Graffiti is the marker for the urban landscape.
From colourful murals to obscenities in toilets, it is both beautiful and ugly. It inspires respect and belonging alongside intimidation and alienation.
I’m an outsider to the city. I grew up chasing squalls along Cornwall’s rugged Atlantic coastline, where roaring breakers rage against jagged cliffs. For me, this brutal, free wilderness is akin to the visceral urban aesthetic. It is unapologetic and alive, a homecoming, raw, brave and wild.
For many graffiti is visual pollution, equal to debris strewn along a verge or shoreline. Somehow it embodies the best and worst of humanity. I love this paradox.
In my work graffiti’s unapologetic, rhythmic, geometry is a metaphor for our attitudes and behaviour towards the natural world. Scattered in symmetry and opposition to natural forms it conjures an abrasive and uplifting dance between urban anarchy and natural serenity.