Bow down to Banksy

Recently, the infamous British street artist Banksy took a trip across the pond to grace the skyscrapers and streets of the Big Apple for a few short weeks.  He called it an "artist's residency", Better Out Than In.  Almost immediately, New York mayor Michael Bloomberg issued quite possibly the most un-New York public statement of all time, (Sunday Morning report here) decrying him and saying “it’s not my definition of art.”

What’s more NYC than edgy art, boundary pushing and underground culture?  Isn’t that what all those infatuated artsy dreamers mean when they say “New York just has a vibe, an energy, man, like nowhere else on earth”.  Is this not what they’re talking about?  Late-night escapades, big statement art, the place where a nobody can become a somebody?

It comes down to which side of the fence you’re on.  Either Banksy is a delinquent graffiti artist, or, he’s just an artist.  His graffiti is either a crime and an eye-sore or it’s a high-impact “new” medium of art.  And I choose to straddle that fence.

As far as I’m concerned, Banksy and his art is probably the best thing to hit the streets since Terry Fox strapped on his sneakers for his Marathon of Hope.  This is a person bringing a big message to the masses in a very simple, elegant way.  I could use less flash mobs and more Banksy, because he makes my mind work.  He demands more than just the girly-grin I get when I watch my 2,358^th flash mob proposal before I turn back to my work.

From www.streetartutopia.com

But that’s not to say all graffiti is art.  I’d say most of it isn’t.  Most of it, to my eye, is cocky, self-important wannabe gangsters thinking they’re being bad-ass and “sticking it to the man” when they intentionally deface an otherwise clean or beautiful structure.  Their “art” doesn’t challenge me; what am I supposed to take away from “Brian was here” or “KZ101”?  I feel like I put more thought into it than the “artist” himself did!  It seems to me like most graffiti is a hastily scrawled assertion of one person’s existence; like a screaming baby, graffiti painters spray their names across park benches and dumpsters, hollering “I’m here!  I’m here!  Look at me!”  Take, for example, a graffiti problem that has plagued my small university town: a fraternity that calls itself “The Brotherhood” demands its pledges scribe their initials all over the place.  Thanks.  “NWAN ‘12” really added to the brick on my apartment building, the metal siding of the local photographer’s workshop and the town’s old-timey train bridge. This kind of graffiti is so obnoxious, and it’s that exact self-marketing that Banksy was inspired to work against.

If you read Banksy: Wall and Piece, you’ll see he justifies his right to put art in public spaces because corporations put their logos in public places.  If you’re walking down the street, chances are, you’re being marketed to.  The golden arches of McDonald’s, the flashing neon signs of bars and superstores, the giant billboards on the highway—nobody asked you if you wanted to see them—they’re imposed on your eyeballs.  So if visual space can be bought, and people subjected to their biased messaging, it stands to reason that someone will want to reclaim that territory and awaken the public consciousness to this issue.

Enter Banksy, whose works serve a higher purpose, rather than just to promote his name.  You can tell a lot of thought and planning have gone into each piece, in terms of the tone, the message, the design, the positioning and the location.  You might not like his message, but I know I’d rather see one of his tongue-in-cheek commentaries on the modern condition than another billboard for five dollar foot-longs.