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Talking under their hats all the time but no liking to fight them Lorrigans. Tom had nearly reached camp when Duke came pounding up behind him, coming from the herd. Duke set his horse up, in two jumps slowing from a gallop to a walk. Tom turned his head but he did not speak. Nor did Duke wait for questions. I saw where a critter had been killed, all right. There was some scuffed-out tracks and blood on the ground. And we camped over there three days ago.

Where all did you and Mel look? Scotty musta dreamt it——or else he buried it. But if any of the boys has anything to say, you listen. Scotty 61 made the rounds to-day——talked to the whole bunch. And, Duke, you kinda keep your eye on Cheyenne. You kinda stall around and see if Cheyenne lets slip anything.

To this Duke had nothing to say; and presently he loped on, leaving Tom to ride slowly and turn the matter of the spotted yearling over and over 62 in his mind until he had reached some definite conclusion. Tom had the name of being a dangerous man, but he had not earned it by being hasty. His anger was to be feared because it smoldered long, rather than because it exploded into quick violence. He wanted to see the trail ahead of him——and just now he thought he saw Trouble waiting on the turn.

No Lorrigan had ever ridden the other way because Trouble waited ahead, but one Lorrigan at least would advance with his eyes open and his weapons ready to his hand. Tom knew well enough the reputation he bore in the Black Rim country. Before the coming of Belle, and later, of the boys, Tom had done his share toward earning that reputation.

But Belle and the boys had changed his life far more than appeared on the surface. It is true that Tom could remember certain incidents of the round-up that had added to his herd and brought him a little nearer the million-dollar mark. Without remorse he remembered, and knew that any cowman in the country would do the 63 same, or worse if he dared.

Nor need a maverick worry very long because he belongs to no one, so long as cowmen ride the range. Cattle would always stray into the Black Rim country from ranges across the mountains, and of these the Black Rim took its toll. He supposed strange irons were set now and then on the hide of an NL animal across the mountains——but the branders had better not let him catch them at it!

On the other hand, he would see to it that they did not catch him branding mavericks on his own range. To Tom that seemed fair enough,——a give-and-take game of the rangeland. And to be accused of the theft hurt. What kinda mark does he think I am! Rustle a beef and leave the hide laying around? It was characteristic of the Lorrigan influence that when Tom rode into camp every one of the crew save his own sons quieted a little; not enough 64 to suggest timidity, but to a degree that told how well they knew that their master was present.

That master quietly took stock of his men while they ate their supper and loafed and smoked and talked. Cheyenne had unobtrusively retired to the bed tent. With his thumbs pushed down inside his belt Tom strolled past and slanted a glance inside. Cheyenne was squatted on his heels shaving with cold lather and a cracked looking-glass propped against a roll of bedding, and a razor which needed honing.

In turning his head to look at Tom he nicked his chin and while he stopped the bleeding with a bit of old newspaper the size of a small finger-nail he congratulated himself in the mistaken belief that Tom had not seen him at all.

Cheyenne did not know Tom very well, else he would have taken it for granted that Tom not only had seen him, but had also made a guess at his reason for shaving in the middle of the week. Tom walked on, making a mental tally of the girls within riding distance from camp. Jennie Miller was reported engaged to an AJ man, and besides, she lived too far away and was not pretty enough to be worth the effort of a twenty-five mile ride just to hear her play hymns distressingly on an organ with a chronic squeak in one pedal.

Mary Hope Douglas, Tom decided, was probably the girl. It struck Tom as significant that she should be the daughter of the man who mourned the loss of the yearling. He had not reached the rear of the tent before he decided that he himself would do a little riding that night. Cheyenne ducked his head under the tent flap when he heard the sound of hoof beats passing close, saw that it was his boss, noted the direction he was taking, and heaved a sigh of relief.

While he labored with the knot in his handkerchief which must be tied exactly right before he would leave the tent, Cheyenne had been composing a reason for leaving camp. Now he would not need a reason, and he grinned while he plastered his hair down in a sleek, artistically perfect scallop over his right eyebrow.

Tom was going to the home ranch,——to round up Al, very likely. He would be gone all night and he would not know how many of his men rode abroad that night. Very soon after that Sam Pretty Cow drifted away, and no one noticed his absence. He was Injun, and Injuns have ways strange to white men.

For instance, he did not sleep in the tent, but spread his blankets under whatever shelter he could find within hailing distance from the others. He was always around when he was wanted, and that seemed to be all that was expected of him. A Meadow Lark, his conscience comfortable after a generous breakfast of big and little worms carried to his mate hidden away under a thick clump of rabbit weed down by the creek, spread rigid wings and volplaned to the crooked post beside the corral gate, folded his feathers snug and tilted his head aslant.

Lift a heel at me and you die! Get over there, before I brain you! From the sounds one would imagine that a bear, two lions and a mule had come to handgrips in the stable, and that a woman of the Amazons was battling with them all. The meadow lark knew 68 better. Being a wise bird as well as an inquisitive one, he fluttered up to the ridge-pole of the roof and from that sanctuary listened beady-eyed to the customary tumult. Certain staccato epithets meant merely that Subrosa was objecting to the crupper.

A sudden stamping testified that Belle had approached Rosa with the bridle. A high-keyed, musical voice chanting man-size words of an intimidating nature followed which proved that the harnessing was progressing as well as could be expected. Then came a lull, and the meadow lark tilted forward expectantly, his head turned sidewise to see what came next. First came Belle Lorrigan, walking backward, a shot-loaded quirt raised admonishingly to the chin of Subrosa who walked stiff-legged and reluctant, his white-lashed, blue eyes rolling fearsomely, his nostrils belling in loud snorts of protest.

A complexity of emotions stirred Subrosa. Afraid to lunge forward, hating to walk circumspectly, eager for the race yet dreading the discipline of rein and whip, Subrosa yielded perforce to the inevitable. As his heels flicked over the low doorsill he swung round and landed one final kick against the log wall, threw up his head in anticipation 69 of the quirt, stepped on a dragging trace chain and jumped as though it was a rattler.

Subrosa kicked at the trace and flipped it up so that it struck him smartly on the rump. He jumped straight forward at Belle, who dodged and landed the quirt none too gently on his nose. Subrosa sat down violently, and Belle straightway kicked him in the paunch by way of hinting that she preferred him standing.

Then they had it out, rampaging all over the round-pole corral until Belle, breathing a bit fast but sparkly-eyed and victorious, led Subrosa through the gate and up to the post where she snubbed him fast. She was turning to go after Rosa when a young voice called to her anxiously. If you have any hide that isna your own, ye should hide it away at once!

Belle laid her palms on her hips and stared 70 blankly up at Mary Hope, who sat nervously on old Rab at the gate. What about the sheriff? And if you have any, put them away quick, where the shuriff canna find them, Mrs. What do you think we are——thieves, Hope Douglas? I dinna want that your husband should go to prison, Mrs. Let me tell you something, Hope. Ye canna go contrary to the law!

I hear voices up on the road. That settled it. Her last glance backward showed her Belle Lorrigan taking her six-shooter belt off the buckboard seat and buckling it around her waist so that the gun hung well forward. Mary Hope shuddered and struck Rab with the quirt. Belle had led Rosa from the stable and was cautiously fastening the neck yoke in place when the sheriff and Aleck Douglas rode around the corner of the stable. Rosa shied and snorted and reared, and Belle used the rein-ends for a whiplash until Rosa decided that she would better submit to authority and keep her hide whole.

She stood fairly quiet after that, with little nipping dance-steps in one spot, while Belle fastened buckles and snaps and trace chains. Subrosa, having had his tantrum, contented himself with sundry head-shakings and snorts. The sheriff coughed behind his hand, looked sidelong at his companion, rode a step or two nearer to Belle, swung a leg over the cantle of his saddle. Perhaps he expected Aleck Douglas to introduce him, but he did not wait for the formality.

Douglas, here, would like to take a look at some hides Mr. Lorrigan has got curing. Before you do any searching, you had better go and have a talk with him. Not unless you find it on the road back. What he does never did interest me one way or the other, and does not now. He injected a little more of the oil of persuasiveness into his voice. It was his standard recipe for avoiding trouble with a woman.

Nothing like that at all. We just want to see if a certain cowhide is here. Get down, Mr. Belle smiled. You better stay right where you are, Scotty. The sheriff began to lose patience. Why, good Lord! I said, go. Just look here now! Belle laughed.

The sheriff took up his bridle reins, preparing to lead his horse over to a post and tie him. He glanced at Belle and saw that she had a six-shooter in her hand and a glitter in her eyes. Quite naturally he hesitated. Then, at a perfectly plain signal from the gun, he turned his palms toward her at a level with his shoulders.

And get off this ranch just as quick as that horse can take you. Riley, by the way, would just as readily have approved of murder if Belle had asked for his approval. Then if he hangs around, I shall shoot him in his left leg just about six inches above the knee. Six inches above his knee goes, if you say six. You hear me, Mr.

Now, you git! The sheriff turned and opened his mouth to protest, and Belle shot the promised bullet through his hat crown. The sheriff ducked and made a wild scramble for the stirrup. The sheriff still had two of the ten seconds to spare when he left, Aleck Douglas following him glumly. Likely he did have a search warrant. Old Scotty is trailing some rustled stock, they claim. They came here looking for hides.

You keep an eye out, Riley, and see if they keep going. Belle would not even consider the proposition. The Lorrigan reputation never had troubled her much,——but it sent her now to the shed where hides were kept stored until the hide buyer made his next annual visit through the country.

She did not believe that she would find any brand save the various combinations of the NL monogram, but she meant to make sure before any stranger was given access to the place. The job was neither easy nor pleasant, but she did it thoroughly. Riley, roosting meditatively on the top rail of the corral where he could watch the road down the bluff, craned his long neck inquiringly toward her when she returned. Looks bad to me, Belle.

