Both Shoreditch and the art of graffiti have been transformed in the last decade. Fergus Horsfall saw both on Street Art London’s tour.
The tour guide is a new role in the graffiti world, but it is one that is already proving controversial. Guide, artist and supposedly retired graffiti writer Karim Samuels reflects: “That was something that was completely unheard of. Up until someone asked me to do a tour, I had never heard of it either.”
Some graffiti artists don’t like the tours. “People just think it’s corny. [They ask] ‘Why are you doing this?’ Which I can understand but what can I say? We live in capitalism. Everything’s for sale. So if you don’t want people talking about your work then don’t paint it on the street,” Karim says.
Like Karim, Shoreditch graffiti is balanced between its wilder roots – graffiti for the sake of rebellion and respect from other vandals – and art. The latter comes with a newfound appreciation from mainstream culture.
One of Hackney’s most complex pieces is a collaborative effort in King John Court, including Lovepusher and Mr Cenz’s depiction of an android woman holding a ball of light. The word “future” is written across it in bright blue.
“Ultimately, whatever anybody paints on the walls is communication, which is a very human thing. They say it takes at least two people to make a work of art. One person to create it and one person to actually look at it,” says Karim.
On the other side of King John Court is a tumble of bright red mushrooms and knotted trees by artists Hicks and Zodok. The company that owns the building has perched a security camera on this semi-natural scene, presumably in part to prevent the graffiti they paid for being tagged by other writers.
Mainstream appreciation of graffiti is very selective. “Art galleries like MOMA in California put on huge exhibitions with different street art from all over the world and then their building gets tagged and they lose their minds over it,” Karim says.
His favourite local graffiti was created by Tizer. “It’s just conventional graffiti but it’s really well done. It’s a good use of colour. He always paints full backgrounds as well which a lot of people don’t do. I think it’s just got a really good energy to it.” Tizer is from Nebraska, USA, showing the international profile of Hackney’s graffiti scene.
Some of the most striking pieces are those which use unconventional settings. Borondo, a Spanish artist, created a haunting piece in a shop window on Shoreditch High Street by scratching the silhouettes of gaunt men from windows which had been painted over. Their long robes hang off visibly emaciated ribs.
In contrast to the bright blocks of colour favoured by many London graffiti writers, Borondo’s piece is subtle, and it is unclear who the subjects are. Rumours include the twelve apostles and victims emerging from Nazi concentration camps.
Even on top of commissioned pieces are endless tags, where graffiti writers sign their names, either to build up recognition or just to leave a mark. Some come up again and again – for example Swae, who regularly fills a fire hydrant with paint, using the high pressure to graffiti inaccessible areas.
“Conventional graffiti is only done for graffiti writers. They don’t really care whether a tour stops to talk about it or not, whereas street art has always been paint for the masses, but that’s intensified by the tours,” says Karim.
“Certain graffiti writers just like painting stuff illegally, like painting on trains to prove themselves. To show that they’re real graffiti writers.”
This is put into sharp perspective when we see the tag of Lover, who was killed by a train at Loughborough Junction last June with two other graffiti writers.
“It certainly made me want to be a bit more careful. You worry about younger kids as well, because when you’re a young teenager you’re quite naïve. People have been dying doing graffiti for a long time,” says Karim.
So why do they do it? “I guess here it’s about immortality. Everyone who does anything wants to be remembered. When a graffiti artist dies it affects everyone.”
Just a few streets away, street art advertises new albums and television shows. It is a medium in flux. “Instagram has changed graffiti everywhere. People paint stuff that looks good on Instagram. You use certain colours, you frame the image in a certain way, take a photo of it at a certain time of day,” he says.
“It’s also about the internet as a whole. That changed a lot of graffiti culture in terms of anonymity and the secret of how to actually paint.”
The tour guide therefore has a role in explaining graffiti to the outside world. “We curate the street by picking what to talk about because you can’t talk about everything.”
Karim is uniquely placed to do so, and knows many high-profile graffiti artists personally. We stop to see some of Ben Eine’s trademark circus-esque lettering on a temporary wall. It reads “Last Days of Shoreditch”.
Karim’s knowledge of local graffiti is encyclopaedic. He explains that Eine was sacked from an insurance job for his love of graffiti and is now the only living artist whose work is displayed in the White House in Washington DC.
“I guess in terms of how much he’s achieved, he is a bit of an inspiration. It’s also refreshing to see someone from the actual graffiti scene going on to sell his paintings and being taken quite seriously as an artist. So for me that was pretty inspiring,” Karim says.
“A few years ago it was a lot less self-conscious. People were just painting what they paint but they didn’t think that there were going to be groups of people actually thinking about it and discussing it – consuming it as art.”
The confused relationship between graffiti and mainstream society is exemplified by the artist that every tour group wants to see – Banksy. We stop to view Snorting Copper, which depicts a policeman bent over, as if looking for clues, but holding what appears to be a rolled up banknote.
Somehow the black dot of his eye conveys a cautious sense of mischief exposed. It is now safe behind a shop window, having previously been painted over and then laboriously restored.
For Karim, it is “absolutely different, because it’s not in its original context. That’s both good and bad. It’s preserving it for future generations but in my opinion it’s a bit try-hard. The only reason it’s preserved like that is because it’s worth money. There’s literally no other reason.”
He has little time for pretentious explanations of graffiti. “It’s just people putting up their thoughts on surfaces. You said earlier, do I think of the streets as a gallery? I think it’s closer to analogue social media.”
Ultimately, “It’s these sort of niche pockets of culture that emerge through the conditions of a time and place, of which graffiti is one. There’s a lot worse things you could do out there than spray paint someone’s wall.”
