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Originally posted by nycbeatstreet@May 22 2005, 06:55 PM

DILLS IN THAT PHOTO CUZ HE CHILLS WITH IRAK CREW OBVIOSULY THEY ARE ALL HIPSTESR FROM DOWNTOWN

 

 

my previous posts in this thread got deleted for calling out that Dill was in all them photos.

 

from clean cut skater kid from california –

to this freak of a hipster...

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The New York Times today ran a fucking amazing story about Simon Curtis of the Irak Crew. In case you missed it, here' the article in it's entirety.

 

The New York Times on Simon Curtis of the Irak Crew

 

22feat_span.jpg

 

Unmerry Prankster

 

 

By Steven Kurutz

EVEN now, four years later, people who know Simon Curtis still can't believe the odd series of events that led him to spend the last year in jail. And although Mr. Curtis readily admits that he was living recklessly, drinking too much, taking drugs and spraying graffiti on the Lower East Side, he didn't exactly see a state prison in his future when he went to an art opening on the night of July 14, 2001.

 

The show, titled "The Life You Save May Be Your Own," after a Flannery O'Connor story, was held at 31 Grand, a small, well-maintained gallery along a strip of paint-chipped warehouses in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. It was a group show, and a young friend of Mr. Curtis's, a darkly beautiful photographer named Michelle Cortez, was among the artists whose work was on exhibit.

 

A good-size crowd had turned out, and a loose, partylike atmosphere prevailed. As the evening wound down, Mr. Curtis, then 31, found himself nearly alone inside the gallery and eyeing his favorite photo, a self-portrait of Ms. Cortez that showed her topless and wearing ripped stockings. He was feeling contented and mischievous and also a little drunk. It suddenly occurred to him that it would be funny to show up with the photo at Max Fish, a Lower East Side bar where Ms. Cortez had gone with friends. As a group of people stood outside smoking cigarettes in the sticky air, he reached up, plucked the photo from the wall and shuffled out.

 

It was a spur-of-the-moment act, a juvenile prank, but one that had far-reaching consequences. From the theft would spring a high-speed getaway, an alleged kidnapping and an assault on a gallery owner. Later, there would follow criminal charges and a grand jury proceeding, a blunt intrusion of law and order into a carefree world.

 

"I've run that night over in my head so many times," said Mr. Curtis, who is to be paroled this month. "I think about it way too much."

 

Everything Comes Crashing Down

 

Had Mr. Curtis chosen any other photo, he might have gotten away with the theft. But the self-portrait was hanging high on the wall, and he aroused the notice of Heather Stephens, an owner of the gallery. She had once worked in a record store, and was, as she put it, "used to chasing shoplifters." As Mr. Curtis was leaving the gallery, he turned and saw Ms. Stephens and Michael Delmonte, another partner in the gallery, frantically running after him.

 

Outside, friends of Mr. Curtis's were waiting, unaware, in a silver Mercedes sport-utility vehicle. The driver was Sam Salganik, a 24-year-old sometime D.J., and the car belonged to his parents. Sitting beside him was Ryan McGinley, an ambitious 23-year-old photographer whose visceral snapshots of his friends tumbling their way through an extended adolescence were starting to attract attention in the art world.

 

Mr. Curtis, trailed by the two gallery partners and a group of their friends, jumped into the S.U.V., and, as he later wrote in a letter from prison, the night devolved into "a scene out of 'Dawn of the Dead.' "

 

With the gallery partners' friends banging on the windows, the S.U.V. drove off. But not before Ms. Stephens either was pulled or jumped into the back seat - there is a difference of opinion over this - and Mr. Delmonte either jumped or was scooped onto the hood. The next few minutes unfolded with a dreamlike unreality.

 

According to testimony 11 days later before a grand jury, Ms. Stephens sat screaming in the back seat while Mr. Salganik barreled down Kent Avenue at upward of 50 miles an hour with Mr. Delmonte clinging to his hood. Finally, out of desperation, Mr. Delmonte punched the car's windshield, causing a section of it to spider-web.

 

Mr. Salganik refused to comment on the events of that night, and Mr. McGinley did not return repeated telephone calls. But Mr. Curtis, in his letter, described what happened next: "Sammy exclaimed, 'That's it!,' jerked his car over to the side of the curb, stopped abruptly, jumped out of the car, pulled his shirt off, raised his fists in a fighting stance, and said, 'Now it's on!' "

 

Speaking to the grand jury, a shaken Mr. Delmonte later described falling to the ground and being repeatedly punched by Mr. Salganik as he scurried, crablike, to the curb.

