Grace Wilson

THERE'S BEAUTY IN

THE BRICKS

Feature Writing

 

Art is no longer confined to frames hung in a gallery; it increasingly surrounds us. A cityscape becomes the blank canvas upon which emerging street artists express themselves. These are not your typical phallic symbols scrawled on bus stops, either. Urban Dictionary (please refrain from the “dick”-tionary emphasis in light of the previous sentence) refers to street art as graffiti’s second cousin. They are related, yes, but distinct entities when it comes to the family reunion. While much graff-work has illegal and anarchistic connotations, to say that all street art is produced by balaclava wearing, spray can wielding hooligans would be a gross misrepresentation. Too often street art gets tarred with the same brush, so to speak.

 

The term street art is fairly self-explanatory; it’s any unsolicited creative intervention developed in a public space. Characterised by subversive activism and a grungy aesthetic, street art has transformed urban design in what's been described as the only real arts movement since Warhol. As such, great disparity exists between this and the mindless two-second scribbles of bored kids, out past their bed times. Sure, street art resonates profoundly with non-conformist youth values, but its appeal is not restricted to this demographic. In fact, it is starting to gain some momentum in mainstream society at the risk of undermining the rebellious street-cred that made it so popular.

 

Ben Wilson, a graphic designer from the Brisbane-based Iguana Signs studio, has noticed a significant shift in cultural perceptions and client expectations in recent times. “Graffiti used to be seen as a garish scar on a building,” he reflects. “Now, more than ever, our generation is beginning to appreciate the raw medium of paint on a wall.” The use of stencils, posters, aerosol sprays, acrylics and wheatpaste DIY adhesives remain prevalent techniques among the graff-community today, but it would seem the forms and motivations of street art are as varied as the artists themselves.

 

Iconic cultural figureheads such as Banksy and Australia’s own, Anthony Lister, are credited with elevating street art to its cult-like status. They took radical action to legitimise the genre and get exposure by sneaking their art into established museums – perpetuating the ideology that “one man’s mess is another man’s message” on an international scale. But the subjective nature of what qualifies as “art” lends itself to baffling contradictions. The government continues to destroy artwork that business-owners would pay big bucks for, at the same time as sourcing artists for their Vibrant Laneways initiative in the Bris-Vegas CBD. Queensland Minister for Science, Information Technology, Innovation, and the Arts (there’s the relevance), Hon. Ian Walker, defended the program as a way of “rejuvenating forgotten spaces” by giving pedestrians the ability to “celebrate the creative arts sector in Brisbane.”

 

Why then, has the same government announced new multi-million dollar strategies to combat graffiti and laws that will increase maximum jail sentencing for tag-related offences to seven years behind bars? The current approach seems counterintuitive, applying a blunt instrument to a complex social phenomenon... Public debate continues to rage in a “schizophrenzy,” oscillating between whether street art should be considered a legitimate art form or just glorified vandalism, and if the punishment fits the crime.

 

Lincoln Savage, street art advocate and director of non-profit organisation, Lost Movements, considers those that cause damage to public property part of a small and ignorant graffiti sub-culture. “These kids don’t need criminal records, they need services that redirect the energy behind tagging to more constructive artistic outlets.” He also argues that society is aggressively confronted by “corporate graffiti” in the form of advertising as soon as they step outside. So why are personal attempts categorised as a crime?

 

A study by U.S. sociologists who research this sort of thing, found graffiti was comprised of 85 per cent tagging under pseudonyms and 10 per cent gang communication; an elaborate system of symbols that, to the untrained eye, are nothing more than visual pollution. How can artistic expressionism be reconciled with this fear that graffiti inspires in many citizens, who view it as a sign of lawlessness and the deterioration of the neighbourhoods? Ask prolific street artist turned commercial muralist, Allan Scheeper, and he will answer with unbridled indignation. “You don’t need a spray can in your hand to be a vandal.” He insists it all depends on a person’s intentions with the tools at their disposal. “If they intend to be malicious, then yeah, they’re going to be malicious,” but an “unspoken law” offers some consolation as most taggers draw the line at defacing people’s homes.

 

According to him, the only way to successfully overcome graffiti is with graffiti. There is the potential to replace material deemed offensive by the public with better creative offerings from street artists. It would be a cost-effective (a.k.a. free) way of curtailing crime that established vibrant cultural hubs, in a win-win situation for producer and consumer.

 

Scheeper considers the government’s idea of a perfect wall as “baby-poo brown,” and even meets their attempt to liven up the urban sprawl through Vibrant Laneways with skepticism. This condemnation extends to the street artists collaborating with the government as well, who he calls “wannabes,” riding the wave of semi-fame, irrespective of quality artistic outcomes. And Scheeper knows what he’s talking about. He is one of the lucky ones, with enough foresight to form a crew in the early 2000s and assert their dominance in an underground scene on a nationwide scale before the full scope of the trend emerged.

 

The appeal of street art over any traditional incarnation of easels and brush strokes is obvious to him. “It’s colourful, it’s accessible, it’s deceptively intricate and it’s a thrill to know that people don’t want to look, but can’t resist.” His original work is now in high demand from restaurants and cafés looking to contemporise their interiors, as well as rural towns and high schools interested in workable mentorship opportunities.

 

Outrage manifests in the fact that although more people are becoming aware of the street art cause, for every ten people who embrace it, another twenty oppose the style. Despite his overwhelming industry credibility, a prevailing "spray can stigma" still affects Scheeper’s livelihood. On more than one occasion, concerned citizens have dobbed him in to the authorities under the assumption he is up to no good. He can read between the lines. People don’t view him as a professional contracted to provide a service, rather, as “a fumed up idiot.” If the council comes to shut down his work, he is temporarily denied a portion of his income and his dignity is knocked a blow – but these misconceptions just serve to fuel his sense of purpose.

 

Undoubtedly, street art remains a polarising issue in the community. Graffiti is a fault line that touches on many modern divisions including public versus private, new versus old, and even inner- versus outer-suburbs. Instead of condemning their behaviour, the whole of society should recognise the expanding creative landscape in which they inhabit. Everyone can appreciate these living, evolving, ephemeral art-efacts.

 

As for the critics, Scheeper maintains, “dinosaurs die and these things will come good.”