More Graffiti, Zaragoza

Graffiti, Zaragoza

Zaragoza's graffiti is more than just writing on walls. Its artistic caliber and esoteric stature melds and compliments its urban environment. It fits. There are random echos of Dali, Goya, Miro, Picasso, Saura -- the Spanish School, Cubism, Surrealism. All, drawing outside the lines, venturing beyond the wire -- exploring the agonies of war, poverty, broken relationships, never ever civil. Inquisition. Man versus man, man versus beast. Blurred, obscured, reinterpreted.

This is evidence of the city's resident fringe, the part of society where stray artisans reside. Creating in alleys, moving amongst the shadows. Propaganda. Invitations. Whispers.

"Come closer, gaze, decipher."

Who are they? Street artists or vandals? ¿Decoración o devastación?

Perhaps a good deal of the work is sanctioned or even commissioned. No doubt there are plenty of instances of decorating someone else's property without permission. But this is more than tagging, defacing. This is niche artwork which cries for legitimacy.

Yet, it simply cannot escape the canvas upon which it is placed -- and its fleeting nature. It appears, disappears. Obliviated. The next coat of whitewash or paint is inevitable.

Art crime. Lost.

Of Graffiti

If you could not tell, I pay attention to graffiti. Who were these people and why did they make these little scratches, etching stone, marking time? Perhaps it is because of our ageless need to mark things -- with our names, our opinions, our angst -- to notice all this social, to whisper, gossip. Is it simple self promotion or something else? Boredom? Rebellion? Imagined immortality?

At the Chapel, King's College, Cambridge, the internal stone is soft, easily worked, deep. In the dark, obscure corners, handwritting abounds. Names, dates. William, 1771. The penmanship confirms a specific point in time. We don't make our "Js" like that any more. For ages.

Stenciling has recently become a popular venue. The stencil is to the street artist as the printing press was to the author. Take your time creating the master pattern -- in this case, Prince Charles. Okay, I get the political satire -- monarchy, anarchy -- is Charles not behaving well or are you not a fan of the Royals? Regardless, pick a spot, tag and go. Unleash chaos from its aerisol cannister, if only for a moment, in remote places.

This graffiti is from Prague -- found under a modern bridge, for concrete is a modern palette, perfect for typically modern graffiti -- words. A name, a singular message, a stylized technique -- ego with no future. Mark your territory for less than cheap. Good luck with that.

It is for this reason I find Zaragoza's graffiti intriguing. It is simply on a different plane, dimension. Artistic distortions of someone's reality, an invitation to join in, understand. Gaze.

I want to understand. Spain.

Bernd das Brot

Meet Bernd das Brot. German children's TV star, talking loaf of bread. Philosophiser. If you've spent any time in Germany or nearby countries which air his show, you've likely seen Bernd. And thought, "what the hey?" I have. Too often.

Were you aware that Bernd was recently kidnapped from his permanent fixture in front of Erfurt's town hall, his hometown? Probably not. Horrific. Children cried. His kidnappers actually contacted the police. Demands? They were evicted squatters -- give us back our building or Mister Loaf gets it. Really. Bernd appeared on YouTube, sympathizing with his captors. Patty Hearst, Stockholm Syndrome. Stalemate. Standoff.

Fortunately for the children of Erfurt, a group of kids found Bernd in another abandoned building. As for the squatters' former home? Toast. Remodeled. Converted into office space, flats.

Bernd in der Hölle

Bernd das Brot. Ich bin im ernst. Genau. Alles klar?