relationshipbetween graffiti and responses to it in thefollowing way:

‘… If you use force and violence with graffiti it is only going to enhance graffiti. And you know, double it … [B]ecause graffiti for a lot of kids comes out of anger against the system. Or anger against whatever. Some kind of just

inner anger. Who knows where it is coming from? So yeah, to be intimidated by violence, that anger is only going to be carried into some place else, which is going to be into the spray can.’ [A]

Accordingly, it was never a matter ofwhether to engage with graffiti writers sinceone or another form of engagement (some-times called a war, sometimes a truce, some-times an art of compromise) was always inplay. One can never, within an urban setting,go about one’s affairs totally oblivious tograffiti. There are, of course, those whosearch in vain for such a world, and it isagainst the imagined Platonic character of thecity that graffiti writers ply their craft:

‘I’m sure that your average Camry driver … [or] bureaucrat … would love for everyone … to drive a white Commodore to work and [have us] all sit at a desk job all day and go past your lovely buffed walls on your way home, and drive on a train with nothing on it. But what is the fun in life then, you know?’ [C]

Graffiti is a mode of expression that doesnot, in effect, care about consent. This is itsviolence and this is its original means forensuring that the public aesthetic is neverentirely planned or mapped out ahead oftime. The SCM was underpinned by theunspoken presumption that the RAHSSA

Figure 9 Lined RCF work.

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was giving permission to graffiti crews to bepart of the project. In fact, the power relationwas inverted. Particular crews were givingpermission to the RAHSSA, and to Alexanderas project manager, to use the wall for thepurposes of a mural style production (‘I saidit to him from day one man, I said, “If youkeep doing those murals until the end of thewall man, it is going to get bombed straightaway”’ [E]). The relationship between thestate, or the city, and graffiti, is a complexone and has been written about elsewhere(see, for example, Halsey and Young, 2002,2006; Young, 2005). We simply note herethat the politics of permission works in morethan one direction. Exclusion from the city’sspaces, and, more pertinently, exclusion fromthe processes surrounding the placement andtype of images which invade most cities (bill-boards, neon signs, corporate logos and thelike), plays into the psyche of many writ-ers—including those who participated in theproduction of the SCM.

‘When I was younger I remember thinking you go through the city and all the rest of it, and you have got to put up with big advertisements and whatever. No one ever rang me up and asked me if that could be there.… [S]o … why do I have to consult them if I want to go and do something somewhere? … I mean I’m not talking about complete anarchy or anything. You know, fair is fair. It is a big bloody world and all the rest of it. And you know personally I wouldn’t go and tag someone’s car, and I wouldn’t go and do something on the front fence of their house or anything personal and things like that.’ [B]

In this context, permission is cheap. In fact, itpresents as an insult to those who have usedtheir energies to bring a sense of vibrancyand difference to what they perceive to be thefrequently drab and dreary surfaces ofurbanity. Permission also kills a particularkind of rush associated with graffiti—not the‘bad rush’ spoken of earlier, but the rusharising from the clash of prohibition, desireand the urgency to get up (and away from

authorities). This, it has to be said, is a rushwhich the SCM could not supply to partici-pating writers.

‘… [T]he next sort of noticeable transition [in my graffiti writing] would have been just the fact that it is um, you know, it is just a hobby—something I enjoy doing with my friends on the weekend. Such as is the case here [with the SCM]. You, you come down, [have] a few beers. Then other times we have had [barbeques] organized or whatever. You know it is just a bit of a social sort of outing.’ [B]

This relaxed social scene proved to be aworld away from the unsanctioned activityof writers.

