Graffiti has an adverse effect on the quality of life in various communities in the City of New York, creating an impression of disorder and chaos; and graffiti vandalism can be a precursor to more serious acts of crime and violence; and the damage caused by graffiti-related vandalism depreciates the value of the property it defaces and costs the City and property owners millions of dollars in clean-up expenses each year. - The Mayor of the City of New York’s Anti-Graffiti Task Force Executive Order

Recently, New York was graced by Banksy’s spray can. Banksy, tagger of international acclaim, world-renowned prankster, critic of government, and possibly, graffiti’s biggest sell-out, made his secret way to New York, broke the law, and left just as quickly as he came. In his wake, a 70-foot long mural depicting 365 hash marks and a portrait of Turkish artist, Zehra Dogan. Near the ground on the wall’s far right corner the phrase, “Free Zehra Dogan”.

Many are already familiar with Banksy’s work, but may not yet know it. Banksy, an alter ego to an as yet, anonymous English artist, has traveled the world and left a trail of oftentimes critical, sometimes irreverent, always thought-provoking imagery in his wake. He is best known for a spare style of artwork made using stencils and spray paint. He is, inarguably, the world’s most recognizable street artist and graffiti writer. Banksy is one of the first graffiti artists to have made the “successful” transition from street to gallery where his artworks have sold for as much as $1,000,000. As such, his imagery has transcended the art world in a way that very few others before him have–Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, Andy Warhol’s Campbell’s soup can, Vincent van Gogh’s sunflowers–and can be found on anything from sneakers to posters, stickers to key chains. He has inspired legions of copycats and enraged scores of fellow graffiti writers. The long and short of it is that Banksy is notorious and has brought attention to artwork and to the art world that they are otherwise often not afforded.

I can’t recall what exactly drew me to street art, nor when I first experienced it. I do vividly remember documenting it on a trip to Paris when I was 16. I couldn’t stop looking at it. I couldn’t stop stopping for it, staring at it, admiring it. Growing up in Chicago I had always had experience with graffiti–tagging, scrawls written on the side of buildings that usually were all but indecipherable to me–but I had never known that graffiti could be art in its own right. I had no idea that it could extend beyond tags, nor that people would spend their time creating a piece of artwork worthy of preservation and protection outside, on the streets, with no guarantee of its future. I was stunned. Was I the only one to notice? Paris is a lot like New York in that its streets swarm with people unconscious of one another and of their surroundings, they are perpetually in a hurry. When I stopped to look at a piece people looked at me like the oddity, the tourist stopping in the middle of her tracks on the sidewalk, rather than at the extraordinary work I felt like I had uncovered.

Herein lies graffiti’s hidden virtue. Having spent years working in and out of galleries I recognize their tendency to isolate. Galleries sell commodities; many would argue that artwork is not intrinsic to human survival the way that food, clean water, and shelter is (I would argue otherwise, but I understand the rationale). Therefore, a gallery represents an already inaccessible and unnecessary expense that few can justify. Galleries serve the bourgeoisie, a class that invites scorn from those who do not belong. As such, they impart an aura of unattainability. Of hostility and hauteur, a place where protocol and behavior is not inherently obvious. All of this falls away when artwork is introduced to the streets where it is afforded new visibility.

On the Bowery Wall, located in downtown Manhattan on Houston street, Banksy has chosen to use his visibility for good. Just over a year ago Turkish artist Zehra Dogan was sentenced to two years, nine months, and twenty-two days imprisonment for painting and sharing an image of a Kurdish town, Nusaybin, decimated by the Turkish government’s bombs. Banksy’s image bears 365 hash marks, signifying the time she has spent imprisoned for exercising one of her basic human rights: free speech. The hash marks become prison bars, behind which Banksy has painted a portrait of Dogan; the final bar becomes a pencil, a simplified signal of the “crime” she has committed. Before visiting the wall myself I had never heard of Dogan, had never heard of the injustice she currently suffers. As soon as I got home, I researched her and found that in addition to being an artist, Dogan is a decorated journalist and a champion of women’s rights in Turkey. She hardly fits the criminal archetype. Banksy's done it. Awareness begins with a single person, and by having brought Dogan's story to me he has achieved his unspoken goal. And here, I further the process, by bringing Dogan's story to you.

Free Zehra Dogan.

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