Vandalism, Art, Life: Graffiti’s Double-Disenfranchisement

Sharp and edgy. Comedic and raunchy. Big bubble letters or wildstyle. Witty and thought-provoking. Graffiti has an infinitely wide range of styles, but there are only two opposing opinions about it: either it is an abhorrent crime that should be scrubbed away as quickly as it is discovered, or it is a masterful piece of art created by geniuses who should be showered with money. Graffiti is a powerful form of self-expression in marginalized communities, but it is often seen as a scourge on public order. As such, the authorities devote time and effort to eradicating it in urban areas. If it is art, though, to publicly denounce it and promote efforts to destroy it would be a crime against humanity. This tension is at the core of graffiti and its power lies in its paradox — it is both art and vandalism. Attempts to wash it away only justify its purpose, while attempts to legitimize it strip it of its raw expression. Graffiti has always been seen as an act of rebellion, but this rebellious streak is turned on its head when graffiti artists rise above the streets and make their way into the hands of art collectors. Caught in the crossfire of this heated debate are two famous graffiti artists, Jean-Michel Basquiat and Banksy, who embody this enigma in their own unique approaches to this medium. Although they flourished during different eras, both knew all too well the truth behind the saying “heavy is the head that wears the crown,” an idiom adapted from Shakespeare’s play, King Henry IV (3.1.31). The artists both chose similar paths, but they were distinct from each other because of their different approaches to this apparent incongruity. Most importantly, both of them changed the way we look at graffiti forever. Before diving into the discussion of these two case studies and their influence on this art form, take a look at the historical context shaping their decisions and art styles.

Read Kellie’s companion short story about Basquiat and Banksy, “The Case of the Graffiti Artist,” with artwork by the author.

Chaos in the Bronx

Amid the destructive conditions of the South Bronx in the 1980s, there arose an unlikely hero — graffiti, which created a space for raw expression but sparked much public debate. To say that the South Bronx was in shambles in the ’80s would be an understatement. The Bronx had a long history of being in a perpetual state of disrepair, to the point where it had become known for raging apartment fires that burned down entire blocks. The main cause? Corrupt landlords committing insurance fraud (Jonnes 128). Jill Jonnes, the author of South Bronx Rising: The Rise, Fall, and Resurrection of an American City, which chronicles the history of the New York borough, writes about the cartoonishly evil nature of these landlords:

And what characters these speculators were, some worthy of being cast as the evil landlord in an overwrought Disney cartoon. Could any have invented Steven Green, a mid-20s fellow who drove a 1982 Rolls Royce (vanity license plate “Gentrify”) even as he evaded a judge’s arrest warrant for failing to provide hot water for 70 days running at a Queens apartment complex he owned?” (Jonnes 423)

Although the structural fires had died down by the ’80s thanks to many grassroots movements, early 1985 saw the crack explosion, which only caused more problems for the police as the city was attempting to recover from the fires (Jonnes 419, 392). Jim Crocker, an architect who came to Mid-Bronx in 1988, reflects on the devastation of the crack explosion. He says “It was tough. Just a lot of violence…Some of these buildings were like Calcutta — kids running around without clothing, eating food off the floor. The mother is a prostitute/crackhead,” and likewise, Monsignor John Jenik from Our Lady of Refuge Church on East 196th Street says, “Dozens of people we knew were just gone from crack; it just destroyed families, and the kids who were born are hyperactive, they have short attention spans” (Jonnes 414–415, 420). Despite all of the hardships that people in the South Bronx faced, graffiti became a source of strength and a way of coping for the youth growing up in this environment.

Rebellion and Reform

American graffiti originated in the 1920s as a way for gangs to mark their territory, and Darryl McCray, aka “Cornbread,” was credited with the creation of graffiti as we know it today when he tagged his name on a correctional facility in the ’60s. This new art form reflected the rebellious and carefree mentality of the youth in the ’70s (Graffiti). It had yet to be popularized and characterized, but soon there would be a war between authorities and artists that would shape how people view graffiti.

Despite finding a positive creative outlet in graffiti, the youth faced major backlash from the authorities for their small acts of rebellion through vandalism. A key player in the growing debate about graffiti was the New York Police Department. Under Mayor Edward Koch in the ’80s, the city already viewed graffiti as a curse on societal order. This led to arrests and attempts at cleaning up the subways, which were known for having graffiti plastered on every inch of the inside and outside. As the police made arrests and scrubbed down walls, the young graffiti artists were far from deterred. One documentary bears witness to the war going on between the police and young graffiti artists at the time of its filming in the early 1980s — Style Wars. In the film, one of the youths sums up the graffitists’ point of view well:

It’s for me; it’s not for nobody else to see. I don’t care about nobody else seeing it or the fact they can read it or not. It’s for me and other graffiti writers that we can read it. All these other people who don’t write — they’re excluded; I don’t care about them, you know. They don’t matter to me. It’s for us” (Style Wars 6:19–6:34).