I can smell it. They always take advantage of it, invariable. You know I hate burnt bread. She untied Rosa and Subrosa, and because she was in a hurry she permitted Riley to hold them by the bits while she climbed in, got the lines firmly in one hand and her blacksnake in the other. Not often did she deign to accept assistance, and Riley 79 was all aquiver with gratified vanity at this mark of her favor.

Cut that out, now——settle down! At a gallop they took the first sandy slope of the climb, and Belle let them go. They had no great load to pull, and if it pleased them to lope instead of trot, Belle would never object. As she sat jouncing on the seat of a buckboard with rattly spokes in all of the four wheels and a splintered dashboard where Subrosa landed his heels one day when he had backed before he kicked, one felt that she would have made a magnificent charioteer.

Before she had gone half a mile her hair was down and whipping behind her like a golden pennant. Her big range hat would have gone sailing had it not been tied under her chin with buckskin strings. Usually she sang as she hurtled through space, but to-day the pintos missed her voice.

Five miles out on the range she overtook the sheriff and Aleck Douglas riding to the round-up. Aleck Douglas seldom rode faster than a jogging trot, and the sheriff was not particularly eager for 80 his encounter with Tom Lorrigan. For that matter, no sheriff had ever been eager to encounter a Lorrigan.

The Lorrigan family had always been counted a hazard in the office of the sheriff, though of a truth the present generation had remained quiescent so far and the law had not heretofore reached its arm toward them. The two men looked back, saw Belle coming and parted to let her pass. Belle yelled to her team and went by with never a glance toward either, and the two stared after her without a word until she had jounced down into a shallow draw and up the other side, the pintos never slowing their lope.

His name, by the way, was Perry. No country is so isolated that gossip cannot find it out. The story of the spotted yearling went speeding through the country. Men made thin excuses to ride miles out of their way that they might air their opinions and hear some fresh bit of news, some conjecture that grew to a rumor and was finally repeated broadcast as truth. Miles they would travel to visit a neighbor.

And there they talked and talked and talked, while the guest in neighborly fashion dried the dinner dishes for the hostess in hot, fly-infested kitchens. He was vastly astonished and somewhat chagrined when Tom gave a snort, handed over his gun, and turned to one of his boys.

Black Rim country talked and chortled and surmised, and wondered what made Tom so darned meek about it. They did not accuse him of any lack of nerve; being a Lorrigan, his nerve could scarcely be questioned. Opinion was about evenly divided. A few declared that Tom had something up his sleeve, and there would be a killing yet. Others insisted that Tom knew when he was backed into a corner.

Old Scotty Douglas had him dead to rights, they said, and Tom knew better than to run on the rope. Men and women assumed the gift of prophecy, and all prophesied alike. Some predicted a fifteen-year term for Tom. Others thought that he might get off lightly——say with five or six years. They based 84 their opinion on the fact that men have been sent to the penitentiary for fifteen years, there to repent of stealing a calf not yet past the age of prime veal.

Witness also divers other Lorrigans whose careers had been shortened by their misdeeds. Much of the talk was peddled to Tom and the boys under the guise of friendship. Having lived all of his life in the Black Rim country, Tom knew how much the friendship was worth, knew that the Black Rim folk had drawn together like a wolf pack, and were waiting only until he was down before they rushed in to rend him and his family. Old grudges were brought out and aired secretly. It would go hard with the Lorrigan family if Tom were found guilty.

Although he sensed the covert malice behind the smiles men gave him, he would not yield one inch from his mocking disparagement of the whole affair. He laid down a law or two to his boys, and bade them hold their tongues and go their way and give no heed to the clacking. Hang and rattle now, and keep your mouths shut. Evidence was produced which astonished him. For instance, an AJ man had seen him riding over by Squaw Butte, on the night after Douglas had accused him of stealing the spotted yearling.

The AJ man seemed embarrassed at his sudden prominence in the case, and kept turning his big range hat round and round on one knee as he sat in the chair sacred to those who bore witness to the guilt or innocence of their fellow men in Black Rim country.

He did not often look up, and when he did he swallowed convulsively, as though something stuck in his throat. But his story sounded matter-of-fact and honest. He had been 86 on his way from Jumpoff and had cut across country because he was late.

There was a moon, and he had seen a man riding across an open space between the creek and the willows. The man had gone in among the willows. The AJ man had not thought much about it, though he did wonder a little, too. It was late for a man to be riding around on the range. When he reached the place, he saw a man ride out of the brush farther along, into clear moonlight. It was Tom Lorrigan; yes, he was sure of that. He knew the horse that Tom was riding. It was a big, shiny black that always carried its head up; a high-stepping horse that a man could recognize anywhere.

He did not think Tom saw him at all. He was riding along next the bank, in the shadow. He had gone on home, and the next day he heard that Scotty Douglas claimed the Lorrigans had rustled a yearling from him. That was all very well, and Black Rim perked its ears, thinking that the case looked bad for Tom.

Very bad indeed. He had been with his own outfit, and if he had ridden past Squaw Butte that night he must have gone out from the ranch and come back again. Which led very naturally to the question, Why? On the other hand, why had Tom Lorrigan ridden to Squaw Butte that night? He himself explained that later on. He said that he had gone over to see if there was any hide in the willows as Douglas had claimed.

He had not found any. Thus two men admitted having been in the neighborhood of the stolen hide on that night. Why, he asked mildly, might not the AJ outfit have stolen the yearling? What was the AJ man doing there? Why not suspect him of having placed the hide in the crevice where it had later been found?

That night the hide had been removed from the willows where Douglas had first discovered it. Douglas had gone back the next day after it, and it had been missing. It was not until several days later that he had found it in the crevice. Why assume that Tom Lorrigan had removed it? Only a darn fool would leave evidence like that laying around in sight. For this the court reprimanded him, but he had seen several of the jury nod their heads, unconsciously agreeing with him.

And although his remark was never put on record, it stuck deep in the minds of the jury and had its influence later on. They remembered that the Lorrigans were no fools, and they considered the attempt at concealing the hide a foolish one——not to say childish. Sam Pretty Cow impassively testified to that. He had been riding over to see a halfbreed girl that worked for the Blacks, and he had cut through the Douglas ranch to save time.

A full week the trial lasted, while the lawyers wrangled over evidence and technicalities, and the judge ruled out evidence and later ruled it in again. There were nights when his optimism failed him, when Tom lay awake trying to adjust himself to the harrying thought that long, caged years might be his portion.

Of course, he would fight——to the last dollar; but there were nights when he doubted the power of his dollars to save him. It was during those nights that the lawless blood of the Lorrigans ran swiftly through the veins of Tom, who had set himself to win a million honestly. It was then that he remembered his quiet, law-abiding years regretfully, as time wasted; a thankless struggle toward the regard of his fellow men.

On the open space which Tom had cleared with the sweep of his arm, a large-sized tablet of glazed and ruled paper, with George Washington pictured in red and blue and buff on the cover, received the wood parings from the pencil. It may have been significant that Tom was careful in his work and made the pencil very sharp. Across the room, Belle swung around on the piano stool and looked at him.

Tom bent his head and blew again, gave George a sardonic grin and turned him face-down on the table, so that the ruled paper lay ready to his hand. Some folks sure do love to see the other fellow up to his eyebrows in trouble. They were sitting there in that courtroom just wishing you would be sent up. I saw it in their faces, Tom. I had a gun on me, and when that jury foreman stood up to give the verdict, it was looking him in the eye through a buttonhole in my coat. I like to got heart failure there for a minute, till I seen you ease down and lay your hand in your lap.

When he had finished he folded the paper neatly and put it away with other important memoranda, picked up his big gray Stetson and went over to kiss Belle full on her red lips, and to smooth her 93 hair, with a reassuring pat on her plump shoulder as a final caress. With the stilted, slightly stiff-legged gait born of long hours in the saddle and of high-heeled riding boots, he walked unhurriedly to the corral where the boys were just driving in a herd of horses. Few of them showed saddle marks, all of them snorted and tossed untrimmed manes and tails as they clattered against the stout poles, circling the big corral in a cloud of dust and a thunder of hoof beats.

Pulling his hat down over his black brows to secure it against the wind, Tom climbed the corral fence and straddled the top rail that he might scan the herd. Break out a few? Did yuh take notice, Al, that Coaley come within an ace of sending me over the road?

Up at the house, Riley appeared in the kitchen doorway and gave a long halloo while he wiped his big freckled hand on his flour-sack apron. Then he turned back to pour the coffee into the big, thick, white cups standing in single file around the long oil-cloth-covered table in the end of the kitchen nearest the side door where the boys would presently come trooping in to slide loose-jointedly into their places on the long, shiny benches.

Tom pinched out the blaze of his match and threw one long leg back over the corral fence. His glance went to the riders beyond the big corral. He quit us when we got the horses into the corral, and rode off up the Slide trail.

If I was to make a guess, I would say that he went to meet Mary Hope. They been doing that right frequent ever since she quit coming here. Al laughed, looking over his shoulder at Tom while he loosened the latigo. He led Coaley from the stable, mounted and rode away up the Slide trail, more than half ashamed of his errand. To interfere in a love affair went against the grain, but to let a Lorrigan make love to a Douglas on the heels of the trial was a pill so bitter that he refused to swallow it.

Of the three boys, Lance was his favorite, and it hurt him to think that Lance had so little of the Lorrigan pride that he would ride a foot out of his way to speak to any one of the Douglas blood. Up the Slide went Coaley, his head held proudly 97 erect upon his high, arched neck, his feet choosing daintily the little rough places in the rock where long experience had taught him he would not slip.

Big as Tom was, Coaley carried him easily and reached the top without so much as a flutter in the flanks to show that the climb had cost him an effort. Tom grunted and rode over that way, Coaley walking slowly, his knees bending springily like a dancer feeling out his muscles. Lance stood with his back toward them. His hat was pushed far back on his head, and he was looking at Mary Hope, who leaned against the rock and stared down into the valley below.

