150 international graffiti writers and artists are part of Gallizia’s collection, which he started in 2006.  As an architect he realized that with graffiti, the architects were no longer the only “artistes de la rue.”  He began to invite graffiti writers into his studio to paint canvases for him, as he felt the need to preserve the beauty of graffiti art from its ephemeral fate on the street.  Friends with Henry Chalfant, he was introduced to all the greats, from graffiti’s early- and heydays to contemporary kings from the US to France to Brazil.

Chalfant wrote the introduction to the exhibition, calling it “a historical document of the cultural movement that has arisen out of graffiti” and a “panorama of this international art movement.”  But what we really encounter in the exhibition is not so much an historical document but a who’s who of graff from the pioneers onward.

Gallizia commissioned the artists to paint for him, but had “chosen to provide a conceptual framework within which the works [were] to be created”, imposing a format within which the artists had to work.  Each work is the same size, made of two panels, the left panel devoted to the “TAG”, and the right panel the artist’s interpretation of “LOVE”.

Far from being limiting, this narrow theme and restricted, uniform format ordered the exhibition and downplayed elements of graffiti such as its competitive aspects, its varying forms, its role in the urban environment—instead we were left with 150 intimate portraits of the artists themselves.  The abstraction of LOVE brings about highly personal interpretations and it was truly fascinating to see how the artists reacted to it.

The exhibition is organized chronologically to appeal to our sense history and forbears in graffiti, starting with Cornbread on top—”I LOVE Philly” of course, and Taki 183 (who makes no distinction between the TAG and the LOVE panels..), StayHigh 149 and Coco 144:

French writers like L’Atlas, JACE and PSYCKOSE;

as well as getting introduced to writers I wasn’t familiar with, like ISBA (from Iran), Fridriks (from Iceland) and ZEDZ (from Holland):

For a complete set of my photos visit my Flickr set, and if you’d like to see incredible installation views and shots of every panel go to Edwin Bartlett’s Flickr set.

Full set on Flickr.

From the Pop Down Project:

DEPOLLUTION VISUELLE

Sur Internet, il est relativement facile de réduire le nombre de Pop-Up qui s’affichent sur nos écrans. Dans la réalité, c’est autrement plus compliqué.
Le Projet Pop_Down propose donc à chacun de rétablir symboliquement cette liberté de non-exposition en collant des boutons “Fermer la fenêtre” sur toute pollution de l’espace public.

CLOSING THE WINDOW ON REAL LIFE POP-UPS

On the Internet, getting rid of unsollicited pop-ups is pretty easy. In real life, things are a tad more complicated.
The Pop_Down Project aims at symbolically restoring everyone’s right to non-exposure: Just stick a “Close window” button on any public space pollution.
Pop_Down. It’s up to you!

We’re down with the Pop_down Project.

You can download the images and create your own stickers.

Near the periphery of Paris in the 19th on either side of the Canal de l’Ourcq is the Parc de la Villette, as designed in 1982 by deconstructrivist architect Bernard Tschumi. The park was built over the former grounds of the old slaughterhouses and meat district, and now is the second largest greenspace in Paris proper. With an elevated walkway next to and over the canal, a giant geodesic dome and multiple seemingly purposeless structures and sculptures, the Parc de la Villette is an example of a park of follies—a folly being a building that has no purpose other than decoration.

Parc de la Villette has 35 follies to explore. It might just awaken in you your inner homo ludens. Consider that Tschumi’s contemporaries and influences were Roland Barthes, Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida and the Situationist International; that “there is no space without event”.

From the Parc de la Villette, the Canal de l’Ourcq ejects you from Paris’ 19th arrondissement on a bike path through the banlieues, past warehouses and industrial parks—follies of abandon, decorated now with the expressions of graffiti art.

As one continues on along the concrete embankments of the Canal de l’Ourcq is one of the longest, most impressive graffiti galleries I’ve encountered yet in France.

More Paris graffiti here.

With no architectural plans, no blueprints, no teams of architects or contractors, Jim Bishop has been building this castle by himself. Freed from any constraints of design, or any adherence to codes, the structure is based on pure desire. This is the antithesis of functional, rational architecture; it is the architecture of dreams made manifest—surrealist automatic architecture. Whatever Jim Bishop wants to build on his castle, he will build. With a flame-shooting Nordic dragon’s head, extending from the main hall, this is the stuff of pure fantasy.

Formed from rock gathered from around his property in Southern Colorado, graced with wrought iron bridges and passageways, the tallest tower of the castle reaches a startling 160 feet in the air. With no pretense to exclusivity, the public is free to climb the towers and explore the castle. Donations are requested to keep the project alive, because “unfortunately everything nowadays is about money.”

What is it about climbing up Bishop Castle that makes it so terrifying? Is it the height, the noticeable architectural inconsistencies, the fact that the anarchist that built it is raving against the government with incredible vitriol below? Or are we also afraid of our own propensity for creating monuments to desire like Bishop Castle?

(don’t go that way)

Please watch the video.

See also Ferdinand Cheval, a French postman from Hauterives who built himself a “Palais Idéal” stone by stone over 33 years. We will make a point of visiting Cheval’s Palais while we are in France.

These austere structures now attract graffiti from SF writers—not quite Country Graffiti, but more graffiti from kids who don’t usually write it.

The bunkers are extensive in some spots, and really dark.

Ain’t that the truth.

Up the hill from the bunkers (sorry I’m going backwards..) are these dilapidated stations of some sort, with the stairs long crumbled and gone. It’s fun scrambling around, but I almost missed this sweet little sea scape painted over the buff. By the way, it seems like they only bother to buff the outside of these concrete spots.

Nice view too…

All in all, a pretty awesome place to get stationed for WWII! If you do check out these spots, ride your bike. It’s a great ride and not too hard, plus you get to bomb the heart-dropping one-way downhill down to the lighthouse.

No before photo, but we turned these lights around so instead of shining on the sign, the light gets lost in the bushes.

March 2, 2008.

not really..

I reviewed a couple of shows, and also interviewed Bruce Tomb about his (de) Appropriation Project, which is being shown at the moment at Southern Exposure.

Unfortunately this means that I am online working on keeping the gallery listings up to date and so that means that the last thing I want to do is work on my blog!  But I will try.