In response, the local government created advertisements featuring celebrities, as well as posters, with the slogan, “Make your mark in society. Not on society” (Style Wars 39:15–40:46). Ironically, the posters tended to become vandalized with graffiti. Later, in 1990, Mayor Rudy Giuliani continued the crackdown on graffiti by applying the “broken window theory” to his policing policy (Jonnes 403). In essence, the broken window theory is a supposition that small, visible acts of vandalism (e.g. a broken window) cause people to justify larger crimes. Giuliani’s infamous campaign attempted to eradicate graffiti from the city altogether, but the roots of this war reached all the way back to Koch’s era. Even in the birthplace of all things hip hop, graffiti was being framed as vandalism, and it needed someone to prove that it’s not just vandalism. Somehow, amid all this chaos, one such artist managed to make a name for himself and a name for graffiti.

Jean-Michel Basquiat

Jean-Michel Basquiat changed the art game by straddling the line between fine art and graffiti, legitimizing graffiti as an art form. In the past, it took a lot of time for an artwork to become valuable; traditionally, art was sold cheaply and sold many times before it became valuable (Metcalf). In an article in The Atlantic, Stephen Metcalf argues that modern art in the 1970s disrupted this process, and one of the greatest examples of this phenomenon was Basquiat’s meteoric rise from one of the taggers known as SAMO to a universally recognized artist. Although people like Basquiat’s friend and mentor Andy Warhol had popularized styles similar to graffiti, someone had yet to transfer their streetwise art skills to a canvas and into a gallery. Basquiat’s work showed just how powerful graffiti can be, even in the fine art world. It was so subversive and novel that it flipped the art world on its head, and it was able to join the ranks of art from Pablo Picasso and Vincent Van Gogh to Claude Monet and Rembrant. However, a common critique leveled at Basquiat and in truth, most hip hop artists, is that he was a sellout.

Was He a Sellout?

Being accused of being a sellout is a serious allegation for an artist, and it’s especially damaging in the graffiti world. If an artist is making graffiti just to be accepted, praised, and ultimately, paid, are they even a graffitist? Does graffiti have to stay true to its original intention of being rebellious? If it is in fact disingenuous, it’s double-disenfranchised — fellow graffitists will shun them for misrepresenting the medium, which could likely cause already doubtful fine art lovers to discredit them altogether. Basquiat himself was crushed by the weight of this paradox, constantly giving in to self-doubt and ultimately, dying at the age of 27 from a drug overdose (Metcalf). Basquiat’s struggle revealed that there is a cost to legitimizing graffiti as fine art. Years later, Banksy would take up his legacy, dodging the accusations of selling out in new ways and using anonymity as his sword and shield.

Love is in the Bin (Banksy 2018)

Banksy

Banksy’s anonymity reinfuses graffiti with rebellion and circumvents the paradox that weighed down Basquiat. Whereas Basquiat was practically destroyed by the polarity of being rebellious yet mainstream, Banksy took delight in putting a wonderful twist on the problem: anonymity. His anonymity brings vivacity back into graffiti, because it shows that he is aware of the paradox enveloping graffiti. He takes that awareness a step further by toying with people’s perception and causing them to wonder what his game even is. However, his choice to remain anonymous is often criticized as being a cheap marketing gimmick. In The Guardian, Tim Adams writes disdainfully: “Anonymity has repercussions beyond the mystery that it adds to his output (and the noughts it adds to his sale prices). It means that Banksy never has to put very much of himself on the line. Like a blogger with a made-up name, he can say whatever he wants without any risk” (Adams). Although this might be a serious complaint, it certainly doesn’t discount the impact of Banksy’s work. Furthermore, it is this namelessness which enables him to reinfuse graffiti with its mischievous energy and keep onlookers guessing, rather than being bogged down in celebrity politics. This playfulness is exemplified in his most famous stunt where he shredded “Girl with Balloon” (later renamed “Love is in the Bin”) at an auction where art enthusiasts were bidding on it (Banksy). His documentary Exit Through the Gift Shop shows just how far he will try to take it, and there is wit woven into every part of it, even into its very name.

