GRAFFITI:Works of art or mindless vandalism? There's more to graffiti than meets the eye, writes Eoin Butler
STREET ART is a growing phenomenon that seeks to take art out of museums and beautify the urban landscape. Its basic utensils are the marker, the spray can and the graffiti stencil. And its exponents range from Banksy (the internationally acclaimed scourge of capitalism, whose works have sold for large sums) to Jacinta (a disaffected teen who lives on my street and, apparently, has a crush on someone named Ger).
What connects these disparate artists is an urge for public self-expression, coupled with a relaxed attitude toward public vandalism. So is street art essentially a free-for-all?
"It's a subculture," reckons Maser, a prominent Irish graffiti writer. "But it has its own rules." He talks me through the etiquette. Graffiti's simplest manifestation is the tag: a simple motif, sometimes executed in marker, which serves as a particular artist's signature. Quick to reproduce, its function is often to delineate that artist's home turf.
"If a tagger crosses out someone else's tag. that means there's beef there. They don't like each other." Further up the food chain are the throw-up, and finally the masterpiece. "If I rock a full colour piece, then no one can go over that, unless (a) they go over it with another colour piece and (b) theirs is better."
Today, Maser is a respected visual artist with exhibitions and a string of corporate clients to his name. But street art has traditionally enjoyed a strained relationship with the law in this country. And Maser's own history in that respect is certainly a colourful one.
He first encountered graffiti in his teens, when a friend purchased a Biggie 50 marker for £5. "I remember thinking, 'I could get a naggin for that price!'" he says. He was quickly hooked, however. His first proper piece, a homage to rapper, Ice Cube, was executed with a bucket of Jace paints liberated from his father's garage.
Eventually, his luck ran out. Unfortunately for Maser, the building he was in the process of beautifying when he was caught was one of particular historic significance. Worse still, the day was Easter Monday. The arresting garda told the teenager he could be charged with treason. In the end, he escaped with a large fine.
While accepting that what he did was wrong, Maser remains angry about the way he was treated by the authorities. One aspect in particular still raises his ire.
"When they caught me, I was using red paint and some of it had gotten on my hands. So the arresting officer said 'Look, lads. I caught him red-handed!' And I was like . . ." He rolls his eyes.
Greater appreciation for Maser's talents was found in the growing street culture industry. Sony PlayStation, BT2 and Coors Light are just some of the companies that have hired him to participate in live graffiti jams and branded exhibitions.
"A lot of street art is coming out of the punk era, where the attitude was very much anti-capitalist. So if I was coming from that side of things then, yeah, I'd be a hypocrite. But I'm not." Indeed, he stresses that, despite doing corporate gigs, he is unwilling to compromise his artistic integrity. "It's like a DJ playing a corporate gig to pay the rent. I'm lucky enough to be able to pick and choose the companies I work with and I'm certainly not about to sell out my art."
One of the benefits of doing those jobs is that he can afford to work on his own projects. His latest is the "Maser Loves You" campaign, which has seen that slogan daubed widely across Dublin city.
There's a derelict yard outside his studio and, as he shows me some of his work, he talks fondly about the workshops he gives for the Tallaght Youth Service. "I'm not showing them how to to make ashtrays out of clay, so I've automatically I've got some cred!" he says.
The sun is sinking lower in the sky now and mothers in the surrounding flats are calling their children in for dinner. "It's not a lie by the way," he interjects, pointing to the slogan. "I love this city, I really do."
The world's oldest surviving piece of graffiti, in the ancient Greek city of Ephesus, is believed to advertise the location of a nearby brothel.
The godfather of modern graffiti was a Greek-born New Yorker whose Taki183 tag appeared on trains and in subway stations in the summer of 1971.
What became of Taki183? "Eventually I got into business, got married and bought a house. As soon as I got into something more productive in my life, I stopped."