‘If you are running like we did the other day, if you are running after a freight train for nearly a “k” and a half, and you are running after the thing for that long, and then you get up, and you are just piecing or that sort of thing, or like tagging … it is just such a huge rush. I don’t think you could take any drugs which would give you the same high as that.’ [C]

‘They [the police] will try methods of intimidation. And I guess that that time in Melbourne was the most extreme example, to the point where I had a gun pointed down my throat—until I was like choking on a gun [where] the trigger was pulled, cocked. And, yeah, threatening to actually like kill me … [I]t made me even more effective as a graffiti artist.’ [A]

The SCM appeared to offer an opportunityto paint with a slowness and a precisiontypically not afforded to many writers. Itwas this deceleration of the traditionally fastand frenzied activity (and the resultingquality of the images), which was perceivedto be key to preventing unsanctioned(unscripted) expression at the site. However,we would contend there is something morecomplex occurring here—that all murals arevulnerable to erasure no matter who isinvolved in their ‘production’. It is wellaccepted that graffiti writers gain the respect

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of their peers according to both the scriptand the bleed engendered by their efforts.5

In this sense, fame becomes a function ofstyle and location which combine toproduce a fluid culture of permissions andprohibitions articulating who can paint whatand where. There is no doubt that the SCMcalled upon the fame and respect borne ofparticular illicit writers’ histories in anattempt to confine both the style and extentof the aesthetic appearing on this muchcontested surface. The ‘inconvenient truth’,though, is that the graffiti writers’ reputa-tions which collectively ‘protect’ the SCM,can, as ‘free’ individual writers, continue toillicitly get up on any number of othersurfaces. And in a further inversion of roles,this potential for continued illicit behaviourcould perhaps be taken to strengthen thesewriters’ reputations and thus the effective-ness of their involvement as a control agentagainst further graffiti appearing at the SCMsite. But from our viewpoint, a major flawin this logic is that in seeking a rapproche-ment with writers—in seeking to (re)writegraffiti and limit the extent of its bleed—theproject of engagement risks ‘locking up’particular spaces. In short, on account ofwho has painted there, these managedsurfaces become even more highly andwidely desired by would-be or novice writ-ers. This was graphically demonstratedduring the weeks leading up to thecommencement of the SCM, when a singlewriter, walking from one end of the wall tothe other, painted dozens of bright pink tagson each ‘frame’ of the wall. This event, cost-ing almost nothing in stolen aerosol paint,and taking only a few minutes to execute,goes to the limits of the SCM as a graffitiprevention device. Arguably, the long-standing policy of zero tolerance at the wall,unintentionally scripted a surface on whichonly the most simple and problematic formsof graffiti were likely to appear (tags andthrow-ups). Through its efforts to expungegraffiti from the urbanoscape, the statewas in fact engendering its incessantreappearance.

Writers displayed a keen sense of what theSCM could and could not achieve in terms ofcrime prevention.

‘… [A]t the end of the day it is still public space, isn’t it? Who exactly is going to stop anyone from coming here and doing exactly what they want? … They might cop a fine or whatever [but] it is not actually going to stop them doing it. I mean that is the whole graffiti sort of thing. You know it is like a lot of things in society. That you can stick cameras in you know you can catch who did it after and you can throw them in jail and you can throw away the key and all this sort of shit. But you can’t actually stop them from doing it in the first place.’ [B]

The effect of the SCM, therefore, was not somuch to stop graffiti, but to raise the stakesof hitting or lining the site. The graffiti writeris a self-publishing author, and the page isalways negotiable.

‘… [Y]ou can’t have a piece that just sits there for years and goes stale. Like you need fresh stuff.’ [C]

‘… [T]hat explains graffiti completely. It is always changing. There is always something new. It is never the same.’ [D]

Despite all evidence to the contrary, authori-ties continue to believe it is possible—evendesirable—to suture the city’s surfaces. Sucha belief is, however, the ground on whichgraffiti continually finds its footing. TheSCM—as successful as it has been to date—isunlikely to be an enduring exception to therule.