In the film, Banksy lures in the viewers with a seemingly genuine story about Thierry Guetta (aka Mr. Brainwash), a regular Frenchman who becomes obsessed with finding and videoing graffiti artists. At first, Thierry’s goal is to catch the biggest fish of them all, Banksy, but when he finally finds him, Banksy turns the tables and encourages Thierry to create his own gallery. The problem? Thierry isn’t actually a graffiti artist. He hires other artists to quickly piece together a huge gallery in time for its grand opening, and during the whole thing, Thierry acts more like a creative director than a prolific artist. Somehow it feels like a slap in the face, as if Banksy simply used Thierry to prove to us that art is meaningless because anyone can pretend to be a great artist, but at the same time, one can’t help but admire the work at Thierry’s gallery. The documentary ends, but the viewer is left wondering: was that real, or was it all just a big prank? It’s Banksy’s signature move — shock and confuse the viewers, but nonetheless, they will love every second of it and buy into it, if only for the sake of being able to see more. In the end, Banksy’s anonymity isn’t just a gimmick. It’s the mechanics behind his art, and it keeps graffiti rebellious by making us question what is real and what art even is.

Graffiti is Vandalism is Art is Life

By definition, graffiti is vandalism, but to denounce graffiti as a crime is to make a martyr of the artist who put it there. All art has a purpose, which is to evoke a particular emotional reaction in those who see it. We know this because of Mexican poet, educator, and activist César A. Cruz’s famous phrase, which was popularized by Banksy: “Art comforts the disturbed and disturbs the comfortable” As such, the purpose of graffiti is to astonish, shock, and anger those who are not a part of that subculture. So, when that was exactly the reaction the youths of the South Bronx got from the police, it only made them want to carry on. The only way to take away graffiti’s power is to try to pin it down. Basquiat and Banksy both reveal this paradox in different ways: one was crushed by fame, and the other was protected by anonymity. Together, they show that graffiti’s power lies in its refusal to be neatly categorized. It resists definition, even in this article. It’s vandalism; it’s art; it’s life.

What is Art? Why do we need it?

Personally, I believe that although graffiti is vandalism, it is a powerful tool that can enact change and bring our attention to social inequalities. Not only that, but sometimes, it is simply more enjoyable to look at a piece of art instead of a blank wall. It might seem like this conversation is trivial and that it doesn’t really matter, because at the end of the day, does it really affect how we live our lives? To which I would say that it does affect us, deeply. It’s a conversation about what art is and why we need it. Graffiti is art, and we need to defend it as such, since art feeds our soul and informs our minds. Without art, our lives would not only be bland and joyless, but they would be unexamined and unintelligent too. As such, I think that graffiti shouldn’t be stifled. A good step might be that businesses should pay artists to create murals on their spare walls, but more importantly, I think that governments should redirect their attention from “cleaning up” graffiti off their city walls to focusing on more important things like how they are treating their citizens. I challenge us to stop looking at graffiti as a scourge on public order, but as a vital chance for self-expression. It holds a mirror to our society, and it is an opportunity to scrutinize ourselves and think about what we want to devote our time and efforts to. It is a reminder that our walls, and our lives, are meant to be questioned.

• Adams, Tim. “Banksy: The Graffitist Goes Straight.” The Guardian, 14 June 2009, www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2009/jun/14/banksy-bristol-city-museum-exhibition.
• Banksy: Love is in the Bin. YouTube, uploaded by ZCZ Films, 30 Oct. 2018, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgUvnznbCuc.
• Cruz, César A. “To Comfort the Disturbed, and to Disturb the Comfortable: Onward Children of the Sun.” Taino-L Digest, 24 Oct. 1997, Hartford Web Publishing, http://www.hartford-hwp.com/archives/41/335.html.
• Exit Through the Gift Shop. Directed by Banksy, performances by Thierry Guetta and Banksy, Paranoid Pictures, 2010.
• Graffiti: Street Art or Vandalism? Produced by Makematic, 2020. Alexander Street, https://video.alexanderstreet.com/watch/graffiti-street-art-or-vandalism.
• Jonnes, Jill. South Bronx Rising : The Rise, Fall, and Resurrection of an American City. Third edition, Empire State Editions, 2022. EBSCOhost.
• Metcalf, Stephen. “Searching for Jean-Michel Basquiat: Was He an Artist, an Art Star, or Just a Celebrity?” The Atlantic, vol. 322, no. 1, July–Aug. 2018, pp. 108+. Gale Academic OneFile. Accessed 16 Nov. 2025.
• Shakespeare, William. Henry IV, Part 2. Edited by Barbara A. Mowat and Paul Werstine, Folger Shakespeare Library, Simon & Schuster, 2020.
• Style Wars. Directed by Tony Silver, Public Art Films, 1983. YouTube, uploaded by Bboy Knowledge, 10 Dec. 2012, www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGyX98EzG3g&t=3965s.