It had been curled a little, probably on rags twisted in after she had gone to bed and taken out before she arose in the morning, lest her mother discover her frivolity and lecture her long,——and, worse 98 still, make her wet a comb and take all of the curl out.

A loose strand blew across her tanned cheek, so that she reached up absently and tucked it behind her ear, where it would not stay for longer than a minute. And I have no wish to ride out of my way to be friends with any one that tried to make my father out a liar and an unjust man. He may be hard, but he is honest. Mary Hope bit her lip and lashed a weed with her quirt.

I am sorry the trouble came up, but I canna see how you expect me to go on coming to see your mither when you know my father would never permit it. How long did you lay awake last night, making it up? Your father never permitted you to come in the 99 first place, and you know it. What made you stop, all of a sudden?

And he is not a hypocrite either. She stood up, trembling a little. Tom smiled to himself as he rode on, never looking back. In the Black Rim country March is a month of raw winds and cold rains, with sleet and snow and storm clouds tumbling high in the West and spreading to the East, where they hang lowering at the earth and then return to empty their burden of moisture upon the shrinking live things below.

In the thinly settled places March is also the time when children go shivering to school, harried by weather that has lost a little of its deadliness. In January and February their lives would not be safe from sudden blizzards, but by the middle of March they may venture forth upon the quest of learning. A twelve-mile stretch of country had neither schoolhouse, teacher nor school officers empowered to establish a school.

Until the Swedish family moved into a shack on the AJ ranch there had not been children enough to make a teacher worth while. But the Swedish family thirsted for knowledge of the English language, and their lamenting awoke the father of four purely range-bred products to a sense of duty toward his offspring. True, there was no schoolhouse, but there was a deserted old shack on the road to Jumpoff. A few benches and a stove and table would transform it into a seat of learning, and there were an old shed and corral where the pupils might keep their saddle horses during school hours.

She would be paid five dollars a month per head, Jim Boyle of the AJ further explained. Moreover, to teach school had long been her secret ambition, the solid foundation of many an air castle. She would have to ride five miles every morning and evening, and her morning ride would carry her five miles nearer the Lorrigan ranch, two of them along their direct trail to Jumpoff. Mary Hope would never admit to herself that this small detail interested her, but she thought of it the moment Jim Boyle suggested the old Whipple shack as a schoolhouse.

Tom Lorrigan, riding home from Jumpoff after two days spent in Lava, pulled his horse down to a walk and then stopped him in the trail while he stared hard at the Whipple shack. Five horses walked uneasily around inside the corral, manes and tails whipping in the gale that blew cold from out the north. From the bent stovepipe of the shack a wisp of smoke was caught and bandied here and there above the pole-and-dirt roof. It seemed incredible to Tom that squatters could have come in and taken possession of the place in his short absence, but there was no other explanation that seemed at all reasonable.

He hesitated a minute before the door, in doubt as to the necessity for knocking. Then his knuckles struck the loose panel twice, and he heard the sound of footsteps. Tom pulled his hat down tighter on his forehead and waited. When Mary Hope Douglas pulled open the door, astonishment held them both dumb.

He had not seen the girl for more than a year,——he was not certain at first that it was she. But there was no mistaking those eyes of hers, Scotch blue and uncompromisingly direct in their gaze. Tom pulled loose and lifted the hat that he had just tightened, and as she backed from the doorway he entered the shack without quite knowing why he should do so. Comprehensively he surveyed the mean little room, bare of everything save three benches with crude shelves before them, a kitchen table and a yellow-painted chair with two-thirds of the paint worn off under the incessant scrubbing of mother Douglas.

The three Swedes, their rusty overcoats buttoned to their necks, goggled at him round-eyed over the tops of their new spelling books, then ducked and grinned at one another. The four Boyle children, also bundled in wraps, exchanged sidelong glances and pulled themselves up alert and expectant in their seats. Will you sit down? With the edge of his palm he swept clod and surrounding small particles of dirt into his hat crown, and carried them to the door.

Mary Hope was picking small lumps of dirt out of her hair, which she wore in a pompadour that disclosed a very nice forehead. Shame on you! Got enough to keep warm on a hot day? Mary Hope smiled faintly. It smokes more than it throws out heat.

And what about you? Is your eye still paining? Shall I try and get it out? Yesterday I got some in mine, and I had an awful time. She dismissed the children primly, with a self-conscious dignity and some chagrin at their boorish clatter, their absolute ignorance of discipline.

Every minute after that must be made up after school. Where schools flourished, the tobacco boxes were used for lunch. The Swedes carried three tied in flour sacks and fastened to the saddles. The wind carried them at a run to the corral. The two smaller boys, Ole and Helge, rode, one behind the other, on one horse, a flea-bitten gray with an enlarged knee and a habit of traveling with its neck craned to the left.

Christian, the leader of the revolt, considered himself well-mounted on a pot-bellied bay that could still be used to round up cattle, if the drive was not more than a couple of miles. Looking after them from the window that faced the corral, Tom could not wonder that they were anxious to start early. To-morrow I shall have to punish those Swedes for leaving school without permission. I shall make an example of Christian, for his impudence.

I do not think he will want to disobey me again, very soon! I suppose that is as important to me as your business is to you. You would not let your men dictate to you, would you? Lorrigan, that I must remind you that gentlemen do not indulge in profanity before a lady. What have I said that was outa the way? Them your horses in the shed? Well, you hump along and saddle up and beat it.

He did not speak threateningly, at least he did not speak angrily. But the four Boyle children gave him one affrighted glance and started on a run for the corral, looking back over their shoulders now and then as if they expected a spatter of bullets to follow them. At the corral gate Minnie Boyle stopped and turned as though she meant to retrace her steps to the house, but Tom waved her back. So Minnie went home weeping over the loss of a real dinner-bucket and a slate sponge which she was afraid the Swedes might steal from her if they came earlier to school than she.

Tom Lorrigan, you can just call those children back! Git yore things on. Yore horse will be ready in about five minutes. He bettered his estimate, returning in just four minutes to find the door locked against him. She hesitated, backed and threatened him futilely. Scotch stubbornness——and not a damn thing to back it up! Git into it. With her chin shivering, Mary Hope obeyed the brute strength of the man. She dug her teeth into her lip and thrust her arms spitefully into the coat sleeves.

Better tie it on, if yuh got anything to tie it with. He twitched his big silk neckerchief from his neck, pulled her toward him with a gentle sort of brutality, and tied the neckerchief over her hat and under her chin. He did it exactly as though he was handling a calf that he did not wish to frighten or hurt. Tom waited until she had tucked the coatsleeves inside the gauntlets.

He took her by the arm and pulled her to the door, pushed her through it and held her with one hand, gripping her arm while he fastened the door by the simple method of pulling it shut so hard that it jammed in the casing. He led her to where her horse stood backed to the wind and tail whipping between his legs, and his eyes blinking half shut against the swirls of dust dug out of the dry sod of the grassland.

Mary Hope knew that she must mount or be lifted bodily into the saddle. She mounted, tears of wrath spilling from her eyes and making her cheeks cold where they trickled down. The Boyle children, kicking and quirting their two horses——riding double, in the Black Rim country, was considered quite comfortable enough for children——were already on their way home.

Mary Hope looked at their hurried retreat and turned furiously, meaning to overtake them and order them back. Tom Lorrigan, she reminded herself, might force her to leave the schoolhouse, but he would scarcely dare to carry his abuse farther. Have I got to haze yuh all the way home? Might as well. I want to tell yore dad a few things. He twitched the reins, and Coaley obediently shouldered Rab out of the trail and turned him neatly toward the Douglas ranch.

Even Rab was Scotch, it would seem. He laid his ears flat, swung his head unexpectedly, and bared his teeth at Coaley. But Coaley was of the Lorrigans. Rab squealed, whirled and kicked, but Coaley was not there at that particular moment. He came back with the battle light in his eyes, and Rab clattered away in a stiff-legged run.

After him went Coaley, loping easily, with high, rabbit jumps that told how he would love to show the speed that was in him, if only Tom would loosen the reins a half inch. Then, swinging up alongside, he turned to Mary Hope, that baffling half smile on his lips and the look in his eyes that had never failed to fill her with trepidation. Mary Hope was framing a sentence of defiance when Coaley wheeled and went back the way they had come, so swiftly that even with shouting she could not have made herself heard in that whooping wind.

She pulled Rab to a willing stand and stared after Tom, hating him with her whole heart. Hating him for his domination of her from the moment he entered the schoolhouse where he had no business at all to be; hating him because even his bullying had been oddly gentle; hating him most of all because he was so like Lance——and because he was not Lance, who was away out in California, going to college, and had never written her one line in all the time he had been gone.

Had it been Lance who rode up to the schoolhouse door, she would have known how to meet and master the situation. She would not have been afraid of Lance, she told herself savagely. Well, just wait until she happened some day to meet Lance!

At least she would make him pay! For two years of silence and brooding over his hardihood for taking her to task for her unfriendliness, and for this new and unbearable outrage, she would make Lance Lorrigan pay, if the fates ever let them meet again. The Lorrigan family was dining comfortably in the light of a huge lamp with a rose-tinted shade decorated with an extremely sinuous wreath of morning glories trailing around the lower rim. Belle had finished her dessert of hot mince pie, and leaned back now with a freshly lighted cigarette poised in her fingers.

I know that look in your eye; I ought, having you and Lance to watch. Lance, just returned from Berkeley during Easter holidays, lifted one eyebrow at Tom, lowered one lid very slowly, and gave his mother a level, sidelong glance.

He is painfully undecided whether the hisses of the orchestra attest his success as a villian; whether the whistling up in the gallery demands an encore, or heralds an offering of cabbages and ripe poultry fruit. I myself did not witness the production, but I did chance to meet the star just as he was leaving the stage.