Counterpoint

In bringing this article toward a conclusion,we think it instructive to very brieflymention a well-known wall not far from theSCM which was being written and rewrittenprior to and during the production of SCM.We do so in an effort to further highlightwhat is lost (and gained) when graffiti is

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pushed through the machinery of bureau-cracy. The wall we speak of is known bywriters as ‘Pinda Street’ and is in fact one sideof an exceptionally large warehouse. A long-held (unwritten) policy of ignoring and/ortolerating the graffiti which (once) coveredthe wall, adjacent fences and even the road,provided writers and those with an interest ingraffiti with a living sketchbook of writingstyles (Figures 10 and 11). Prior to the wallrecently being ‘whitewashed’, Pinda Streetwas a singular example of the unselfcon-scious collective occupation of public space.It was everything unsanctioned graffiti canbe—frenzied, considered, mundane, brilliant,defiant, unsightly. The result spoke power-fully to the spontaneous—even democratic—nature of much graffiti.

‘… I didn’t have any thoughts on what I was doing. I was just doing it.… At that time it

[was] just pure impulse and just, yeah, the moment. From one moment to the next. Maybe a little bit of planning, because we had to know what we were going to paint that night, or what we had to get the paint for. But yeah generally it was just doing it, like no thought just action.’ [A]

Pinda Street provides a demonstration notonly of graffiti in its ‘raw’ and largely unreg-ulated form, but also exposes one of the waysin which graffiti writers exploit policiesintended to deter them. Saturating a site withcountless graffiti styles often becomes themeans for acquiring a temporary interruptionto the competing (hyper-proliferating) econ-omies of expression. Pinda Street, therefore,is literally the counterpoint to the SCM. Inthe former, the over-saturation of the wallwith all manner of styles led Charles SturtCouncil to ban graffiti at the site and to returnit to a single swathe of dark green paint

Figure 10 Pinda Street (compare Figure 13).

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(Figures 12 and 13). This ‘blank’ canvas ofcourse cries out to be (re)written and, in ourestimate, inevitably will be. The SCM, on theother hand, is an attempt to saturate a blankspace (which is in fact a heavily historied site)with various styles in the hope that this willbe a superior alternative to a ‘white wall’policy. Of course, the coloured canvas invitesunsanctioned graffiti because, as we haveargued, the mural itself builds in the possibil-ity of infamy for those who dare to get up onits surfaces. Perhaps, then, there is only onerule in the game of fame—bet on the perpet-ual impermanence of the image (or the forcedand enforced fluidity of city surfaces).

Conclusion

One of the key effects of graffiti is to awakenthe city to spaces it has forgotten about and

in so doing to redefine the limits and purposeof city-space (‘You [are] looking in placesyou would never look before. Like the firsttime I went to that alley … I had no idea thatanything like that was there. And it is such a

Figure 11 Detail, Pinda Street.

Figure 12 Sign prohibiting graffiti, Pinda Street.

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colourful eye-opener’ [C]). The history ofgraffiti on the Goodwood wall, leading up tothe SCM exemplifies this process whereby anindustrial corridor at the back of a significantpublic asset was identified by graffiti writersas the ideal surface for major public works, afunction not realized by any other actor untilthat time. The meaning of graffiti thereforelies in something more than rebellion, and itsvalue resides in something outside thecircumscribed purposes assigned by munici-pal authority or community opinion.Instead, graffiti disturbs, deterritorializes andthereby rejuvenates the city. We acknowl-edge that graffiti is very often associated witha devaluing (being wedded to stereotypes ofurban decay, decreased property prices andincreased social anxiety). But we would alsocontend that graffiti writers appropriatepublic surfaces precisely because suchsurfaces are not valued. A key dilemma hereis that cities are rapidly closing in on thespaces it once cared less about. Abandonedwarehouses, for instance, have become one ofthe main plinths from which gentrificationsprings forth. When capital advances there isoften little or no place for graffiti. Theactions of developers do indeed cultivatesuch vacant or fallow urban landscapes, butat the same time this development and reno-vation consumes the civic commons, a truepublic space liberated from property rights.Graffiti writers recognize the ever-changingnature of the urbanosphere and to an extent