 

Amid the chaos, Ms. Stephens recovered the photo, which was priced around $500, and dashed out of the S.U.V. Mr. Curtis and his friends sped away to Max Fish as the mood inside the car shifted from giddy euphoria to shock to a queasy feeling that something terrible had just happened.

 

Graffiti Days and Rooftop Nights

 

Simon Curtis is tall and affable, with a shy inwardness befitting a teenagehood spent alone in the bedroom drawing comics and pouring over heavy metal and punk records. Even now, at age 35, his face is both stubble-marked and fleshy, a disarming mix of man and boy.

 

Friends often describe Mr. Curtis as "a genius," "a crazy guy" or both. "Simon is the most ahead-of-the-curve guy I've ever known," said Matt Sweeney, a musician and a founding member of the indie bands Chavez and Superwolf who has known Mr. Curtis since they were teenagers growing up in Maplewood, N.J. "He's a tastemaker."

 

But Mr. Curtis could also be erratic and difficult. "He's the only person I ever hit," Mr. Sweeney said. "He did not have control of his emotions and would act out. But I ended up missing him, so we made up. That's been my relationship with him."

 

Mr. Curtis moved to New York in 1991 to study photography at the School of Visual Arts, and in the years that followed, he fashioned an active, if somewhat unfocused, life in the city's cooler precincts. He roomed with a former member of Nirvana, created a fanzine called Manzine that spoofed macho culture, hung out with the cast of the Larry Clark film "Kids," appeared in a Sonic Youth video, spun records at clubs like the now-shuttered Moomba and started a clothing line, moving back in with his parents when he couldn't pay the rent.

 

At the time of the fateful gallery opening, he was a member of the Irak crew, a group of graffiti writers and self-styled hooligans described by the downtown magazine Vice as "rude, illegal" and "always on the verge of losing their lives." Mr. Curtis was known for spraying an image of a wiggling sperm cell on walls around the city.

 

"It's not easy staying hip," he said half-jokingly of his ability to keep pace with the downtown scene. "A lot of people give up or move to the suburbs. I always wanted to be where something was happening."

 

In 1999, where something was happening was Mr. McGinley's walk-up apartment on Seventh Street near Avenue A. The interior was both sparsely furnished and in constant disarray, as if every day were the morning after a party. Which it often was. As a house ritual, Mr. McGinley used to snap Polaroids of his visitors, and a wall was plastered with snapshots, a tribute to the parade of revelers that had passed through.

 

Along with Mr. Salganik and Mr. Curtis, the regulars included Ms. Cortez, who had attended the Parsons School of Design with Mr. McGinley; an Irak member and prodigious shoplifter called Earsnot; and Dash Snow, who grew up on East 13th Street and began doing graffiti in his teens.

 

During the years Mr. Curtis spent apartment-hopping downtown, he figured out which buildings had rooftop access, and he and the Irak crew used to stage midnight graffiti runs or hold parties on the roof. These were halcyon days, what Dash Snow called "a golden period." No one had a full-time job.

 

"Everybody knew everybody," Ms. Cortez recalled. "You'd think it was a small town." As for what drew everyone together, Dash Snow said, "Not to say substances, but that was a big part of it." (Dash Snow, who is 23, said he suffered complete liver failure last year and had stopped drinking and tagging because "I'm not trying to go to jail.")

 

For the Irak crew, what would normally have qualified as a misspent youth became, by virtue of Mr. McGinley's camera and, later, his role as the photo editor of Vice, an iconic happening. He would become the youngest artist to be given a solo show at the Whitney Museum of American Art, bolstering his status even further.

 

"Hanging out with Ryan you feel like you're part of an infamous moment," Gavin McInnes, a founder of Vice, wrote in a New York-theme issue of the British magazine Dazed & Confused. "Like it's going to end up in our generation's version of Please Kill Me. Even when you're puking or getting swastikas drawn on your passed out face you're thinking, 'I'm making history.' "

 

If such thinking inevitably led to that night at the gallery, it wasn't Mr. Curtis's first crazy stunt. He and the Irak crew once descended on a house party and covered the host's apartment in graffiti. Another time, he appeared near catatonic and high on angel dust on a cable-access television show called "The Kid America Adventure Hour." ("That was a bad one," Mr. Curtis said.)

