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Roger Rabbits with |
OPINION
Yuh love it. Yuh hate it.
Garish, stylised, in-your-face, radical contemporary art. Graffiti art. But art nonetheless.
Modern graffiti has been around since the 1970s in Philadelphia when people began scrawling their names on things. Tagging – an odd habit. But nowadays that antisocial, attention-seeking behaviour has become “creative art unto itself”.
And here in Tauranga, it has its own exclusive subterranean gallery, hidden conveniently away from the gaze of the non-believers, the unappreciative, the art snobs and the like.
It’s an outdoor, all-weather, gratis gallery beneath the sweeping arches of the Tauranga Harbour bridge. And it’s ever-evolving. These modern masters might last a week or so, then they’re obliterated by another artist’s urges. No offence intended, none taken. So take the path beneath Trinity Wharf off Dive Crescent, hug the high tide to the bridge, stop, absorb and discuss because to understand might be to enjoy.
But we have to accept one man’s appreciation is another man’s aggravation.
“Lowlifes,” muttered one grumpy passerby, followed by lots of sputtering and indignation. The “lowlifes” he refers to, I think are the artists of a 14-metre-long triptych of sorts. A clever, complex and dazzling splash of colour and design. “They wouldn’t paint that on their own front fence would they?”
More harrumphing
“What about all that crap?” Our critic’s nodding to the ugly tagging that’s a sideshow and probably illegal because it’s outside the area designated for the artists. I liken it to a gallery exhibition – you will love some of it, you like others, and you might loathe the rest. At least when the tagging and graffiti art is beneath the bridge and out of sight, it’s not on your wall, or your fence. So that’s a good thing.
Tagging refers explicitly to scrawling initials, pseudonyms, or logos on a public surface. I once stopped a tagger scrawling on the top of a council rubbish bin on The Strand. “What the hell are you doing?” The vandal just shrugged, pocketed his black felt pen and wandered off. Senselessness.
Graffiti, according to the street artist I spoke to, is a much broader term including graphic designs and images, stickers, posters, stencil art and even urban knitting. Yes, seems Greerton’s annual yarn bombing of trees is a form of graffiti. No outcry here though.
I fired off an image of my favourite harbour bridge work to an arty-type I know. “He’s good!” he fired back. He sees merit in most work because anyone picking up a pencil or a brush is someone surrendering to a creative spirit and that’s a good thing.
Very scary places
“There are very scary places that need a massive creative effort to elevate their existence,” he said.
“Often these ‘street artists’ nail it.”
Beneath the bridge arches was definitely a scary place when I gatecrashed Tauranga 10 years ago. Squatters squatting in their squats high in the dark, damp nooks, the heavy stench of urine and vomit that even onshore breezes couldn’t budge, littered with drug paraphernalia, empty RTDs and nangs. Scary, unsavoury and it felt dangerous. These days, by comparison, it’s almost gentrified.
I chatted with one artist under the bridge. He was suspicious, very suspicious. Didn’t give too much away, even though he’s not doing anything illegal.
First, he creates a canvas by painting out an existing work. “Ten litres of white undercoat sealer primer $100. Then a dozen or so aerosol paint cans – another $120.” This so-called “lowlife” is a fulltime employee. He’d need to be to bankroll his art.
“It’s a chance to put my work out there. What’s the point of it if no one sees it?” And he doesn’t just wing it on the wall. There are several incarnations on his pad before he settled on a design.
Sweeps, squirts and flicks
Watching the artist at work is entertainment in itself – flourishes, sweeps squirts, flicks, dabs. Just needed a musical bed to give it some mood and emotion.
That music came next day – about a 100 people and their bourbon and cokes were under the bridge for a heavy metal band whose noise probably challenged the structural integrity of the concrete above. Dozens of layers of aerosol paint probably held it together. Loud, very loud, both the band and the backdrop. The air was thick with a salty sea breeze, aerosol paint fumes, JD and cola and body odour. A fascinating, eye-opening encounter with the Tauranga sub-culture.
Isn’t it time we bought these artists out of the shadows, out of hiding, because their work would bring a fresh edge, a vibrancy and cool to the CBD. There’s a wall just off Red Square with an uninspiring tuatara crawling up it. Perhaps they can start there.
