Graffiti is for gangsters?

Mami and Papi were wrong when they told you graffiti was only “Cholos”, “gangsters”, and “thugs”.

Growing up, mi familia always told me that they hated how “gang members” cheapened property value by adding graffiti to neighborhoods. I mean, I understand how city revenue is spent painting over graffiti on city property but this isn’t a discussion of whether or not it’s OK for graffiti artists to start “tagging” on white picket fences.

This is a discussion of art.

Last month I attended an art show titled Art in the Streets at The Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) in L.A. But this was not your typical art show. This was first time a major U.S. gallery exhibited the history of graffiti. This art show attracted over 200,00 visitors from April 17 – August 8, 2011, topping Andy Warhol’s record.

I suppose street artists are doing something right to top pop art Legend Andy Warhol in ticket sales.

Driving throughout L.A., graffiti becomes the cityscape. A view of downtown L.A. is not complete without the vibrant colors of graffiti curvature that adorn walls, buildings, and metros.

Yet hundreds of people were paying money to view graffiti in a condensed art museum; the same graffiti they could’ve seen outside the parking lot of MOCA. Graffiti is no longer strictly a product of urban culture and it will only continue to crawl its way from tunnels and subways into the suburbs of middle America.

I wonder if it is a generational difference. Maybe mami and papi are just too old to understand the artistic skill required to produce a graffiti piece. Maybe it’s a racial difference. I never see graffiti splattered on walls of predominantly white neighborhoods. Then again, many of the attendees of Art in the Streets were white. I should have directed them to some of the graffiti-heavy walls outside the museum and saved them an entry fee.

Oh wait, I forgot that art is only “art” when a museum says it is.

After the show I stepped outside and a small framed, teenaged Latina named “Shorty” came up to me and asked if I liked the show. She proceeded to tell me that she too, was an “artist.” Her eyes lit up as she pulled out a handful of graffiti art pieces and caricatures from a cardboard box. In her I saw an entrepreneur who was trying to make a profit off her talents and not a gangster. In her I saw a young Latina who realized that people were spending money to see the street art that she lives, breathes, and represents.

I didn’t ask her what gang she was with, I didn’t ask her how many people she had shot, I didn’t ask her if she had been in prison. I asked her one thing: how much?

By guest contributor, Cynthia Pleitez.