 

"I think Simon was definitely begging for trouble," said Mr. Sweeney, his friend from Maplewood. "I've worried about him in the past."

 

Reality's Harsh Lens

 

In the days and weeks after the theft, a certain individualism took hold among those involved.

 

The next day, as Ms. Stephens recalls, Mr. McGinley phoned her and tried to distance himself from that night, saying, "I was only catching a ride." (Mr. McGinley was never charged with a crime.)

 

A few nights later, Mr. Curtis and Mr. Salganik spun records at a Knitting Factory party, but they parked the damaged S.U.V. several blocks from the club, and with good reason; the police showed up at the Knitting Factory several days later looking for them. Apparently, Mr. Salganik was not cut out for the fugitive life. About a week and a half after the theft, he turned himself in to the police.

 

When Mr. Curtis did not follow suit, and shaved off his long brown hair, Mr. Salganik phoned him repeatedly and called his elderly parents in Maplewood. Finally, Mr. Curtis went to the police, since, in his words: "It would be a good thing to do as a friend. After all, I did cause the whole thing." In late July, he spent an unpleasant day going through what he called "bullpen therapy" in central booking. He was released and subsequently missed a court date that had been set for September 2001 - "stupidly blew it off," as he put it, and spent the next two years ducking the charges.

 

While Mr. Curtis was hanging out on the Lower East Side, partying and continuing to spray graffiti, Mr. Salganik faced charges that included assault, petty larceny and unlawful imprisonment. He was eventually sentenced to a "6/5 split," six months in Rikers Island and five years' probation. In a letter he sent to Vice magazine from prison, Mr. Salganik warned readers to "be careful of the company you keep," quoted the rapper 50 Cent and went on to muse on prison culture: "There must be like 400 Angel Nunez's in here" and "The only cigarettes you can get are Kools."

 

Beyond Mr. Salganik's jailhouse deprivations, everyone caught up in the events of that night endured personal tribulations.

 

Throughout the high-speed getaway, Mr. McGinley had been furiously snapping photos from the front seat of the S.U.V. Years later, Ms. Stephens was still searching the Internet for the pictures he took, dreading that she might come across them, even though she heard that Mr. McGinley had destroyed them. She began seeing a therapist, and her friendship with Mr. Delmonte ended, largely because whenever they got together, all they talked about was that night at the gallery.

 

Ms. Stephens still finds it hard to relive the events of that evening. Sitting in her gallery one recent afternoon, she said somewhat defensively: "Have you ever been kidnapped? Have you ever been assaulted?" before growing quiet. She interrupted another conversation to confess: "I'm sorry. I'm having flashbacks about it right now."

 

Ms. Cortez, upset that her friends had jeopardized her relationship with the gallery, distanced herself from the criminal proceedings. Some of the participants in the events of that night say she could have defused the situation, although Mr. Curtis's lawyer said having Ms. Cortez speak to the authorities would have made no difference.

 

"To this day, I still get this coldness from Sam," Ms. Cortez said. "I'm not the bad guy here."

 

In June 2003, almost two years after the theft, Mr. Curtis was finally picked up by the police, this time for spraying graffiti on Avenue A. The authorities soon discovered the prior charges against him, and because he had skipped his earlier court date, he was deemed a flight risk and was unable to post bail. He spent a hot summer in the Tombs, the Lower Manhattan detention complex, where, with his hair once again long, the other inmates called him Howard Stern.

 

His friends occasionally visited. Mr. Curtis in turn befriended a gang member and had his hair braided by an inmate whom he repaid with Ramen noodles and a can of tuna. But his past life hovered literally within sight. "It was rough going up to the rooftop rec," he admitted, "because I had a bird's-eye view of my downtown stomping grounds."

 

Because the violent nature of the theft had elevated the crime from larceny to robbery, and because Mr. Curtis had jumped bail, his lawyer advised him to plead guilty, to accept a one-to-three-year sentence and to hope for parole in a year. On July 22, 2004, three years after the night at the gallery, Mr. Curtis was processed at Rikers and eventually sent to the Cayuga Correctional Facility in Moravia, south of Syracuse. "The ride on the bus to Rikers," he said, "wasn't as romantic as they show in rap videos."