To me he confided the fact that he does not know whether it was a one-act farce he put on, or a five-act tragedy played accidentally hind-side before, with the villian-still-pursuing-her act set first instead of fourth. I am but slightly versed in the drama as played in the Black Rim the past two years. Talk the way you were brought up to talk and tell me the truth. What did Tom do, and how did he do it?

Lance drew his black eyebrows together, studying carefully the ethics of the case. Dad must remember that you are my mother——technically speaking. However, they say you are my mother. And——do you want to know, honestly, what dad has been doing? Tom, your husband, the self-confessed father of your offspring, to-day rode to an alleged schoolhouse, threatened, ordered, and by other felonious devices hazed three Swedes and the four Boyle kids out of the place and toward their several homes and then when the schoolmarm very discreetly locked the door and mildly informed him that she would brain him with a twig off a sage-bush if he burst the lock, he straightway forgot that he was old enough to have a son quite old enough to frighten, abduct and otherwise lighten the monotonous life of said schoolmarm, and became a bold, bad man.

You remind me of one of those monstrosities they serve in the Lava House, that they call a combination salad. Let me mix it, Belle. They was all setting there having school,——with their overcoats on, half froze, and the wind howling through like it was a corral fence. And then I hazed her home. For answer, Lance smiled, with his mouth twisted a little to one side, which made him resemble Tom more than ever.

I used to like Mary Hope. No, I never told the kids. What in thunder do I care what old Scotty and Jim Boyle says about it? I expect Mary Hope is tickled to death to be earning the money, too. She was taking music all winter in Pocatello, I heard, and she and her mother saved up the money in nickels——Lord knows how, the way old Scotty watches them! Old Man Whipple always hauled it in barrels when he tried to hold down the camp. They had a stove that smoked, and three benches with some kinda shelf for their books, and the girl was using a strip of tar-paper for a blackboard.

But there was no water. Belle has looked out for us boys, in the matter of learning the rudiments and a good deal besides. Say, Belle, do you know they took my voice and fitted a glee club to it? I was the glee. And a real, live professor told me I had technique. But I was also saying that the Rim ought to have a lesson in real citizenship. They call the Lorrigans bad. I know all about grandad and all the various and sundry uncles and forbears that earned us the name of being bad; it makes darn interesting stuff to tell now and then to some of the fellows who were raised in a prune orchard and will sit and listen with watering mouths and eyes goggling.

But the fact remains there are degrees and differences in badness. Duke, turning his head slowly, glanced at Al, and from him to Tom. Without moving a muscle of their faces the two returned his look. Al slid his cigarette stub thoughtfully into his coffee cup and let his breath out carefully in a long sigh that was scarcely audible. Tom took a corner of his lower lip between his teeth, matching Lance, who had the same trick. Leave it to the AJ and whatever other outfit there is to send pupils, and Mary Hope could teach in the Whipple shack till it rattled down on top of them.

I know what the place is. I put up there once in a hailstorm. He did not know that this was a Lorrigan habit, born of an old necessity of having the right hand convenient to a revolver butt, and matched by the habit of carrying a six-shooter hooked inside the trousers band on the left side.

Tom, studying Lance, thought how much he resembled his grandfather on the night Buck Sanderson was killed in a saloon in Salmon City. Old Tom had leaned against the wall at the end of the bar, with his arms folded and his fingers tapping his right forearm, just as Lance was doing now. He had lifted one eyebrow and pulled a corner of his lip between his teeth when Buck came blustering in. Old Tom had not moved; he had remained leaning negligently against the wall with his arms folded.

But the strike of a snake was not so quick as the drop of his hand to his gun. Tom was not much given to reminiscence; but to-night, seeing Lance with two years of man-growth and the poise of town life upon him, he slipped into a swift review of changing conditions and a vague speculation upon the value of environment in the shaping of character. Lance was all Lorrigan.

He had turned Lorrigan in the two years of his absence, which had somehow painted out his resemblance to Belle. His hair had darkened to a brown that was almost black. His eyes had darkened, his mouth had the Lorrigan twist. Tom thought it was the Lorrigan blood building Lance true to his forbears as he passed naturally from youth to maturity. Even now, if it came to the point of fighting, would not Lance fight true to the blood, true to that Lorrigan trick of the folded arms and the tapping fingers?

Would not Lance——? Tom pulled his thoughts away from following that last conjecture to its logical end. There were matters in which it might be best not to include Lance, just as he had been careful not to include Belle. For Lance might still be a good deal like Belle, in spite of his Lorrigan looks and mannerisms.

And there were certain Lorrigan traits which would not bear any mixture of Belle in the fiber. Wake up, Tom, and tell us how long it will take to put up the schoolhouse? What will you do, Lance? Put up a notice in Jumpoff? A mysteriously worded affair, telling little and saying much. Music and refresh——no, by heck, that sounds too wet and not solid enough. Music and supper furnished free. Everybody welcome. That would keep all the mess of coffee and sandwiches out of the nice, new schoolhouse.

This is yore party. Why not put it just at the foot of the ridge, at Cottonwood Spring? A yard——corral-size——fenced around the place would keep the cattle off the doorstep, and they could water there just the same. No matter how Scotty acts up. At fifteen minutes to four on a certain Tuesday afternoon, the first really pleasant day after the day of tearing, whooping wind that had blown Tom into the role of school bully, Lance loped out upon the trail that led past the Whipple shack a mile and a quarter farther on.

As he rode Lance sang lustily a love song, but he was not thinking especially of Mary Hope. In two years more than one California girl had briefly held his fancy, and memory of Mary Hope had slightly dimmed. In his pocket were two letters, addressed to two California towns. The love song, therefore, had no special significance, save that Lance was young and perfectly normal and liked the idea of love, without being hampered by any definite form of it concentrated upon one girl.

For all that he had timed his trip so as to arrive at the Whipple shack just about the time when Mary Hope would be starting home. He was curious to see just how much or how little she had changed; to know whether she still had that funny little Scotch accent that manifested itself in certain phrasings, certain vowel sounds at variance with good English pronunciation.

He wanted to know just how much Pocatello had done to spoil her. Beneath all was the primal instinct of the young male dimly seeking the female whom his destiny had ordained to be his mate. As a young fellow shut in behind the Rim, with the outside world a vast area over which his imagination wandered vaguely, Mary Hope had appealed to him. She was the one girl in the Black Rim country whom he would ride out of his way to meet, whose face, whose voice, lingered with him pleasantly for days after he had seen her and talked with her.

He reflected, between snatches of song, that he might have thought himself in love with Mary Hope, might even have married her, had Belle not suddenly decided that he should go beyond the Rim and learn the things she could not teach him. Belle must have wanted him, her youngest, to be different from the rest.

He wondered with a sudden whimsical smile, whether she was satisfied with the result of his two years of exile. Tom, he suspected, was not,——nor were Duke and Al. The three seemed to hold themselves apart from him, to look upon him as a guest rather than as one of the family returned after an absence. They did not include him in their talk of range matters and the business of the ranch.

He had once observed in them a secret embarrassment when he appeared unexpectedly, had detected a swift change of tone and manner and subject. Surely they could not think he had changed sufficiently to make him an outsider, he meditated. Aside from his teasing of Belle, he had dropped deliberately into the range vernacular, refraining only from certain crudities of speech which grated on his ears. He had put on his old clothes, he had tried to take his old place in the ranch work.

He had driven a four-horse team up the Ridge trail with lumber for the schoolhouse, and had negotiated the rock descent to Cottonwood Spring with a skill that pleased him mightily because it proved to him——and to Tom and the boys——that his range efficiency had not lessened during his absence.

He had done everything the boys had done, except ride out with them on certain long trips over the range. He had not gone simply because they had made it quite plain that they did not want him. Nor did the hired cowboys want him with them,——ten of them in the bunk house with a cook of their own, and this only the middle of March! In two years the personnel of the bunk house had changed almost completely.

Sam Pretty Cow and Shorty he could hobnob with as of yore,——Sam in particular giving him much pleasure with his unbroken reserve, his unreadable Indian eyes and his wide-lipped grin. The others were like Duke, Tom and Al,——slightly aloof, a bit guarded in their manner. He had forgotten the love song he was singing, and before he reached farther in his musings he met the Swedes, who stared at him round-eyed and did not answer his careless hello.

A little farther, the Boyle children rode up out of a dry wash, grinned bashfully at him and hurried on. A saddlehorse was tied to a post near the Whipple shack. With long legs swinging slightly with the stride of his horse, reins held high and loose in one hand, his big hat tilted over his forehead, Lance rode up and dismounted as if his errand, though important, was not especially urgent.

The door stood open. He walked up, tapped twice with his knuckles on the unpainted casing, and entered, pulling off his hat and turning it round and round in his gloved fingers while he ducked his head, pressed his lips together with a humorous quirk, shuffled his spurred feet on the dirty floor and bowed again as awkwardly as he could. In this manner he hoped to draw some little spark of individuality from Mary Hope, who sat behind her yellow-painted table and stared at him over her folded arms.

But Mary Hope, he observed, had been crying, and compunction seized him suddenly. On what door? But he kept his position by the doorway, and he continued bashfully turning his big hat round and round against his chest,——though the action went oddly with the Lorrigan look and the athletic poise of him.

He was not sure, at that moment, whether he wanted to go with the play. Mary Hope was better looking than when he had seen her last. She had lost a good deal of the rusticity he remembered her to have possessed, but she was either too antagonistic to carry on the farce, or she was waiting for him to show his hand, to betray some self-consciousness.

But the fact that she looked at him straight in the eyes and neither frowned nor giggled, set her apart from the ordinary range-bred girl. And is this the lock? Since the door behind him was the only door within five miles of them, and since the lock dangled from a splintered casing, Mary Hope almost smiled.

She was baiting him, tempting him to quarrel with her over the old grudge. Because she expected a reply, Lance made no answer whatever. He happened to have a dozen or so of nails in his coat pocket, left-overs from his assiduous carpentry on the house being builded for her comfort.