revel in it. But what is lost—what is difficultto reclaim—is the vibrancy and creativityconnected to disused or derelict spaces. Whatwe have tried to do in this discussion, there-fore, is to explore what happens to graffitiwhen it is expected or forced to conform to abenign aesthetic ideal (as increasingly seemsto be the case). This in turn begs or bleedsinto the question: for what purpose (that is,under what conditions) is graffiti permittedto exist? Our response to this question isquite simple: namely, that in the context ofthe late modern city, graffiti is permitted toexist when it ceases to be itself. Presently, thefunction of graffiti is one of alerting the citi-zenry to the ‘need’ for wider and deepermeans of controlling particular persons andfor regulating particular spaces. The capacityto provide a space for unsanctioned activity,for a freedom of expression that impacts thesurfaces of public property, seems outsidethe logic of post-industrial cities. What isrequired is a response to graffiti that does notonly seek to engage through sanctions, butone that recognizes a new ecology of urbanbecoming—an ecology that makes room forgraffiti as neither publicly sanctioned art norcrime.

Notes

1 1 The writers quoted in this article were interviewed by Pederick during the production of the SCM.

2 2 As a means to prevent ongoing tagging and bombing, the mural stands as an undisputed success having, with only one exception, not been lined (capped) since its completion in 2005.

3 3 As one writer commented, ‘You know, in the end I just gave up … [Y]ou cruise around and you ask different businesses, … “Can I paint your wall?”, … and they’re not interested. So I gave up on that aspect … and I just thought, “… I am going to whatever I want, wherever I want, however I want to bloody well do it”’ [B].

4 4 According to members of RCF, there was good evidence to suggest that the transit police were responsible for the lining episode. The rationale for damaging the image was believed to be outrage over the perceived ‘rewarding’ of RCF with a legal place on a prime public site.

Figure 13 Pinda Street, “white-washed”.

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5 5 To become a respected graffiti writer requires the development of a particular set of skills and the cultivation of a specific type of knowledge. To master the script—to produce one’s own ((sub)culturally accepted) style—requires an intimate and often hard won awareness of aerosol spray paint, of the varying viscosities of each colour, of the means for attaining the desired width of each line, of the required pressure on the nozzle and so forth. In addition to the quality of the script, writers also value graffiti in accord with its location(s) (‘How far can one extend or encourage the bleed?’). The presence of graffiti in a seemingly impossible place (typified by the ‘stay-up’) is a statement in itself. It is akin to a flag on the moon—literally a proof of life in an otherwise sterile and lonely space.

References

Deleuze, G. (2006) Two Regimes of Madness. New York: Semiotext(e).

Deleuze, G. and Guattari, F. (1994) A Thousand Plateaus. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Difficult Pleasure: A Portrait of Brett Whiteley (2006) DVD edition, produced and directed by D. Featherstone (original edition, 1989).

Halsey, M. and Young, A. (2002) ‘The meanings of graffiti and municipal administration’, Australian and New Zealand Journal of Criminology 35(2), pp. 165–186.

Halsey, M. and Young, A. (2006) ‘“Our desires are ungovernable”: writing graffiti in urban space’, Theoretical Criminology 10(3), pp. 275–306.

Witten, A. and White, M. (2001) Dondi White: Style Master General. New York: HarperCollins.

Young, A. (2005) Judging the Image: Art, Value, Law. London: Routledge.

Mark Halsey is Associate Professor, LawSchool, Flinders University, GPO Box 2100,Adelaide, South Australia, Australia 5001.Email: [email protected]

Ben Pederick is a Filmmaker based inCambodia working on global stories. In 2009Ben wrote and directed Alexandra Coust-eau’s Expedition: Blue Planet, surveyingwater issues globally; he filmed throughoutSouth East Asia for National Geographic TV;and traveled from the Tibet to the SouthChina Sea to produce a series about theMekong River for Radio Free Asia online.Ben is currently developing feature projectsfor international investors, and is slated toreturn for Expedition: Blue Planet 2010,exploring water issues across North America.Email: [email protected]

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The game of fame: Mural, graffiti, erasure

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Transcript of The game of fame: Mural, graffiti, erasure