 

Odd Bunkmates, Future Plans

 

One recent Saturday, Mr. Curtis, dressed in black boots and a green prison jumpsuit, sat among a crowd of inmates and their families in the prison's visiting area and talked about the events of the preceding four years.

 

For much of the time he wore a sheepish expression, as if he were slightly embarrassed that someone had driven so far to see him. The distance from the city - about 230 miles - has kept most of his friends from visiting, although last fall Dash Snow organized a "Free Simon" party at a Lower East Side bar to raise money to buy art supplies for Mr. Curtis.

 

In prison, Mr. Curtis has bunked with a convicted murderer and been required to attend vocational classes despite his college degree, but otherwise he seems to have taken his sentence in stride. He spends his days reading and listening to Velvet Underground and Slayer tapes (CD's are not allowed) and he gets issues of Vice sent from the city. Every week, he phones his girlfriend, Meredith, who he met shortly before going to jail.

 

Mr. Curtis's friends say that he has become more clearheaded and concerned about his future, partly because of a prison-run drug and alcohol rehabilitation program.

 

"I've wasted a lot of time," he said, in a tone that was uncharacteristically serious. "I've slept on a lot of opportunities and been satisfied with living a certain lousy way. I'd see people get a degree of fame and be jealous, but not understand all the work that went into it."

 

Mr. Curtis has been promised a job upon his release. A friend who started a clothing label is opening a store on Hester Street, and Mr. Curtis will do graphic design for the company.

 

"Everybody has been getting serious, not partying so much anymore, trying to take things to the next level, " Mr. Curtis said of the changes among his friends over the past year. Of his own aspirations, Mr. Curtis was more modest. "I'm trying to get a plan together," he said

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response on Wooster to the earlier Irak article

 

Joe responds to today's NYT article on Simon Curtis from the Irak Crew:

 

"I love your site and have been doing graffiti/street art in some form or another and following it since about 1989. But I do not agree at all about that Simon Curtis article being so great from the Times. This dude acted like a fool, straight up and people are gonna glorify yet another suburban kid and his friends who obviously come from above avearge lifestyles and come to New York acting up and gettin all fucked up on whatever, and then they are made out to be some kind of cool, hip rebels. I am sorry, but I went through hanging in NYC since I was about 15, skating, chillin, doing whatever. Everyone experimented with this and that, got wild, went out, partied, had their fun, etc, etc. So why then is this dude made out to be some "graf rebel". The media comes up with some of the wackest, conrniest stories on things they don't know the half of. It's the same dumb scenario over and over. "Oh he hung out with a crazy group of bandits, he did this and that, he got fucked up" blah blah blah. What a fuckin dumb situation that was. I am not impressed at all with a 31 year old man getting all fucked up and then wondering why the fuck he got into some stupid situation like that. You're not 18 anymore. Yeah it was a prank, yeah he was fucked up on who knows what, but you start putting people's lives and well being at stake, and not knowing when to stop, and you are a grown man, you deserve what you get. If these were kids from the ghetto, they would have never heard the end of it. It would have been attempted murder charges. But these are some rich kids driving around in daddy's mercedes and acting like they are living the rough life. I see way too much of that these days. And then the stupid media bullshit of how they try to portray the dark underworld of what these kids do. It's so corny. The lower east side stopped being any kind of underworld about 15 years ago, so people need to chill with the dramatics. I am just really not impressed with a lot of these portrayals from young artists who have so much, go to expensive ass colleges and pretend they have nothing and are made out to be some kind of geniuses. I am way more impressed with artists who are doing their thing on the down low, not getting all fucked up every night, just into creating and being themselves. Not having to wear all the trendy $100 nike dunks and pre-ripped $100 soho boutique pants. Everyone is trying to live out some NYC fantasy that they saw in movies and read in books, and now they want to pretend they are a part of some movement. NYC will always be one of my favorite places and I grew up here, but any original movements died a long time ago. Maybe that's why all these so called hip people are trying to move near the projects in Brooklyn now, so they can try to convince people they are living the struggle. Life is just not like that in NYC anymore unless you are in the projects. It is the same thing with graffiti, a lot of street art people do not have respect for the art that started what they do. Cost and Revs were doing it years ago, it just wasn't labeled as anything else but graff. Tons of people were doing stickers back then. It just got bigger now and is evolving. But it seems like a lot of street artists really don't know the unwritten rules of it such as going over other people's shit. That's flat out disrespect to wheat paste over a fill in that is someone else's art creation. I am into both street art and graff and I will tell you, if a graff writer saw that happening to his fill in, he'd be pissed and probably fight the dude. Don't get me wrong, a lot of graff writers are caught up in so much unnecessary drama that is such bullshit like all the beef between writers. I could ramble on and on and I am sure you might not agree with everything and it is no disrespect to you directly, I just felt the need to give you my 2 cents on this. I know a lot of street artists and graff wirters are good people with good hearts, but this is aimed more towards the ones who are glorified for all the wrong things, living some soap opera lifestyles that they created all by themselves. I just don't think it is something to look up to when you have these cool people who try to do the right thing and are more on the down low with their art and personalities, not trying to live the rock star lifestyle.