The screws he possessed were too large, and he had no hammer. But no man worries over a missing hammer where rocks are plentiful, and Lance was presently pounding the lock into place, his back to Mary Hope, his thoughts swinging from his prospective party to the possible religious scruples of the Douglas family. Mary Hope used to dance——a very little——he remembered, though she had not attended many dances.

Would Mary Hope attend the party? Should he tell her about it and ask her to come? Naturally, he could not peacefully escort her partyward,——the feud was still too rancorous for that. Or was it? Lance began to wonder if it were possible that the Lorrigans had adopted unconsciously the role of black sheep, without the full knowledge or concurrence of the Black Rimmers.

He did what he could to make a workable lock of one that had been ready to fall to pieces before his father heaved against it; hammered in the loosened screws in the hinges, tossed the rock out into the scuffed sod before the shack, and picked up his hat. He had not once looked toward Mary Hope, but he turned now as if he were going to say good-by and take himself off; as if mending the lock had really been his errand, and no further interest held him there.

She seemed to be waiting, fearing that he meant to go without any further overtures toward friendship. The Whipple shack was not large. Ten feet spanned the distance between them. Impulsively Lance covered that distance in three steps. Although he grew up in Mexico City, like his compatriots Neuzz see pp. Unlike his colleagues, it was not the stories and traditional myths of these regions that inspired Sego, however, but the richness of the indigenous flora and fauna.

When his father was commandeered for work, the family relocated to the Isthmus of Tehuantepec in Oaxaca, an environmentally unique area of Mexico with the highest amount of land-based biodiversity and the last remaining area of tropical rainforest. When he returned to the capital, he began writing graffiti in earnest and the strongly ecological spirit he had assimilated through his experiences of the isthmus in Oaxaca emerged in the material surface of his graffiti.

He tackles political issues through a may initially appear to be chaos, his images can therefore be seen to consciously non-political modality in an attempt to change our vision of have a connection with alebrijes, a form of folk art spawned by the the city. Using public art as a weapon, he has constructed an ecologically outsider artist and fellow resident of Mexico City, Pedro Linares Lopez.

Isauro, the last member Contratistas produce socially relevant work in a distinctly regional style. The balance of the Los Contratistas are a group of diverse artists who together complement group is such that they refuse to allow a scarcity of resources or funds rather than clash with one another. Mixing passion and spirit with a true become an obstacle for their artistic production. Of the three, MAF has the workman-like dedication to their task, theirs is a collective in the truest most multidisciplinary technical knowledge, skills that are crucial to their sense of the word.

Together they utilize the power that arises when the collective endeavors. Experienced in photography, film, and multiple forms ego disappears, when the spirit of collaboration and cooperation rules. Zezao paints crudely beautiful Vallauri. However, some Brazilian graffiti writers oppose such commercialization and resist being sponsored.

All you need is ink to write your name and the will to put it all over the city. Pixobomb was expelled remains a central part of his life and a way of challenging both himself from the university as a result, but from that point onward the pair and the world. Renowned for his almost exclusive use of black and white—a reduced palette that sets itself apart from the often sensationalist and garish nature of popular culture—Baglione rejected any desire to simply display aesthetic beauty in his work at an early stage.

In his more recent output he has started to critique the speed of technological progress and how it weakens rather than strengthens social ties. Displaying a potent mix of nihilistic despair and emotional freedom, each image confronts a need to face the absurdity of the universe.

He wanted to produce something that is as richly ornate as it is political. He uses a crosshatching technique unique Oswald de Andrade. His practice attempts his own roots proved similar to exploring the roots of Brazil as a whole. Despite their groundbreaking and innovative museum exhibitions and gallery shows, they remain steadfastly faithful to their production on the street, both in terms of their large-scale murals and their idiosyncratic tags, characters, and pieces.

Extraordinarily prolific, they are supremely respected within the graffiti scene from which they first emerged. The pair have set the benchmark for the possibilities of Independent Public Art while continuing to forge their own path within it. They have inspired numerous artists all around world by taking their child-like inquisitiveness and perspicacity into endlessly new aesthetic realms.

With the graffiti scene starting to boom in their local neighborhood, the twins found a natural outlet in painting on the streets and had begun to experiment by the mids. Working without outside assistance or influence meant that they developed their own distinctive and innovative methods of production. The pair continued to paint almost incessantly throughout the late s and early s, until a chance meeting in with the legendary San Franciscan artist Twist better known today as Barry McGee led to a significant breakthrough in their style and further opened their eyes to the possibilities of graffiti.

More importantly, McGee helped the twins believe that reveries and magical scenes, it is a magical realism that is always couched they could live their life through art and later introduced them to in the everyday, daydreams that are part of the real world in which they influential figures in the United States who helped present their themselves reside. What they aim to reveal is both the beauty and the work to a worldwide audience.

Although, in their words, and ordeals that both they and their country face. Chiefly utilizing a reduced palette of red, white, and black, play with his stomach. He currently works mainly in conjunction with his wife, exists between humanity and the natural world. The see pp. Attempting to incorporate three or four the collective also comprises international affiliates such as Barry McGee people within the same spot, these series of throw-ups—a technique in DFW , Remio VTS, see pp.

Their work now represents a warped, twisted, chimera into reality. Convincing local train operators to allow them to distinctly Brazilian take on the classic Subway Art model of the s. The DOMA collective, who formed in , have worked in various media—stencils, paint, paste-ups, and blow-up cartoon figures—and in increasingly large scale.

Chu see pp. This hardcore of Buenos Aires artists has grown together: The street art of Buenos Aires is founded on stencils. Before the stencil explosion of the s, Buenos Aires was already rich in graffiti, mainly because it is an inviting place to visit, especially if you want to paint trains.

Stencils still play a significant part in graffiti productions in Buenos Aires, but appear in many of the more ambitious contemporary works as lead figures on building- sized scenarios mainly painted in latex. Strong characteristics of street art in Buenos Aires are its collective ethos and the welcome it gives to visiting artists: Italian artist Blu has painted some of his biggest and best pieces there and writers from other Latin American countries are up all over the city.

The hegemony of street artists on the Buenos Aires scene who emerged around is being challenged by the likes of Ice and Itu see image 4 , Lean Frizzera, and Amor. They share common ground with the preceding generation in their readiness to paint with visiting artists from abroad. A multidisciplinarian, Chu is as comfortable with a roller and bucket of paint as he is with a laptop and tablet. His designs, which range from happy-go-lucky characters to abstract geometric patterns, attempt to inject new life and color into the concrete, often brutal reality of the contemporary city.

His aesthetic pairs formal simplicity with extreme exaggerated color and functions well on both a small or large scale. Embracing simplicity, his artistic philosophy exhibits a visual effervescence intent on radically altering our urban world. He and his fellow members met while studying at the University of Buenos Aires, and where he later taught for three years.

The street was always an obvious choice for Chu because he felt equally drawn to animation and the power of the DIY aesthetic; it was an arena in which he could experiment and develop both passions in mutual collaboration. He clearly understands that he needs to take advantage of the opportunities and benefits that the commercial art world can offer while refusing to be pigeonholed in any particular medium. The son of an engineer father and philosopher mother, Chu tries to forge a dynamic aesthetic that follows logic in its composition but that still retains a sense of chaos and randomness.

His is a bold, vivacious Salvaje aesthetic. In the process his map becomes a highly personal and subjective analysis of Buenos Aires. Some of the features you would normally expect to find on a more traditional map of the city are still apparent; the River Plate, for example, is clearly identifiable in the top right-hand corner of the map, reinforced CHU through the distinctive, three-pronged docks that push out into it.

At the center of the image slightly to the left is HIC, a bar and gallery that was a central meeting point for many of the Independent Public Artists in the city, while on its right is the University of Buenos Aires, where Chu studied and now teaches.

Charting and paints. Coming from divergent backgrounds and perspectives, the members of the group—Mariano Barbieri, Orilo Blandini, Julian Pablo Manzelli also known as Chu, see pp. Theirs is a lighthearted yet penetrating practice that strives to initiate a change in public perception. After the collapse of both the economy and the political system, a vacuum emerged in which there seemed to be no hope for the younger generation.

In the anarchy that resulted, however, DOMA recognized a concomitant relaxation of limits and new sort of freedom. Rather than simply acting politically by adding to the overabundance of propaganda and pessimism already on the street, DOMA took the opposite tack and set out to restore optimism to the city by countering cynicism and depression with laughter and carnival.

With projects such as the Mundo Roni campaign—their parodic creation of a presidential candidate complete with website, TV appearances, flyers, stencils, performances ; their Victim see image 1 doll—a giant, half-drunk or half-dead?

As their name suggests, DOMA seek to tame their environment and reinvent their surroundings as a place of play and joy: They seek to overcome the dominant visual modality of the contemporary city by using the farcical and the preposterous as distinctly political tools. As with who collectively produce animations, installations, murals, and music. For Defi, by FASE represent an aesthetic vision that utilizes all possibilities of the contrast, what emerges most clearly in his imagery is a darkly humorous audiovisual spectrum.

What it is not, an explosive use of color. His is a confrontational, violent form of imagery therefore, is about stability or immutability, anything that works against that appears on walls, grass, car doors, and clothing. He has his own evolution and growth.

As designers, producers, musicians, and artists, they use the about thought. Like the Expression Sessions that FASE initiated in Buenos group dynamic as a means to extend their personal oeuvres into Aires, raucous street festivals in which the entire community was invited territories that would be impossible on their own, using its inherent to participate in producing murals, what is ultimately key for the group is power to create constantly innovative work.

What remains imperative for Nazza, however, is that his works appear on the peripheries of the city such as his home district of La Matanza as well as in the center. He wants his images to be visible not only to the media eye but to the public eye; his work strives to generate reflection in ordinary people and an opening toward an alternative way. He used this illustrative, intentionally crude image in place of a tag, painting it all over Buenos Aires as well as in cities throughout the world.

