Graffiti has been flourishing in Taipei in recent years, coming out from vacant lots and distant bridges, into the ghettos and even downtown Taipei. It ranges from the simple and vulgar to the complex and artistic; some is detailed and textual, while some is purely symbols and images. It can be direct, expressing the views of the artist, and it can be like moon language, a pile of abstract symbols.
Unlike the contented, peaceful parts of society, graffiti artists have been stigmatized as delinquent, criminal, and destructive, their work destined to forever be isolated from cultured high art. They are like spirits of the night, an inner-city guerrilla force, their turf a wall, a vacant lot, a power pole, or a wiring box, where they use their spray paint to depict an alternative existence.
Once the sun rises, it illuminates the eye-catching, colorful graffiti, making it look like a butterfly fresh from the chrysalis and stretching its wings, inviting appreciation. However, many people refuse this invitation as the hurried pedestrians coolly pass it by, heedless of the cries of this beast that has stumbled into ordinary life.
I travel this city, seeking these cries of protest, recording their unique lines and colors before they disappear forever. After looking at it for a while, I begin to wonder whether it is the graffiti or our society that is the real oddity.
Basketball court, Hsinhai Road, Taipei
Huashan Culture Park, Taipei
Under the Chengte Bridge, Taipei
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