PEACE and keep up the good work!"

Joe

 

http://www.woostercollective.com

also http://www.hurtyoubad.com for the notification via there blog

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I had been good friends with Sam, Simon, and Ryan, years ago when i too went to Parsons....I had lost contact with them before these events had took place...But had heard about that night, after it happened....I had no idea that Simon spent a year upstate for that shit...Although his actions that night were very much wrong, Simon was a very good person...Big heart, but it does not surprise me at all that this shit happened...This is an example of when the alcohol and drugs blind you from what is really meaningful in life....This is why the glorification of the hard drug life is troubling...Because going to jail is going to happen, or even death, if you live like that for too long...Constantly getting drunk and high is not cool...Shit, Dash had liver failure???That is sad...Not surprising though....Im just glad no one ended up dead...I hope things really have slowed down...After i left NYC, i carried a lot of the "I dont give a fuck attitude" back to where i grew up and lost 5 years of my life to alcohol and drugs...Ive finally ended up on the right track again...If Simon, or anyone who knows him reads this (i know simon used to come on here back in the day), I still got love for yall...I hope you are allright....JEMS KFD

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  • 2 weeks later...
  • 3 weeks later...

This is very true....

 

Joe responds to today's NYT article on Simon Curtis from the Irak Crew:

 

"I love your site and have been doing graffiti/street art in some form or another and following it since about 1989. But I do not agree at all about that Simon Curtis article being so great from the Times. This dude acted like a fool, straight up and people are gonna glorify yet another suburban kid and his friends who obviously come from above avearge lifestyles and come to New York acting up and gettin all fucked up on whatever, and then they are made out to be some kind of cool, hip rebels. I am sorry, but I went through hanging in NYC since I was about 15, skating, chillin, doing whatever. Everyone experimented with this and that, got wild, went out, partied, had their fun, etc, etc. So why then is this dude made out to be some "graf rebel". The media comes up with some of the wackest, conrniest stories on things they don't know the half of. It's the same dumb scenario over and over. "Oh he hung out with a crazy group of bandits, he did this and that, he got fucked up" blah blah blah. What a fuckin dumb situation that was. I am not impressed at all with a 31 year old man getting all fucked up and then wondering why the fuck he got into some stupid situation like that. You're not 18 anymore. Yeah it was a prank, yeah he was fucked up on who knows what, but you start putting people's lives and well being at stake, and not knowing when to stop, and you are a grown man, you deserve what you get. If these were kids from the ghetto, they would have never heard the end of it. It would have been attempted murder charges. But these are some rich kids driving around in daddy's mercedes and acting like they are living the rough life. I see way too much of that these days. And then the stupid media bullshit of how they try to portray the dark underworld of what these kids do. It's so corny. The lower east side stopped being any kind of underworld about 15 years ago, so people need to chill with the dramatics. I am just really not impressed with a lot of these portrayals from young artists who have so much, go to expensive ass colleges and pretend they have nothing and are made out to be some kind of geniuses. I am way more impressed with artists who are doing their thing on the down low, not getting all fucked up every night, just into creating and being themselves. Not having to wear all the trendy $100 nike dunks and pre-ripped $100 soho boutique pants. Everyone is trying to live out some NYC fantasy that they saw in movies and read in books, and now they want to pretend they are a part of some movement. NYC will always be one of my favorite places and I grew up here, but any original movements died a long time ago. Maybe that's why all these so called hip people are trying to move near the projects in Brooklyn now, so they can try to convince people they are living the struggle. Life is just not like that in NYC anymore unless you are in the projects. It is the same thing with graffiti, a lot of street art people do not have respect for the art that started what they do. Cost and Revs were doing it years ago, it just wasn't labeled as anything else but graff. Tons of people were doing stickers back then. It just got bigger now and is evolving. But it seems like a lot of street artists really don't know the unwritten rules of it such as going over other people's shit. That's flat out disrespect to wheat paste over a fill in that is someone else's art creation. I am into both street art and graff and I will tell you, if a graff writer saw that happening to his fill in, he'd be pissed and probably fight the dude. Don't get me wrong, a lot of graff writers are caught up in so much unnecessary drama that is such bullshit like all the beef between writers. I could ramble on and on and I am sure you might not agree with everything and it is no disrespect to you directly, I just felt the need to give you my 2 cents on this. I know a lot of street artists and graff wirters are good people with good hearts, but this is aimed more towards the ones who are glorified for all the wrong things, living some soap opera lifestyles that they created all by themselves. I just don't think it is something to look up to when you have these cool people who try to do the right thing and are more on the down low with their art and personalities, not trying to live the rock star lifestyle.