However, his work has since developed toward an art brut-influenced muralism and a style that is highly influenced by the uninhibited artwork of children. In the common tradition of rock and punk graffiti in Latin America, Tec first began to paint in the city to promote his band. The walls on both sides of the road were full of graffiti, colors, and abstract shapes. Regarding the crisis as a launch pad rather than as a disaster, he worked together with DOMA see pp.

They embraced a highly colorful technique that rejected the somber, insipid visuality they felt constrained by. As well as his renowned whale icon, Tec also created a superb range of rollered street paintings that were produced directly onto the surface of the street rather than its walls. The kids get that and so do I.

His work has developed a unique amalgam of both approaches: an abstract, expressionistic essence fueled by the grit and energy of working on the street. While his early street work was clearly representational—in a dream-like, often fantastical vein similar to magical realism—his more recent production has continued to focus on the body, but in a more highly abstract and contracted manner.

Furthermore, while his earlier art was produced on the exterior walls of the city, his more recent output has seen him working in the interiors of empty, abandoned houses. With image-making entrenched in his blood both his father and grandmother are artists rather than ingrained through systematic education, painting is something that the self-taught Basco never consciously chose to undertake, but has simply been doing all his life. While pursuing numerous other projects—reworking magazine covers in his distinctive style and producing countless collages, photographs, and drawings—he remains active on the street, his unrestrained and unorthodox work pervading public spaces.

With his urgent, at times primal aesthetic, Basco has developed a singular approach to producing a street art with raw purity—work that could be described as contemporary surrealist graffiti. Inspired in particular by the iconography of the Southern Cone— which encompasses his native Chile, Argentina, Paraguay, and Brazil, as well as the Altiplano the high plateau of the Andes in which Chile sits, along with western Bolivia and southern Peru —his illustratively rich work attempts to fuse these varying styles of imagery and form a contemporary, pan-American muralism that transcends political frontiers.

While Inti takes a distinctly continental approach to his work, however, there is no doubt that his native city of Valparaiso has had a powerful influence on his artistic development. This local acceptance has enabled artists such as Inti to thrive, giving them both the time and space to evolve their style free from the fear of arrest or imprisonment.

As such, the see pp. Although the and films that try to recreate the intimate understanding of the city that art from these various locations is understandably diverse, it could be graffiti facilitates, rather than producing a graffiti aesthetic in itself.

With argued that their styles are linked by a certain conceptual edge. Artists such as Gold Peg see pp. Nug see also producing exciting and innovative work away from the street. Artists such as Eine see practice unleashes. Both can be seen to take a more overtly conceptual pp. While there are other In Paris see pp. OX Vorotniov see pp. All of these artists landscape at hand. Like Invader see pp.

Like his fellow Parisians, however, the Art that goes beyond any fixed visual discourse. The graffiti was raw—separate letters, ultra legible, with double outlines so that it stood out even more. Some of the best throw-ups came from GSD and DELS the best Like any history, the story of graffiti and street art in London has many and most militant—solid from East Croydon all the way to Norwood different versions and this article can only begin to scratch at its surface.

Shogi and Oker from the same crew also smashed it, bringing The city of London has a particular and special character that has shaped characters into the letters that so many people copied but never quite its own form of graffiti. London is enormous and heavily policed, and mastered as well. Although it is a city who has painted their letters thousands of times, there is a fluidity to his of extremes, the streets have also borne witness to a less hostile, more style that cannot be faked.

Burning Candy see image 3 broke many rules with the monster triple-extended roller pole collaborations that they somehow got away with illegally. Type see image 2 and Arx went at it solo with the roller pole technique, and Type took it to such a massive unprecedented and unexpected levels that by the end of everyone was baffled. Tags are graffiti writers, the situation is not getting any easier but the size still running from ten years ago; Little Mets Metropolitan Line subway and insanity of the city means that there is always space for possibility.

You would see it on the streets, too, but it was designed for the trains, and it definitely sums up the way it articulated graffiti being on the offensive. While graffiti was evolving to the point of using paintstripper, a whole separate scenario was emerging. His stenciled rats sprang up everywhere and people started paying attention.

Banksy fell into the crux of this war because he became the most famous, but essentially it was and is about the love triangle between money, art, and credibility. Work is most credible when it is not about money, but the more credible the work is the more money it can make.

Therein lies the dilemma, but the position you could hold was reduced to two fronts and in many ways this paralyzed creativity. Once he became known in his local area, Cept began traveling to Manchester and Newcastle, where he embraced the freedom that these bigger cities offered.

Although push graffiti in the Shoreditch and Hackney areas of east London—now a Cept has been painting almost non-stop ever since, dominating the east world center of graffiti and street art—and his playful style is strongly London scene with artists such as Eine see pp.

Since training at Central book style that Lichtenstein often imitated. Inspired by the simplicity and Saint Martins College, he has incorporated multimedia styles, including emotional veracity of the characters they both used, Cept formed a sound and video, into his oeuvre. This darker, more understated side of his retro-futuristic style that embraces the fun, loose, party element of practice is strongly characterized by the method of appropriation that is graffiti.

Although constantly changing, his style stays true to the overly so key to the graffiti sensibility without ever making a direct reference to stylized, excessively decorative nature of the s era of New York graffiti. Both forms of his practice, however, show a baroque style that is Born in London in but raised in a village in North Wales, Cept has evident in much graffiti, a latent cenophobia, an urge to fill his pieces with been drawing ever since he can remember.

He was initially influenced by everything that comes into his mind. Taking note of the street art then emerging in London, he decided to alter his aesthetic and establish a meeting point between his earlier work and this new style of production. The change has posters, stickers, and stencils while keeping the letter form central, trying taken his work from the walls of east London to those of the White House, to take it back to its typographic roots.

Focusing on his now famous, large- in the process opening up his distinct form of textual inscription to an scale, single letters, he eventually painted the entire alphabet on shop entirely new audience. Refusing to sign his name with letters, Eine made the decision to move away from the often inward- on his works, he embraced their resultant ambiguity while giving them their looking intentions of the movement and forge an aesthetic that could innate separation from graffiti.

Eine also began to incorporate whole words resonate with audiences outside the subculture. Eine has continued to incorporate hundreds of new fonts into his Born in , Eine spent years tagging all over his hometown of works, forming increasingly complex compositions with multiple types London.

However, his undying love of the alphabet still remains a notorious train painter who worked with London legends such as Nema, consistent in his practice. It is an enduring fixation that has persisted Oker, and Elk, Eine worked constantly in the underground scene until through his life and one that is always mutating, developing, and refining. This has seen a move away from a highly insular practice to a more outward-looking, colorful, iconic form of work filled with humor and humility.

Although graffiti is primarily about fun for Peg, there is a quite self-conscious ideology behind her practice. Whether making ice-cream with unmentionable ingredients for art openings or go-karts for bored local youths, Peg simply wants to keep all that is inappropriate and irregular close to her heart, knowing that it is through these apparently immoral acts that morality itself may eventually be found.

Starting off in Hackney Wick in east London which is burning down due to the Olympics , we encounter the vomit-infested district of Shoreditch, with the soon to be demolished Heygate Estate the site where Gold Peg produced Release the Wolves set slightly further below. Obsessed by Ralph Lauren and laughter, or simply not done at all. Once he had reached a point of perfection with his work, frequently copied.

Producing taking, Petro felt that the perfectly formed graffiti aesthetic that had a show nearly every two months for the last three years, and undertaking become so prominent was not something he could commit to, not each project on a tiny budget, yet refusing to simply replicate the last, something that had the authenticity he was searching for. Attempting to live through, not simply relive his youth within his graffiti, Petro was looking at the world through unaffected rather than nostalgic eyes; his playful approach to form and color was a way of keeping the youth within himself alive.

Just as his distinct graffiti aesthetic was born out of a desire for perennial youth, Petro has taken the same resolutely carefree approach to his gallery production. From where you look, to how you perceive space, to where that space will take you. From all the lovely opportunities it gives you to go to different countries, to immediately have a completely new network of friends in those places and seeing their city through their eyes, seeing the real city.

Both unwilling and unable to pursue any other approach, he puts his entire soul, time, money, and effort into his aesthetic: He creates a conceptually artless art that transcends mere technique, evolving from an unending process of experiment, entertainment, and excess. He was followed by a strong generation of stencil artists, who brought a ludic and colorful touch to the French capital, among them Blek le Rat see image 3 , whose intriguing black rats appeared all over the city.

Hip-hop related graffiti arrived in Paris in the s. Bando, Psyckoze, Nasty, and Boxer used to meet other old-school writers at the Stalingrad Metro graffiti yard. During this period, graffiti spread all over the city, reaching the status of an illegal practice.

Some American writers, such as Jonone from the crew All Starz, took up residence in Paris and influenced the emerging French graffiti style. Graffiti-related works are produced by an assortment of techniques throughout the city. Paintings by Honet see pp. These lines pass above the city, showing the variety of rooftop interventions—Horfe, Conie, Rizot, Chiot—and under it, in the tunnels filled with black and chrome letters—Flask, Soack, Dexa, Hermes—that are illuminated by the light of the trains.

The double standards surrounding graffiti and street art can be seen all Although graffiti has captured the imagination of Parisians, many over the world. French street artist Zevs see pp. An example of the ambivalent attitude to urban art in France before it opened. After finishing, he was caught by the local authorities was shown when the high-speed train company, Thalys, commissioned and found himself in jail.

The answer to this ambivalence could be in the Jonone, Opak, and other writers, who had painted numerous illegal difference between the money he got for selling his gallery piece and the trains in their time, to paint a brand new TGV train at Gare du Nord, criminal fine he paid for his illicit action. By stark contrast, aura exercises a fascination that has become commercially budgeted. However, it was as part of the SDK collective and style-writers, Honet has been at the forefront of the European graffiti working with artists including Pum, Opak, INXS, and Gues, that he experience since the early s.

