Guest Post: Kimberly LucioGuest Post: Kimberly LucioGuest Post: Kimberly LucioGuest Post: Kimberly LucioGuest Post: Kimberly Lucio

Guest Post: Kimberly Lucio

Guest Post: Kimberly Lucio // @kimberly_lucio

____________________

Graffiti art inspires me.

From as early as I remember in my life, I can recall seeing their marks on the buildings that surrounded me. Growing up in Wrightwood, Chicago - you’ll see a lot of it. I never knew where it came from or who put it there, but I remember the feeling I would get when I would see it. It was always exciting to see it appear in daylight, an unexpected splash of color and writing that appeared in places it shouldn’t. I never asked anyone else what they thought about it, fearing people would tell me something along the lines of “don’t like that, it’s illegal.” I didn’t care whether it was illegal or not. I just knew it told better stories than most of the books I had read. And that was the best part for me.

Fast forward to the current, and I still find myself stopping on the streets to look at it. I’m still not sure exactly what it is about it I love - it might just be the mix of anonymity, color, messages, or the idea that something is in a place where it wasn’t welcome. Not knowing the artist behind the work gives it even more power in my eyes. People try to paint over it, and it just keeps coming back.

The idea that graffiti (or any form of art really) can evoke feelings inside of people in so many different ways without effort is a powerful thing. One person can see graffiti as destruction and invasion of privacy, while someone else can see inspiration and a message that they believe in. That's the thing about art - even after the picture is painted, the graffiti is sprayed, and the artist is gone, there are still hundreds of people out there learning something from it.

Guest Post: Brendan DimitriGuest Post: Brendan DimitriGuest Post: Brendan Dimitri

Guest Post: Brendan Dimitri

Guest Post: Brendan Dimitri // @bdim14

____________________

I am inspired by the world in which graffiti represents; the underground, mysterious and cultish world that often leads most to pass on by, give a look and shake their head.

I first saw the Bansky collection book, Wall and Piece, about 5 years ago and was instantly hooked. I had no appreciation of graffiti, propaganda or even art for that matter. I was raised to think that graffiti was something that roughens on the other side of town did in their spare time just to break the rules.

For whatever reason, I’ve become a graffiti geek. Now that I’m a little older and have shed most of that ignorant, boyhood mentality, I now know that these artists are more than just guys and gals who stay out late, get into trouble and run from cops.

They could be anybody; your neighbor, coworker, the person who takes your order at the local burger joint. It could be anybody that seeks the thrill of the moment, the rush of adrenaline that comes from doing something you know is right, even if it’s wrong.

What fascinates me most about graffiti is what it portrays -- that dark, ominous way of the street.

Look over your back shoulder, is anyone watching? Does anyone care? Do I care? Hurry, shake the can, spray the bottle, and fill the lines; Black hoody, dark jeans and Chuck Taylors.

Get chased by dogs and pigs -- hop roofs and duck lights, climb fences and be smooth.

It’s that feeling of guilty adolescence that most lose after . . . adolescence.

I would think that the “exclamation point” for a street artist doesn’t come when he/she finishes up, stuffs the cans in his backpack, and walks away innocent with his head down. It comes the next day, when someone looks up and thinks, “I wonder who did that?”