In the wake of the pandemic’s lockdowns, countless teenagers sought alternative outlets for their restlessness. Among them was Jacob, a young artist from Koreatown who turned to graffiti as both a rebellious act and a form of personal expression.
In 2020, as the world around him quieted, Jacob stole a can of spray paint and, under the dim cover of night, began tagging the walls of Koreatown. “It was literally just a rush, like every time I did graffiti it was a blast of adrenaline,” Jacob shared. He likened the experience to being on a mission, evoking the thrill of comic book heroes like Spider-Man.
As time went on, the initial thrill evolved into a ritual. After online school, he’d don black clothing, pack gloves and a facemask, and head out to acquire materials. Initially, his efforts involved theft, pilfering spray paint cans from local stores. Later, in an attempt to give back to the community, Jacob started purchasing supplies from a family-owned Korean store. His art focused on people, starting with a simple black square that transformed into faces, often including provocative captions, proclaiming phrases like “eat the poor.” With each piece, he left behind his signature—”Yu Jo”—an artistic claim to an ever-shifting urban landscape.
Jacob’s journey highlights a broader phenomenon. For decades, graffiti has lured defiant youth, providing them with a means to be seen and heard. Isaac “Sick Kid” Psalm Escoto, who started tagging at 14, echoed this sentiment. Graffiti offered him a way to confront the existential angst of adolescence: “Graffiti was a way to realize my existence, to get rid of that teenage existentialism of feeling invisible or not appreciated or not heard. Graffiti gives a lot of kids voices and also, I think, puts a lot of courage in them in how to be seen.”
To Escoto, graffiti transcends mere illegality; it embodies a culture—a collaborative, competitive society governed by unspoken rules. New artists are encouraged to respect the art form and the work of their peers, tagging over others seen as a blatant violation. An artist’s reputation grows through their unique style, and as they navigate the transition from street art to recognized gallery work, loyalty to the graffiti community remains paramount.
This sense of community was exemplified by Escoto in a recent act of defiance. Days before a major exhibition at CONTROL Gallery, he tagged a prominent billboard nearby. This stunt served dual purposes: it positioned his artwork in view of thousands while paying homage to the artists inside the gallery. Instead of erasing Escoto’s work, the gallery’s owner—a former graffiti artist—kept it displayed, signaling a respect for Escoto’s talent and the synergy between street art and traditional galleries.
Despite the reverence some show for graffiti, its presence has sparked tension in urban landscapes like Downtown Los Angeles. A recent report noted a staggering 300% increase in graffiti in the area, alongside rising instances of vandalism. This surge has coincided with troubling tales of illegal tagging, as city officials pour millions into combating these artistic expressions. At the core of these stories lies the Oceanwide Plaza, an abandoned project that has sat vacant since 2019 due to a developer’s bankruptcy. Recently, an audacious group of graffiti artists, including Akua, Sour, and Castle, broke into the unfinished structure, transforming it into a canvas for their vibrant artwork.
The transformation of Oceanwide Plaza, now dubbed the “Graffiti Towers,” sparked debate. While city officials denounce the endeavor as vandalism, artists argue that such actions stem from neglect. “The real underlying problem is this big, gigantic, massive structure, unfinished for how many years?” one artist noted. They contend that graffiti is a natural response to public spaces left to decay, asserting that it often springs up where the city’s infrastructure falters.
California law, under Penal Code §594, criminalizes graffiti as vandalism, imposing fines and possible imprisonment. Penalties may include community service, cleanup duties, and parental liability for minors. Yet within this legal framework, some artists have successfully leveraged their affinity for graffiti into lucrative careers.
Roger Gastman, who began his graffiti journey in middle school, has since become an influential figure as an author and curator. With his gallery, CONTROL, and the traveling exhibition “Beyond the Streets,” he advocates for graffiti’s cultural significance. “A couple of months ago, I was leading a talk at the Whitney, and we sold it out in 24 hours,” Gastman recounted, reflecting on how far graffiti has come. He works to bridge the divide between street and gallery, navigating the ongoing conversation about the nature of art, especially when it straddles public and private spaces.
Gastman emphasizes the importance of accessibility in graffiti, both in the act of creation and in visibility. He believes the art form is rooted in human instinct, connecting modern expression with ancient marks made on rugged surfaces. “The streets are the easiest, quickest, and cheapest form of advertising and getting out your message, no question about that,” he asserted.
Similarly, renowned artist Jason “Revok” Williams has observed a shift in how graffiti is perceived. He moved to Los Angeles in the ‘90s, finding inspiration in its rich creative scene. Today, he has showcased his work worldwide, reflecting the growing acceptance of street art within formal art dialogues. “Now I think that people have come to understand that graffiti isn’t nearly this dangerous, scary boogeyman that the media has always tried to portray it as,” he remarked.
Williams advocated for recognizing graffiti’s role in shaping urban narratives. He perceived graffiti as a form of self-expression that enabled him to craft an identity outside his restrictive upbringing. “Through graffiti, I created this name for myself that was mine,” he explained. The art form allowed him to redefine his world, presenting his perspective and experiences.
As the debate over graffiti continues, key questions arise: Is the city a masterpiece to be preserved, or a blank canvas awaiting creativity? Some argue that the urban landscape should maintain its historic integrity, while others view it as a living entity ripe for artistic exploration. Williams suggests that graffiti itself holds the answer—through its ever-evolving forms and messages, it reflects the city’s pulse. “I think that the city is alive, almost like its own organism that goes through phases and changes,” he concluded. “Graffiti is the skin of the city, and the skin of the city reflects the health of the city… it reflects what’s going on right now.”
image source from：lamag