Working with an apparently effortless became part of the growing European InterRail movement and the ease, Honet has excelled in all aspects of his output, as well as straddling cross-pollination of artists that this cheap, accessible travel network the fine line between commercial success and underground esteem.

Like afforded. Honet explains how these opportunities for adventure and only a few other practitioners, Espo see pp. He But year after year we needed to go further, to discover new places, new embraces an idea of graffiti that does not abide by any rules and which territories, and new dangers. His imagery frequently features a strong ska, skinhead, or punk aesthetic—a nod to the graffiti tradition he grew up with, which had punk rather than hip-hop culture at its roots a subcultural fusion that played a big role in the European graffiti scene.

These works use the skinhead to promote an idea of freedom and individuality—a rejection of all rules, even those of the graffiti world itself. Notably, his characters often take a masked form commonly a domino mask, see image 2, p. Masks relate to his obsession with the parts of our cities that are hidden in plain sight. They allude to that which is concealed, but in fact presents truth; the mask, as Oscar Wilde pronounced, which can tell us more than a face. Honet carries on pushing the boundaries of his production into ever wider artistic territory: He has designed collections for Prada and Lacoste, as well as produced gallery shows in Marseille, Tokyo, and Yverdon-les-Bains, and he has published his first monograph I Want Discipline Rejecting the static nature of the two-dimensional maps that are so often seen, this map expresses the multifaceted nature of lived space through the potent image of the staircase.

This highly symbolic object has often been used to depict the ascent or descent between heaven and hell; it has also featured as a vertical reconfiguration of a labyrinth. They perfectly describe the task Honet has undertaken in his attempt to produce a fantastical, folkloric, figurative map of Paris, a cartographic representation that is oriented through a perpendicular rather than a traditional top-down lens. Inspired by the early video arcade game Space Invaders, he he was so keen to replicate.

In helium balloon in Miami, Florida—the world can only wait to see where their entirety, the Space Invader projects form a monumental artwork that he decides to go next. Wherever it is, his high score is becoming is audacious for the sheer breadth and scale of its accomplishment. His practice forms not only a highly refined abstract aesthetic—one frequently imitated today—but an oeuvre that works through one of the central sites of production for urban art— the public billboard.

OX developed an impulsive, often crude style that distorted and perverted the prevalent pop culture he was surrounded by. The collective made their first bold moves into the public sphere in , when they proceeded to transform billboards all over Paris.

The collective achieved almost immediate success and caused a deep reverberation within the Paris establishment. The collective pushed the boundaries of Independent Public Art during this period and infused it with a studied creativity that reflected an intense knowledge of both the art world and the street. The initial euphoria of the early years gave way to a methodology that questioned the very act of painting itself, examining the format and context of the designs he was producing.

Occasionally intervening in the street but for the most part concentrating on gallery work, in OX fully reinvigorated his street production and went on to paste more than images in his hometown of Bagnolet. It forms a part of my imagination, I draw on its imagery to create and I use its means to communicate. Of course, while I sometimes divert its meaning, I do not have the pretension of fighting it.

Focusing trouble. In the spirit of graffiti primitivism or Arte HDA threw him headfirst back into the world of graffiti. His pieces demonstrated a clarity and vibrancy and it became a practice for which he was synonymous. It was the truth of the piece and the image that mattered—its 15 meter wide by 5 meter high pieces, not a single drop of paint would individuality, its uniqueness, its singularity. To me, Tvrbo was close friend a brother.

We shared crazy and powerful moments that were punctuated by our own kind of complicity and particular blend of humor, creating our own How to express the miserable feeling of loss and yet confront it with the peculiar language based upon a slang of verlan, Spanglish, and French.

We tremendous feeling of luck at having been part of his life and, reciprocally, would have a lot of fun over the absurdity of life and mocked seriousness at that he has been part of mine? One could hear the singular sputtering of the old engine first, then Last but not least, when remembering the man one must mention see the man, stylish as always, with his blond hair swaying out of his his use of Polaroids to capture his every single piece and sometimes ours.

Except maybe living those golden times again! Zevs originally began to search for different ways of aesthetically Zevs has many attributes of the superhero archetype: Extraordinary encountering the city in the late s and the numerous actions powers most aesthetically conspicuous in the lightning bolts that that he subsequently undertook fall into two main categories.

First, emerge in his Invisible Graffiti ; a strong moral code which comes to the were a group of projects that utilized a classic graffiti methodology surface in his crusade against the violence of contemporary advertising ; but in a more subtle, contextually conscious manner; these projects a readiness to risk his own well-being without expectation of reward played on notions of visibility and invisibility.

Highlighting victims in the city of the cinema. Electric Shadows played with the seen and unseen in a way Mary Douglas , adding through subtraction and shaping a vandalism that strangely presaged another of his projects, Proper Graffiti. In this through virtue. In his second group of projects, however, subtlety was revoked in favor of a highly overt, insurgent visual practice, a reaction to the violence of contemporary visual culture.

In one of his most famous actions in , Zevs took the project one step further with Visual Kidnapping, when he cut and removed a foot 8-m high figure of a model from a Lavazza advertisement billboard in Berlin, leaving just a hole in its place. Recently removing his mask and revealing his inner Clark Kent, Zevs announced his true identity as Aguirre Schwarz in He continues to follow the moral code of his superhero alter-ego, however, driven by a base desire both to protect the public from the power of global corporations and to disrupt the customary public perception of graffiti.

Reclaiming our surroundings and disturbing the established status of graffiti as dirt, he plays with the ability of visual culture to reveal as well as conceal, producing bolts from the blue that radically upturn our urban environment. Their first joint experiments emerged from a classical graffiti dynamic—the tag. While some of their work is about vandalism, therefore, most of way of working and their donning of overalls lent their role legitimacy it is about practicing and experimenting in the city and about not and an air of authority.

At the same time, it also recalled the original being art. Eroding the ground through repeatedly walking the path, Path of Desire represents both the shortest or most navigable route between two sites as well as an entirely organic, non-mediated movement that is at odds with the planning of the city and contrary to its technical, top-down construction. Much commented on by French philosopher and poet Gaston Bachelard, these pathways display an ethereal, almost magical rationale, functioning as the wrinkles or laughter lines of the city.

While this project emphasized the power of popular urban practices, Human Hall of Fame ; see image 4 , took a different approach and focused on the materiality of graffiti as opposed to its illegality, its status as writing rather than vandalism.

The walking performance the brothers undertook not only resulted in an entirely legal manifestation of graffiti, however; it also furtively critiqued the nature of its illegality, a form of writing ascribed as vandalism solely due to its non-remunerable status. The traces of both is characterized by a distinct stance of dissensus: one that opposes both Fluxus and the punk era were still visible on the streets of his hometown, the superficiality of urban design and the increasing colonization of the Apeldoorn, and he found himself fascinated by the stencils and huge street.

In a practice that engages with images and public space in a painted slogans on its streets. Inspired by this, in about Jongeleen militantly active way, he employs numerous methods and materials— produced his first street markings—characters and variations on including stickers, plastic bags, spray paints, and even the human body trademark signs. It was not until after he had graduated in that Jongeleen s , who he sees as the true descendants of the Dada spirit.

He rediscovered the streets. He hoped to communicate the exciting ideas and motivations emerging out of graffiti, while also producing graffiti that was informed by the classic techniques of art. Jongeleen wanted to demonstrate that both disciplines could learn from one other and find mutual crossover points between the different worlds. For him urban intervention art is simply another way of using and understanding the image.

Graffiti was only one of the crucial starting points for urban art, together with skate culture, land art, Fluxus, punk, Dadaism, deconstructivism, conceptual art, and Arte Povera. For Jongeleen, these artistic movements are all part of the same family. Jongeleen outlined the rules of the game on a project website together with instructions on how players could create their own pieces using a standard set of tools. This featured stenciled figures of soldiers taken from sources ranging from press images of Abu Ghraib to paintings by Goya.

Inspired by ludo-centric play-centered artistic interventions and the real life social networking of graffiti and other street art movements, AOUW represented a playful incursion into the grayness of the city while visually demonstrating the existence of a network of hidden international activists. Played in cities all over the world, AOUW reclaimed the space of the street but also brought issues of public importance into the common locality of the street. Jongeleen was eventually arrested in Germany during his preparation for an exhibition documenting the project; this resulted in the removal of the project website and anti-terrorist investigations of the artist by Europol and the FBI.

In a completely different way, a more recent project, Information Blackout ; see image 3 , set out to reduce the amount of knowledge or data found on city streets. Using black spray paint he expunged the textual information on the ubiquitous fly posters that inhabit our city landscapes.

This produced a result similar to that seen in his project Elementals see image 4, p. Having repainted the bags with his insignia, Jongeleen then climbed parts of the city, selecting architectural sites he perceived as in need of an uplift and raised his flag upon them. Combining the traditions of abstraction, performance, and vandalism, the project not only brought into play questions of intention and meaning prompting viewers to ask why and how it was done , but it also attempted to engender a new perspective on the city.

In all his institutional and non-institutional work therefore, Jongeleen strives to promote a form of active citizenship, urging people to decorate their cities and reinstate themselves within the body politic. He aims to reinitiate a kind of improvisational creativity, to kickstart a powerful, political reintegration to our lived and our built environment.

The Zedz is widely considered one of the pioneers of Independent Public Art in three set about transforming their images into functional architectural Europe. Alongside his affiliate and common collaborator Delta these days designs—albeit virtual ones. From graffiti images they had evolved graffiti known more widely as Boris Tellegen , he was a founding member of the architecture; rather than simply tagging a building, the building itself legendary INC crew; both artists are famous for a highly complex style of became a tag.

