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The Wonderful Copenhagen Thread

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pat-the-baker

pat-the-baker

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Monsters Of Art

by Alan Emmins

 

 

 

I am standing on a platform at Copenhagen’s main train station. The clock tells me it’s just after midnight. I watch trains and people come and go. I eye the commuters up and down wondering, could it be them? Finally a guy in a green hooded top idles up to me.

 

‘Follow me,’ he says.

 

Further down the platform we join two of his friends. They give me a nod but say nothing. A train arrives and we jump on board. The train ride, I am told, will take about thirty minutes.

 

We are heading into the suburbs of Copenhagen. At the very last stop we will leave the train and wait for the services at that station to end. As soon as it is all clear the people I am with, who make up the Copenhagen arm of MOA (Monsters Of Art), one of the worlds largest and most active graffiti crews, will hop the fence and attack the sleeping trains with their spray cans.

 

MOA are considered the biggest graffiti crew in the world because they have crews in over ten countries, although they wont tell me which. In fact due to the police campaign that has been launched against them here in Copenhagen they don’t give much information about themselves. But this is to be expected: it did after all take me ten months to set this story up.

 

We are three stops from the end of the line. Talk is minimal. But then the silence is broken as right above our heads a fist-sized rock comes smashing through the train window. Glass flies everywhere.

 

‘Hold da helt kæft!’ (FUCK THAT!) laughs the guy sitting next to me. He is the tallest of the group and one of the oldest crew members. We’ll call him MOA1.

 

The problem with the smashed window isn’t simply the fact that everybody is covered in glass, but that the three guys from MOA have their bags packed full with spray cans. If the police come into the carriage now and decide to search their bags the MOA boys are looking at jail time just for the intent. That is how serious graffiti has become here.

 

‘The last time I was in court for graffing they tried to fine me 3 million kroners (about 300,000GBP). Luckily the case got thrown out because of some evidence that was missing,’ MOA1 tells me.

 

For most people a near fine of £300,000 would have them hanging up their cans. But when you talk about graffers/writers/taggers you are not talking about normal people, but an entire subculture that choose to express themselves, even if illegally, freely.

 

‘The last time I was convicted for writing they didn’t even catch me doing anything. The cops grabbed me, threw me on the ground, and arrested me. Then they searched my home and found some graffiti mags…I was fined a thousand pounds and was put in jail for three weeks.’

 

You may have thought that the thrill of the chase is the only reason graffiti artists do what they do, but you’d be wrong. The illegality of it isn’t so much the draw, as what defines the action. They are raging against the machine. For graffers trains represent not the heart of the machine, but the blood being pumped across every major city in the world as they drop off pawns, bankers, brokers and law makers. Trains keep the machine in a fresh supply bodies willing and eager to do its bidding.

 

‘The worst thing that can happen when we’re hitting up is that the cops will come, or the security…that just really pisses me off. It would piss off any serious writer. If I have to run halfway through a piece…I don’t want half finished pieces of art out there. It’s fucking hard to track down half finished pieces to finish them off. Ideally I’d like to be left alone to finish. Maybe in the beginning the chase was part of it, sure there is an adrenalin rush, but now it’s about expression. It’s about the freedom to express.’

 

Luckily the police don’t arrive to inspect the window. We leave the train at the last station and start walking away. We turn a few corners, force our way through thick brush, and follow a fence that runs down the side of the train tracks. We duck every now and again when we spot one of the guards.

 

After a few minutes of walking I notice that the group has grown in size: now there are six guys. Where the others came from I can’t tell you. Ten minutes further and we stop. Now comes the wait. It’s a typical February morning in Copenhagen, which means early morning temperatures in the minuses. Now we stand waiting while the guards move the trains in and out.

 

‘What’s the best thing about being in MOA as opposed to another crew?’ I ask one of the guys as we stand waiting.

 

‘We have friends all over the world, we travel a lot, meet up with MOA crews all over, we get to crash at their pads and go and bomb in new places together.’

 

‘What’s your favourite city for graffiti?’

 

‘This one. If you’re serious about what you do no other city will ever replace your own. You love your trains more than any others.’

 

After an hour of waiting I am shivering from head to foot and wondering how graffiti exists outside of the summer season. When I look at the MOA crew they are all standing still, no shakes or shivers, as if they are immune to the cold.

 

As soon as the cleaners have left the trains and the guards are safely tucked up in their hut with warm coffee we are on the move. In single file we emerge and run along the tracks to where three trains, all lit up and groaning, sit waiting. The crew waste little time. Within seconds they are up on the metal walkway that runs between the trains. They stand with a 10m gap between them. In the cold mists of illegality, the sounds of spray cans start to fill the air. They hiss loudly on this peaceful morning, as if they have been mic’d up.

