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.