Neither architecture nor graffiti dominated in this production, one that has a distinctively Dutch quality to it. Their earlier work employed cubic forms and incorporated shadows or In the wake of this new direction, Zedz moved on to produce bold outlines—a technique that had been utilized by many street artists numerous physical models of his work, constructing three-dimensional, before them—but also featuring a more radical innovation.

Zedz and complex public sculptures all of which featured his name concealed Delta twisted and shifted their letter forms until they broke, or folded in within them all over the globe. Zedz openly acknowledges his debt to communicating via a more personal palette of color and design, as Piet Mondrian in these pieces, but it is the sculptural works of the opposed to conventional letters.

Making you pronounce something. And the combination of this along with its Erosie has traveled the entire spectrum of the visual arts—from his illegality was really powerful. Now in As a member of the infamous SOL Crew, he continued to paint in a a prolific contemporary artist, he has both assimilated and adapted his classical style until about His transition to other techniques—what varied experiences within his practice.

This introduced Erosie to a whole as he strives to define his own. Erosie never let go of the energy deviate from currently prescribed discourses and values. Approaching and joy of writing graffiti, however; he simply brought together his the visual not simply as a professional but as an ordinary citizen, Erosie different inspirations in one practice.

He considers himself to be a visual dissects and then reassembles images to examine their power in rather than a graffiti or street artist—one intent on reinvigorating and contemporary society. It was a project that helped navigate him during his Rather than working through a condensed image, however, transitional, post-art school phase—a period during which he neither subsequent projects Target Marketing see images 4—6 and Wordplae wanted to do graffiti simply for the sake of meeting the expected functioned through purely textual techniques using texts that were standards of his contemporaries nor undertake illustration work for both highly conceptual and figurative.

Target Marketing references the clients to deadlines. The project allowed him a space where he could marketing techniques used in commercial advertising campaigns. Using be free from any constraints and it rekindled his love of both drawing the street as his medium, Erosie attempted to blur the difference between and graffiti.

He down illustrations—drawn with just one line—and as freestyle forms of highlighted the techniques of the commercial world through the tags. With messages tag, very fast, illegal and in one stroke. They abandoned bikes around the city acted as temporary urban sculptures; prompt the viewer to question why the poster was there in the first place.

The superb Horror Vacui series a Latin term that use of the poster to display his messages also questions its usual purpose describes the fear of empty space and the often manic need to fill it and function, as either advertising or instructional information. The with markings; see image 2 embraces themes such as spontaneity messages and statements he places on his posters transform the viewer and intuition.

However, in the more recent pieces linked under the title from a consumer into an individual, from a targeted audience into a Implosion, his paintings and drawings are deliberately crushed and participant in a dialogue. The product is the actual something radically new.

West Berlin discovered its potential as a surface for street art. In the From the mids unofficial record keepers street artists started mids murals began to appear on the white parts of the inner-city to actively determine the appearance of the city. Their expressions have section of the wall see image 1.

Like any big city, Berlin offers a tantalizing array political messages, and declarations of love. In the meantime, the northern of possible writing surfaces—from the aerosol marks on gray nineteeth- part of the wall became a trial ground for US graffiti. Impulse contributions century facades next to bullet holes from World War II to the pastel- from the US Allies, graffiti films, and specialist literature on writing culture colored facades of renovated old buildings in the newly trendy examined the vivid letter experiments, which were mostly based on names.

New York. The dire left their traces on the much-hated barrier. A fateful event in late economic situation and political unrest caused a massive tide of refugees, brought the true purpose of the wall once more to the forefront: Five and the Socialist leaders decided to construct a powerful fortification. They thought the western part of the wall had become a garish tourist attraction, which disguised the true horror associated with the wall.

The popular Open Air Gallery was completed before reunification; its allegorical display was created on the eastern side by more than a hundred selected artists. The now banned Hall of Fame at the back constituted an ever-changing living text, but the murals on the eastern side also began to disappear slowly amid tourist scribbles so that the idea of a static place of memory, with renovation work and anti-graffiti paint, began to take hold.

Nonetheless, the names of the unauthorized record keepers continue as a kind of mobile text, beyond the walls of Berlin. No doubt future generations will inscribe their names on the walls of Berlin; today some contemporary artists are inspired by the typical strategies inherent in the medium of graffiti—the appropriation and irreverent handling of spaces, the exposure of fissures in language and control systems, and clandestine intervention. In Zast together with Jazzstylecorner see image 3 , organized the City of Names project see image 2 , which allowed the presumed destroyers of the city landscape to become architects of a new type of construction: Wooden structures built by the artists themselves became accessible physical symbols, metaphorical edifices, and adventure playgrounds for temporary inhabitants.

Furthermore, in the experience of cohabiting, fundamental questions about ownership and social skills could be explored. The video installations of Matthias Wermke and Mischa Leinkauf see image 6 and pp. Brad Downey see pp. Early on in his career, he developed a uniquely scripted on the artist and restricts the curvilinear and naturalistic potential of typography and pioneered a sculptural, three-dimensional form of graffiti. He explores system entirely of his own.

What remains constant throughout all the varying which it is manifested. However, inspired by his desire for continual forms of practice that Akim undertakes, however, is the attitude that evolution, as well as by the almost innate volume of the alphabet he had emerged during his formative years practicing graffiti.

Although this constructed, Akim soon transformed his tag into a three-dimensional attitude may not materialize in any formal way in his current production, form by building and installing sculptural adaptations of his script all over it endures through his basic aesthetic positionality.

His illicit sculptural installations would understand it, as physical artifacts or images. Instead he simply have a recognizable yet unfamiliar nature; visible, yet indecipherable, undertook two acts; the first involved him smashing a window inside the they became ever more conspicuous in the urban environment.

Both the frustrated with the thoughtless, often injudicious transplantation of shattered window and the scaffold could be understood as aesthetic graffiti into the gallery realm. At this point his more conceptual objects in themselves—as ready-mades, objects conflating the division production began to emerge and he developed projects that went between inside and outside—or as performances or acts replicating directly against the idea of graffiti as spectacle and against its conception the destructive spirit of graffiti.

Wilson and George L. Both acts that Akim undertook refused is the street and that can only ever exist within the public realm itself. The devices initially contained nothing than a readme. Dead Drops stressed the importance of people having local control of their data in view of the curtailments of freedom with cloud-focused online storage systems. In his attempt to interconnect our virtual into the physical world and highlight the ways that the digital world and concrete environments, Bartholl has staged numerous projects that flattens our perceptions of the everyday.

Observing that the virtual map independently utilize the street, tearing down the boundaries between pin used by Google Maps cast a shadow on the digital map as if it were a real and virtual, and transforming the open source, hacktivist ethic into the physical object, Bartholl built foot 6-m high wooden replicas of these physical space of the city itself.

He has produced many public experiments objects, which he then placed in the exact spots designated as the center that practice as well as preach his Speed Project manifesto in which one of the city by the application. Visually displaying the relationship between must produce an entire piece of work in an eight-hour time frame.

He is an artist whose wide body of work is as comical as it is contentious, bitingly critical and humorous in equal measure. Linking all of his projects is a concern about the customs and conventions of the urban environment, the invasive measures that have become so embedded that they are perceived as the norm. Born in Louisville, Kentucky, Downey was a member of a United States Marine Corps family and traveled widely across his country of birth as a youth, never settling in one place for long.

Although he had never previously been particularly interested in any form of illicit art, Downey now found himself deeply drawn to it, and having just started a degree in film, he decided to amalgamate this burgeoning interest with his more formal studies, resulting in his movie Public Discourse It included work by artists such as Obey see pp. Having initially assisted Verbs real name Leon Reid IV, but perhaps more famously known as Darius Jones on his projects, Downey soon started to develop concepts and ideas himself, which the duo put into practice collaboratively, working together constantly from around to After interrogative viewpoint on the practices of Independent Public Art.

The proprietors sign modifications Your Arse , and converted street lamps The Tree. Sharing a studio with commandeered for pecuniary purposes by the companies themselves. The the artist Akim see pp. In a complete reversal of the usual practice, Downey preserved respond to the specific localities of place.

Highlighting some of the section of the Graffiti Wall of Fame in Vienna. Just as with his project Tile Pry see image 1, there. Like the multitude of other works he has undertaken, these projects p. Downey was trying to reinforce the fact that underneath so many show his intensely playful, mischievous intent—evident in even his earliest layers of gray we can find not only history but art, a dense deposit of one work—and his commitment to change the idea of the public sphere, the of the truly hidden archives of the city.

In many ways, it works as a mirror way we understand the visual and material culture that surrounds us. Utilizing resources that were freely available from the street, such as cardboard, wood, and paper, also guaranteed that he would never be without materials; he needed nothing more than a knife and a staple gun to start work. He developed a tacit perspective. He had inspirations, so too is the Dadaistic proclivity toward ephemeral objects originally intended only to make cardboard frames for his paintings, and found fragments.

Of course, I never thought that working too much could be something bad; so during the day I was doing it for the money and at night for my pleasure. But then it started to happen. First I started to forget non-important things like birthdays, then appointments, names, and conversations.

Nothing really serious. Later I started to fall asleep in weird situations, mostly at night, but on two particular occasions—when I fell asleep talking to someone and another time while writing some notes on paper—I began to get a bit worried. I went to a doctor and he gave me two pieces of advice.

The sleeping issue was easily solved doing something easy: Sleeping. However, the memory situation was more complicated and required some homework: Memory exercises. I hate homework, so it never happened. A few years later, however, I began to link those exercises with my art. It was a perfect idea. All the homework turned into artworks.

I made a long and detailed timeline of all the important events of my life— holidays, jobs, friends. I turned trips into maps and places I had lived into scale models. And my artistic production now has a nice motive behind it, helping me to remember and relive all the interesting things that have happened in my life. Forming an aesthetic that is both conceptual and corporeal, their provocative video installations document audacious interactions with the city and its architecture, which seek to provoke new imaginings of the city and find new ways of physically and mentally approaching its geography.

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