I remember being fascinated with the colors on the walls, the way the colors would blend. Never realizing the heart put behind each letter the soul in being different from the next writer. I remember the first time I found a marker laying around my moms home a black chisel tip permanent marker to be exact and walking out with the intentions of writing my name somewhere. And then realizing I had no name and there my challenge began what would I name myself....hmmmmmmm!! What would I call myself who would I be, looking for something original but when you start out the best name tends to be the name you see the most scrawled on those hallway walls so thats what I looked for and who I became.... I was an impostor!! I wasn't ORIGINAL..But then I learned the true difference between a neighborhood tagger and a graffiti artist. And thats what I yearned to be..and in the mist of it all in class one day in H.S.to be exact. I looked over and found out that my classmate was just that, He became my mentor..and over time I gave myself a "NAME" a name that fit..and I started the walking the steps of being a Graffiti artist. I learned the lingo, I learned the difference between fat caps and stock caps. Which paint stuck best to metal gates and brick which dried the quickest..and I loved every minute of it. It became my first true love and over time I formed my own crew "2DX" To the Xtreme we were small but we put our names up. I can always recall the first time I wrote on a noticeable spot downtown bklyn and hearing everyone say they saw it. It was like a battery my ego jumped and I realized I loved the recognition and wanted more. And thats when I learned to be recognized you had to go all city because you want to be known in all 5 boroughs and I climbed my ladder. And got with a crew my second family T.C.K. a multi-racial group of youth from all parts of the city which gave 2dx reach and every part...Seyer, Bzar,Dek,Phame,Ecko.....and many more brothers.
And I became what I strived for a "Graffiti Artist" I learned how my heart became one with the art and my soul helped form me into something different. But I also learned something else I was a "VANDAL" and I was proud of it while you were reading on the train I was standing on the tracks waiting for it to pass so I can put the highlights on my name. While you were dazing off into space I'm watching the walls as I walk reliving memories. You don't worry about the law, you don't care that your girl just broke up with you, YOU don't care cause you're free..Standing on the prospect express way while cars are zooming by and your scrawling your name with brothers who have become family. You're free....Stand on the highways painting billboards, breaking into abandoned buildings to hangout and paint...I WAS FREE.
I loved that life and still do its who you are you become your name and your name becomes you..And I only have love and respect for my brothers who've run the streets with me, whom we ate in each others houses until 1 a.m. so we can get our paint together and plan the next train or bus line we want to paint..2DX.TO WHICH I AM PREZ..TCK.URN.5MH.NVS
I am a Graf. Artist, Vandal and Explorer..I know parts of the city you'll never see in your dreams...
I will end this post with a poem written by fellow artist and brother..Bonafide
the Creed Of A Graffiti writer
Friday, January 22, 2010 at 10:21am
for TCK, FSH, 5MH, 2DX, & URN
we strike at night
the streets of new york is our canvas
we hide in the shadows
when the pig patrol strolls by
the moon gives us ouronly source of light
we are the addicts of aerosol
the krylon can clan
the rusto patrol
we are the german tip spraying
backpack wearing
black book carrying
magnum pilot tagging
the wack toy buffers
we are the brigade of bombers
mounting on our midnight mission
of colorized madness
the color blending
spray paint andmind melding maniacs
we are the ghetto picassos
the modern day matisses
the artistic shakespeares
that tear white walls in half
we are the street canvas killers
with one quick splatof an ultra flat black
with silver outlines andyellow highlights
perfected during 3 a.m. night skylines
we are the crews
that redecorate building walls
with wildstyles burning people's imagination
with motions of the can
the walls wailed words of life
through sight of krylon colors
on the streets of new york
we bomb city blocks
rocking throw-ups on topof window sills
while standing on top ofgarbage cans
we are the ones
who set bronx-brooklyn expeditions
in traditions of nomads
we go where no man's can
has sprayed on walls before
our names are found onhigh rises,
bridges and building roofs
we are the bandits of burners
our plans are waterproof, shockproof and foolproof
we are the tye dye tone tint marauders
that wrote graffiti manifestos on black walls
with silver unis, sg-7 and white pentel markers
we mark the many lands and train stations
our tags rag black books and cardboard
scratched on windows and train doors
stickers slapped over any motherfucker
you had beef withonly in self-defense
we are the graffiti gurus that spray silver spots
on blackness that become stars on the walls of galaxies
we gaze at our glossy words
and lose ourselves in arrows and 3-d shadows
we are the 12oz prophets
that wrote prophecies with our hieroglyphics
that help humans understand us
it is simply the loveof seeing our name on the wall
it is the symbolic valueof feeling important
in a world we are lost in
it is the outlet that introduced art into our way of thinking
we wore baggy jeans, hat to the back and army fatigues
when we ventured on our trip of blending bombing wonderland
the street is our canvas
when art brushes and stencils
dont matter only liquitechs and spraypaint
the toxic aroma that entered our bloodstream
on nights when we froze our fingertips
writing upside down with the can trying to get all the paint out
feel the wrath of graff
when society calls us vandals and delinquents
thats why your child wants to be just like us
we bomb your door to tell you our name
its a shame you erased our high rise artistic motion trains:
the far rockaway - lefferts A
the outside D, B, and Q in brooklyn
the coney island F
the canarsie L
the J, M, and the Z over the williamsburg bridge
the N and the R in astoria, queens
the 1 and the 9 in washington heights
the 2 and the 5 in the bronx
the new lots 3
the jerome 4
the westchester 6
and the flushing purple 7 train
now we reign on your law
the ink scribe scribbles on your forehead
then pronounces you hip hoply dead
the 4th son of hip hopovershadowed
by technic table microphones
and puma gray suede complexion tone
there is no hip hop without graffiti
only rap so we wrap our hands
around cans becoming one
our motions are studied by anthropologists
making money off our art
the sprits on clean canvas can be hazardous to minds
when eyes cant understand
the buck wildstyle alphabet
sunrises call for travelshomeward bound
we are the ones that make
the clickclakclikclakclikclakclikclaksound
with the can on new land
when a tag could get our asses shot
we are the artistic poets
that perform magic with spraypaint
and just call ourselves writers
graffiti writers.
© 2009
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