 

HSSSSSSSS HSSS HSSS HSSSSSSSSS HSSSSSSSSSS HSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

 

I am in part amazed that the guards haven’t come running from their hut, but mostly it is the organization of the crew that impresses me. There are no conversations taking place; no whispers about who should be where or who should be doing what. Even as an outsider I can tell that this crew has been working together for a long time.

 

Within minutes I can make out the outline of a cartoon character. MOA1 stands with a comic book in his hand, studying, and then copies what he sees onto the side of the train. The rest of the crew, MOAS 2-6, scurry about like ants. They work with their own paint. As they finish with one colour it goes straight back in their bag which sits strategically placed in the middle of the walkway, just behind and to the left of where they work, ready to be scooped up should they need to make a dash for it. There are two reasons they must have their bags and all their paints with them when they leave. The first is that if they get busted at this site they will move onto another and will need their paints. The other is fingerprints at the scene of the crime.

 

As the crew work I wonder if an escape at this point would even be possible. They all seem so completely immersed in what they are doing, deep in another zone. I don’t think they would notice the arrival of the police or a guard up until the point they were tapped on the shoulder and greeted with the words ‘ello ‘ello ‘ello.

 

The silence is almost eerie, yet while there is zero verbal communication between the guys it is clear that they are communicating through their art.

 

‘We do this with our life – the effort we put in, the money it costs for our cans, the standing out here waiting for hours in the freezing cold, the fines, the jail time – we do it because this is the only way we can feel free. We're in another world when we write. We’re not bound by the rules and regulations. This is a life. No amount of fines or busts will ever stop us. If you want freedom in this world you have to take it…that’s what this is,’ whispers MOA 2. 'This is us taking it.'

 

There are many opinions on why trains have become the graffiti artist’s canvas. Some say it’s because the trains are constantly on the move, networking across cities like a moving gallery and enabling the art to be seen by as many people as possible. For others it is simply destruction of public property, but for the long-standing crews like MOA it’s also about disruption. The trains bring the people to their jobs, to earn the money, to continue the cycle. The trains are all given the same identity, the same colours, the same logos. They feel it’s all a bit Brave New World. Graffing the trains breaks up the uniform identity. It’s not just a case of freedom: it’s a necessity.

 

It takes just forty-five-minutes for this train to be fully converted. An entire carriage has been made over. It now breaths colour instead of the dull dark red of the Copenhagen S train. Stepping back to take it all in it becomes obvious that this art isn’t about destruction. It’s not like most of the graffiti you see on walls and trains. Destruction gets boring after a while, but these guys are clearly not bored. Their image is full of life and dance. It doesn’t just speak of their view today, but of the years they have put into this art form.

 

Further down at the next carriage a big MOA tag has been sprayed. It stands tall and silver. One of the guys is adding a yellow outline while the rest of the crew turn their backs and face the other train. Again they start outlining images and applying big MOA logos. It’s hard to call these tags as they're not just sprayed on letters. Inadvertently Moa have created their own brand.

 

Between two pieces of art one of the guys writes, ‘Another one…to the buff!’ before he opens the train doors and steps through and onto the next walkway to the next train. Another one to the buff.

 

An hour and a half after the first squirt of paint the guys are ready to leave. Looking along the trains it’s clear to see that their work here is done.

 

As is the way with MOA while on the job, there is little talking. Everybody seems to know what’s what by default. Except me that is. I get the feeling that had I have been looking the wrong way I would have turned around and found myself alone.

 

As soon as we are down on the tracks the entire crew breaks into a sprint. This is the only point at which the guys say I can use a flash, but it’s difficult to take pictures while sprinting along a train track. Any second I feel I am going to miss the sleeper and fall face down.

 

After a hundred meters the guys break right and hurdle a low wire fence. One of them catches his foot and goes down skidding. He isn’t down for long though because one of the other crew members drags him up and everybody is on the move again. After ten minutes on the run the crew ditch their thirty-five spent cans in a bush: now is not the time to get caught with them. The guards most certainly saw the flash going off. It was after all right next to their hut. The police will be on the prowl now so there’s no point taking risks. If they get caught and convicted for the artwork they have just produced they will get four years in jail.

 

MOA1 decides that it’s best to stay off the roads. He tells me not to use the flash as there are too many residents that could give away our location. We rejoin the train tracks and follow them to the next station. It’s 5am as we sit shivering, waiting for the first train to take us back into the city.

 

The following day I go out in the daylight to photograph the graffiti on the trains. Trains pass every few minutes in both directions. On average every other train has graffiti on it: 80% of those have an enormous MOA logo.

 

Just as I am about to go off in search of food it appears, the train that we had worked on the night before. The colours are so much brighter during the day; they dance along the tracks as the train idles into the station. Everybody on the platform notices, they appear to be drawn in. There is no denying it is a great piece; a real Monster Of Art.

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