He stayed up until the time when the cars on the streets start to clear. It's 2:37 am now, and he's ready. Packing his bag with the usuals from last tuesday night, he heads out his unlocked studio door, with his full backpack over both shoulders, strapped across his chest as if he were backpacking across Europe. Scurrying down the cement stairs of the inside of his complex he heads out the heavy metal front door. Approaching the street from the sidewalk, he knows where he is going to go. The best place yet. The best
urban canvas, with most possible attention, and maximum surface area. His last piece was under a bridge-- that wouldn't work this time. He wanted this one to be noticed. He wanted this one in a place where everyone would see, a place where no one would not see, and the entire population of San Francisco can stop and stare at the large silouetted piece that intimidated them from the gray cement wall.
He is a stencil graffitti
artist, and was out not only to impress, but to be an activast against George W. Bush.
Today is Sunday, and last Friday, he almost got caught. He almost got caught doing a small piece--one of ameteur measure, one like the frist one he did just four years ago. It was a small stencil, with script to the right. Silhouetted on the left was a small boy, pictured, shoulders up, hold an automatic gun pointed to the sky. To the right, END THE WAR in black, bold text. He drew this in about a half an hour, and stenciled it in a matter of minutes, every moment thinking about what kind of reaction he will get out of this small 6 X 5 inch stencil. Will people agree? Will people scrub it away, being completely oblivious to the meaning of this small piece of
a
rt? Will it live through a couple of weeks, gaining enough attention to make other people stand up against the bull shit of the current government? Or will it just be bi-passed, not erased, nor examined, and just overlooked? Unknown he sprayed and moved on. But he couldn't move on, an old man, half bald, grey haired wearing nothing but sweat pants and an oversiezed shirt walked around the corner of the brick wall where he stood. Staring him straight in the eye he turned and ran down the opposite alley, hearing nothing but vulgar sayings and derrogatory remarks about tag artists in the area from the hackling old man.
But he wasn't a tagger. He was a stencil artist. An activist. A citizen speaking up through art forms expressed to the community. This bothered him, but only drove him to do more.
This frustration rumbled in his mind, inspiring him to do tonights piece. Just two blocks from the large, vertical, gray surface in an alley near Mission and 24th, right around the corner from BART, he saw only a few people, mainly drunk middle aged groups, weaving the sidewalks as they walked.
Approaching the alley and walking past it once, he gave a quick surveylance of the surroundings. Nothing. It was perfect, nobody around. He turned around and walked down the dark, musty alley that only lead to 23rd street--an easy short-cut many took after getting off BART.
Setting his backpack on the ground against the brick wall behind him, he took into accound the light he had to work with. Only a small stretch that gleamed around the corner from a street light up above. He accepted that, and began to unpack his bag. First pulling out the 6 sheets of paper that made up the stencil he planned to spray. He then took out some duck tape and began to arrange the puzzled sheets of paper, configuring the make-up of the stencil. As he finished taping it into place against the half lit wall, he took a step back, observing what his final piece planned to look like. After shifting each paper here and there abit, he was able to arrange it perfectley square on the wall.
Pulling out a half empty, black spray-paint can as well as a full one, he again surveyed the area while shaking the two cans vigourously in both hands, trying to keep the clanking of the mixing-marble inside to a minimum. After about forty seconds of mixing, he was ready.
Starting with a test spray against the white, non-cut-out part of the stencil, he sprayed, beginning to get the feeling he always does when he starts a piece on the streets. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one he couldnt quite explain. But as uncomfortable as it was, he liked it. He liked it because it meant he was spreading his ideas--political, cultural and social ideas.
As the feeling intensified, he swiftly sprayed the black paint over the gray area revealed by the stencil, giving each piece of paper that make up the stencil it's own attention. He continued spraying over buches face, working his way down to the bottom tf the stencil where it read
FAIL. Finishing at the bottom, he was satisfied with the even coat of black paint that he had just created across the stencil. He removed the tape, one at a time, and the pieces of paper stayed in place from the sticky black paint that held them together. Taking a deep breath he slowly pulled away the pieces of paper, revealing, what he thought of, was the best stencil he had ever done. It was perfect and the image that lay in front of him was exaclty what he expected. It was fairly big, about 2 feet by 3 feet and was just the perfect size.
Done, he realized, noticing the time of 4:07 am. Taking a step back, he gathered his things and walked away, only to hear the sound of a piece of metal clanging against the pole of a flagpole (3), just around the corner, which ended his project in ther perfect manner.
True fact. you can basically replace 'kick your ass' with any
