The Words of the Prophets

A graffiti artist named ​“Dooley‑O” made this picture — which you’ll find not on a subway car, but on the walls of the Arts Council’s Small Space Gallery (70 Audubon St., 2nd floor, 772‑2788). The work is part of an exhibit called, ​“What you Write? A Graffiti Show. No Drips, No Runs, No Errors.” It has an opening today from 5 to 7 at the gallery, where you’ll find people from all walks of life in New Haven. If you go, you can also file a review for this web site as a ​“citizen critic,” part of a new section we’re launching on Monday. There’ll be a computer set up by the entrance where you can record your take on the show.

Following is a preview of the show that appeared in the Arts Council’s newsletter.

By Kara Arsenault

The world of graffiti has always been filled with controversy. First there’s the age-old classification debate. When artists in New York City in the late 1960s and early 70s, where it transformed New York City began to “tag”—or write their individual signatures—on alleyways, stop signs, and train cars, many viewed the colorful facades as an uncontrollable crime wave, rather than an explosion of art—bad kids defacing public property.

When New York subway cars became covered in graffiti, the labels began to fly. “People began calling these guys gang members with no intelligence,” local graffiti writer Swerm said. “It sent the message that all graffiti writers were young belligerent gangster kids on drugs.” But he views his art as a multi-ethnic meeting place, where all sorts of people gather and many traditions are learned. 

“Some people just do it to get their name up as big as they can,” said Geli, a local Connecticut graffiti artist. “Some people do a real sloppy throw-up (a signature with outlined letters). But a piece is an art-form.” Learning graffiti is just like learning a trade, he said. You learn about the history, you watch others, you practice—and plan.

“An old friend used to give me outlines—and the more I did it, the better I got,” Swerm said. “I used to paint anywhere I could.” In his younger days, that often meant illegal walls where the cops would occasionally prowl. “I came close to getting caught,” Swerm laughs. But now that he’s “a little older, a little heavier and can’t run as fast,” he usually sticks to legal walls. There he can work for hours without worry of being bothered.

Then there’s the debate over unspoken rules. The silent code calls for no art on churches, no houses, and no disrespecting someone else’s piece. Otherwise it can get dangerous. Swerm recalls an incident he witnessed in New Jersey. It was towards the end of the day and everyone knew who was “hip-hop” and who wasn’t. Earlier in the afternoon, a guy had decided to spray over another piece—and not just any piece, but a memorial. “It was like kicking over someone’s tombstone,” Swerm said. Rather than apologize, the guy decided to brag and before long, ten people tackled him and taught him a serious lesson. “It’s a matter of respect,” Geli said.

Perhaps the largest controversy exists between old school writers and the younger generation. Older artists constantly think about the craft’s history. Pieces should primarily be written on illegal walls. Graffiti should stay out of the gallery and on the streets. That’s the way it’s always been done. And that’s why Swerm is a bit conflicted about his first gallery show at the Small Space Gallery at 70 Audubon Street this February. “I really believe in the history of graffiti. A lot of the younger guys don’t care. When you bring a piece into a gallery, you can lose a bit of the history in the way that it’s presented. But you can also see a plan of action, see that this is about more than just a can,” he said. “I was raised in New Haven and this is a good way to show New Haven talent that’s often overlooked.”

Geli couldn’t be more excited about the upcoming exhibit. “I think this show is going to open more doors. A lot of people don’t know that Connecticut has its own style of graffiti. For me, it’s about getting the word out there. This really is a great chance to open people’s eyes. I definitely want to do more shows like this.”

The show will also feature photographs of wall art by Philip Rubin and Renee Coe. “A lot of people don’t notice this art,” Rubin said. “But sometimes it kind of bangs you in the face.” That’s why he started taking pictures of graffiti. “Some people shoot mountain ranges; I’m interested in paintings on walls.” In many ways, his photography mirrors the wall art he tries to capture. “I shoot on the run. I take a picture and I’m gone.” It reminds him of graffiti writers throwing up a tag and dashing away in the night. For the upcoming show, Rubin hopes the art raises some serious questions. “I think there’s a lot of controversy about what graffiti is and how people approach it. For some people it’s all about tags and trains. To others it’s more of a traditional world. Can graffiti really be “captured” if it’s not in its original setting? Who is the artist if two pieces sit on top of each other? How do you deal with something that is so transient—at constant risk to urban renewal, weather decay? Something that might be there for a day and then gone forever.”

“I just hope that people really get a sense of where the art has come from and where it’s going,” Swerm said. In the beginning, graffiti writers were robbers in the night. There weren’t many tools. You had to mix in with the night, with the gangs, with the transit police. There was a lot to go through just to get your art out. But now everything is influenced by computers and movies. The art has gone from basic drawings to letter formations to walls that look 3‑D. The business sense is a lot greater. Writers network with each other. The artists are growing with the art form.

“Graffiti is like a great jazz piece,” Swerm said. (One of his pieces is at left.) ​“When the brass is doing their thing and the percussion is jamming—when they all come together, you just feel it. It’s a true American art form.”