Ricardo Barros, the accomplished Princeton-based professional photographer who has work included in the Smithsonian, Philadelphia Museum of Art, DeCordova Museum, and Harvard University’s Fogg Art Museum collections, has created the Trenton exhibition “Arthammer: Shaping Society Through Writing Culture,” opening with a reception on Friday, Dec. 13, and continuing to Friday, Jan. 18, at Gallery 219, 219 Hanover St., Trenton.
The exhibition’s name comes from 20th century German theater innovator Berthold Brecht, who wrote that “art is not a mirror held up to reality, but a hammer with which to shape it.” Barros’ exhibition comes from years following and interviewing artists, including some from Trenton, who “write” images and are eager to participate in the creation of art and society.
“Graffiti writers,” says Barros, “are indeed reshaping our society. Yet they are doing it largely anonymously, usually secretively, and from an outsider’s perspective. Their work can be controversial. They are capable of inflaming a passionate, negative response, and also of kindling a positive community spirit. Like them or not, their numbers are growing.”
While not interested in promoting graffiti writing, Barros says that he was interested in learning from “people who may think differently than he did.
“I followed a group of writers up and down the Mid-Atlantic States for over six years to learn more about the individuals who write, their culture, and their secrets. Most often I was not permitted to photograph the writers’ faces, but that’s OK because I wasn’t trying to make portraits. Nor was my project some form of reportage. My outings may have been, at times, dramatic, but I was more interested in experiencing the adventure rather than in exposing it. My overarching goal was to make photographs that revealed the nature of writing culture from the inside looking out,” he said.
As a way to engage audiences and provide a tool to understand the “writing” on literal and figurative walls, Barros contributed the following essay to the Downtowner.
Not all art consists of pretty pictures. In fact, pretty pictures are probably the most boring of all art. Art comes alive only when it resonates with somebody. That resonance, that engagement, no matter how small or large the audience, is prerequisite for an artwork’s success.
By this measure, spray-painted walls may be on par with, even upstage, canvases stored in major museums. Not only do passersby see graffiti murals on a more frequent basis, but also these murals connect with the viewers’ daily lives. Modern graffiti reflects contemporary culture. A significant portion of the public, primarily young people, can appreciate these works without the benefit of a history lesson. The resonance is intuitive, immediate.
Spray-painted walls are also controversial, sometimes illegal. They are associated with a bizarre cat-and-mouse game played by graffiti writers and municipal authorities. At the expense of justifiably indignant property owners, spectators amiably follow the taunt-and-chase of the participants. Many in the audience root for one side or the other, not unlike, perhaps, bankers rooted for the sheriff while newspaper readers rooted for Jesse James.
Whether or not graffiti writers are outlaws, they certainly are outsiders, both to mainstream culture and to the art world. They choose to remain so.
By way of example, the art establishment invited graffiti writers to bask in the light of appreciation by referring to them as “graffiti artists.” What was the writing community’s response? While they are not sufficiently organized to have issued a formal, single response, by consensus writers seem to agree that: (1) the word “graffiti” is foreign to their culture; (2) the meaning of this particular word is unclear, and the writing community is incapable of defining it; and (3) the most prominent “graffiti artists” anointed by the art establishment (i.e., Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat) are nobodies in writing culture. In other words, the writing community effectively said: “Turn off your damn spotlight and leave us alone. We like being outsiders.”
As outsiders, the members of the community have asserted their presence. Graffiti is one of four pillars in the hip hop movement. (The other three are rap music, DJ-ing, and breakdancing.) Graffiti went on to ally itself with the skateboarding craze, and remains ever present there. Fashion designers picked up the signals and propagated the writers’ work on apparel, now marketed internationally. Most radically, today it is accepted practice for individual consumers to wear graffiti on their skin, as tattoos.
I was initially drawn to this project by the colorful murals the writers produced. The shapes and vibrant letterforms resonated with me. The more I became involved, the more apparent it became that the real story was embedded in the framework.
Writing culture became the subject of my inquiry. Yet gaining access was uncertain because the community is so secretive. In many cases, even the writers themselves know one another only by their pseudonyms. But I persisted, and in 1996, began my journey.
My first task was to set aside judgment. Then I observed, photographed, and recorded the writers’ stories. The 36 photographs on display at Gallery 219 arise from this experience.
I learned that writing culture is composed of a diverse constellation of individuals. Each is independent from all the others, and everyone orbits around a central act. That act is writing one’s own name. The name they write must be uniquely theirs. Some writers went on to paint figurative characters beside their names, and from this grew other specialties. Writers banded together to form crews, and within the crew, individual writers chose to focus on what they did best.
The point of writing is to achieve fame. One achieves fame by “putting in the work.” That is, fame is the reward for proliferating your own or your crew’s name. The more walls a name appears on, the more famous and respected that writer will be.
Respect is one of two supreme principals valued by writing culture. The disrespect of one writer by another, or even by an outside party, will generate conflict. Respect, given and received, creates room for compromise.
Personal sovereignty is the second almighty principal. No one writer is the boss of any other. Votes taken by writers may be informative and often lead to consensus, but an individual position cannot be overruled by majority opinion. Similarly, writing culture does not recognize the authority of anyone or anything to restrict an individual’s freedom. It is indefensible to fence off public space, they assert. (Thus the bolt cutters in many a writer’s trunk.)
Given the American predilection for maverick heroes, ranging from Davy Crockett to Butch Cassidy, and from James Dean to John McCain, it is not difficult to see how one might find these values admirable. Or, to appreciate the role an irreverent outsider can play.
Only the outsider can say: “But the King has no clothes.” This shocking observation will send chills through the spine of the establishment, or whoever is invested in the status quo. This is a voice that emanates from an uncontrolled individual. This voice is but one step away from exposing the limitations of incremental change. This voice might call for a revolution!
The power of writing culture, I realized, derives from these two sources: visual appeal and outsider status. Writers build a constituency through their artwork: they pose a threat because they refuse to conform. Every writer wields this power in a way that is uniquely his or her own. Some, like Will “Kasso” Condry, harness this power to nurse spiritual health in the inner city. In presenting my photographs at Gallery 219, I am pleased to join Kasso and his Sage Coalition by swinging art like a hammer. Together, we hope to smash false preconceptions and reshape society.
“Arthammer: Shaping Society Through Writing Culture,” Gallery 219 at 219 Hanover St., Trenton, opening with reception on Friday, Dec. 13, 5 to 9 p.m., and continuing through Friday, Jan. 18. Flexible gallery hours, daily and Saturday, call in advance to confirm viewing, (609) 292- 9334.
For more information, go to Gallery 219‘s Facebook page, or contact Ricardo Barros through ricardobarros.com.
