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They know they could go to jail.
But the boys in the PBJ crew are hooked on graffiti anyway. [/FONT]
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By Sara Smith/ July 6, 2006
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Sara Smith [/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]"It's not like we're selling crack to kids": Working where passers-by can't see them, the graff writers have covered the walls of an old factory with time-consuming pieces [/FONT]
On a muggy Sunday evening, five attractive young white men in their 20s sipped iced coffees around a table outside Stauf's Coffee Roasters in Grandview.
Occasionally stopping mid-sentence to scoot their chairs out of someone's way, they chatted enthusiastically about their passion: graffiti.
By all appearances, these five self-avowed vandals fit right in at the hip coffeehouse. There were no wife-beater shirts or baggy jeans, no gang tattoos or gold chains. You had to listen closely to hear them discuss their conquests and their plans to vandalize more property as soon as the sun went down that night.
They call themselves graff writers, indulging their muses in ad hoc crews of anywhere from three to 30 people.
Most of them are members of the Columbus PBJ crew. Asked what PBJ stands for, they hesitated, mumbled among themselves and finally settled on "Poor Boys Justice."
"There are two things that define graffiti," said a crew member who goes by Wes Flexner. "First, it's illegal. Second, it's an art form based around the letter form."
Explaining why they're drawn to it proves trickier.
"I do it for the pussy (who knew!!), the adrenaline rush and the notoriety," said Kayo, who insisted on meeting at a Popeye's Chicken on Fifth Avenue, away from the swank of Stauf's. Like all the others, he agreed to speak only if his given name and the locations of his favorite places to practice his craft weren't published.
Kayo added, "You're never going to rationalize what we do."
But Kese was willing to try.
"I want to stress graff is bad," said Kese, who has a bachelor's degree in fine art and a nine-to-five corporate gig that he doesn't like to talk about. "But at the same time, it's embraced by corporate America. You see it everywhere."
Sukoe recently turned down a full scholarship to the Columbus College of Art and Design. Instead, he writes graffiti almost every day and holds down a full-time job at a campus eatery.
"I would love to sell out," he said in a self-conscious street accent. "Put me on a fucking Wheaties box, for real."
Kayo has a simple explanation for the difference between real graffiti and what you see in a Coke commercial: "Graffiti itself is not mainstream. The vandalism aspect is tied into it, and vandalism will never become mainstream."
"That's what makes it pure," said Flexner. "That maintains a certain integrity."
"But," Sukoe said, "it's fucked-up integrity."
more, if you want to read more justification for vandalism
http://www.theotherpaper.com/cover.html
They know they could go to jail.
But the boys in the PBJ crew are hooked on graffiti anyway. [/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]
By Sara Smith/ July 6, 2006
[/FONT]
Sara Smith [/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]"It's not like we're selling crack to kids": Working where passers-by can't see them, the graff writers have covered the walls of an old factory with time-consuming pieces [/FONT]
Occasionally stopping mid-sentence to scoot their chairs out of someone's way, they chatted enthusiastically about their passion: graffiti.
By all appearances, these five self-avowed vandals fit right in at the hip coffeehouse. There were no wife-beater shirts or baggy jeans, no gang tattoos or gold chains. You had to listen closely to hear them discuss their conquests and their plans to vandalize more property as soon as the sun went down that night.
They call themselves graff writers, indulging their muses in ad hoc crews of anywhere from three to 30 people.
Most of them are members of the Columbus PBJ crew. Asked what PBJ stands for, they hesitated, mumbled among themselves and finally settled on "Poor Boys Justice."
"There are two things that define graffiti," said a crew member who goes by Wes Flexner. "First, it's illegal. Second, it's an art form based around the letter form."
Explaining why they're drawn to it proves trickier.
"I do it for the pussy (who knew!!), the adrenaline rush and the notoriety," said Kayo, who insisted on meeting at a Popeye's Chicken on Fifth Avenue, away from the swank of Stauf's. Like all the others, he agreed to speak only if his given name and the locations of his favorite places to practice his craft weren't published.
Kayo added, "You're never going to rationalize what we do."
But Kese was willing to try.
"I want to stress graff is bad," said Kese, who has a bachelor's degree in fine art and a nine-to-five corporate gig that he doesn't like to talk about. "But at the same time, it's embraced by corporate America. You see it everywhere."
Sukoe recently turned down a full scholarship to the Columbus College of Art and Design. Instead, he writes graffiti almost every day and holds down a full-time job at a campus eatery.
"I would love to sell out," he said in a self-conscious street accent. "Put me on a fucking Wheaties box, for real."
Kayo has a simple explanation for the difference between real graffiti and what you see in a Coke commercial: "Graffiti itself is not mainstream. The vandalism aspect is tied into it, and vandalism will never become mainstream."
"That's what makes it pure," said Flexner. "That maintains a certain integrity."
"But," Sukoe said, "it's fucked-up integrity."
more, if you want to read more justification for vandalism
http://www.theotherpaper.com/cover.html
