graffiti

Graffiti puts up no pretense of lasting forever, as a piece of work to be admired through generations, hung safely in a museum or written down on manuscript paper. It gives into no illusions of eternity, accepting that a sleepless night spent spray-painting may be in vain, only to be painted over the following morning. As a perishable, active art, it exists to call out to the people, expressing resistance peacefully, through both images and words; by avoiding navel-gazing and masturbatory practices of a masterpiece, it actually succeeds in leaving a legacy.

Though not quite revolutionary, seemingly only responding to societal attitudes on high/low art, politics and such, it acts as a much-needed mouthpiece for the voiceless multitudes; if only you would allow yourself to hear, you would find that the people are crying out all over the city of São Paulo, through graffiti in tunnels, alleyways and fences. Visual and verbal themes recur through the streets, wherever you go, from Mundano’s large faces with flaring nostrils & plump lips to Zezão’s blue squigglies, emphasizing “arte para todos” (art for everyone).

I would not have noticed any of this if my friend, Nelson, had not enthusiastically pointed it out, as we roamed around Sampa; until he identified it as art, I did not recognize it as such, perceiving it as some sort of wallpaper for the city.

Then I began to think, what does perishable music look like? Kind of like improvisation? How can something deemed inaccessible, like improvisation, be for everyone, like graffiti? How can I make music like that? Ephemeral but valuable. Perishable but tasty. Like pie.

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