PEACE and keep up the good work!"

Joe

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Originally posted by Mr. ABC@Jun 29 2005, 09:02 PM

for those that don't know....

 

jason dill has been an underground legend for years. ever stop to think that he's affiliated with these people cos they are on his dick, and not the other way around?

 

 

i dont know,

ever since he left 101, i think hes been lost,

trying to find another niche,

 

cause he was hot shit with 101,

then he fell off a while,

then got down with Alien...

then he was just going back and forth between coasts, gettin grimier and grimier,

i remember seeing him skating in ny round the late 90s, with most of the supreme cats,

 

then he got hooked up with earsnot, i assume

whom around the mid to late 90s, was just doing the irak thing on the low,

only catchin tags at the skate spots, and not really painting as much.

 

then dill fell hard to the nyc party scene, like many cali skaters come to ny for...

and just got hooked, and been here ever since.

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1977back.jpg

1977 + IrakNY present: Misfits Night - tonight!

 

Misfits Night! Tonight, Wednesday July 6th 2005, 10PM. Live performance by A.R.E. Weapons, DJ's Jake Boyle and Daniel Jackson of Surface to Air, plus and exclusive Tshirt by Kent Irak! Joe's Pub on Latfayette in NYC, see flyer for details...

 

only found this aday late!

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  • 3 weeks later...

Bombers

 

 

Works by:

Earsnot

Giz

JA

Nato

Skuf

VFR

 

Bombers is a collaboration between Jeffrey Charles Gallery, Martinez Gallery (Brooklyn, NY) with Antonio Zaya and Whitechapel Project Space. The show will be divided between Jeffrey Charles Gallery and Whitechapel Project Space, just around the corner at 20 Fordham Street. Bombers is a group show of New York graffiti art spanning the last three decades. The show includes work by six of the leading exponents of the NYC graf scene since the Reagan years: Earsnot, Giz, JA, Nato, Skuf and VFR.

 

To visit certain institutions within the 'new' New York, that disremembered, forgotten, or simply amnesiac city, is to be assaulted by a seemingly unprecedented strategy of reactionary conceptual revisionism with respect to graffiti. It's a vision that tries to trick us, to make us unwilling participants in a shameful communion, all strapped to the same heavy grindstone. But we shouldn't miss out, instead, on the chance to show the work of artists who have, historically and legitimately, blazed a path of courage and honesty; pioneers with a body of work so different than can be found in so-called Piecing, legality, muralism and the 'Fine Arts.' Thus we will be able to cross all the 't's,' as it were, a kind of insurance and plan of attack against that lone naïf that still lets himself, from ignorance or weakness, be fooled by the machinations of the market, by the deep discounts of the slow summer months.

 

The primary examples of this bloodline of real, authentic Bombers in New York City are VFR, in the mid 1980s, JA, starting in mid 80s, NATO since 1990, Skuf and Giz from 1993, and Earsnot from 1998. This group, which have, individually and in a collective sense, dominated the graffiti scene in the form's Mecca for 20 years, brings their work across the Atlantic to spread the message that they have been toiling at for their whole creative lives:

 

That not one of them kowtows before the idols of (1) legality, which of course changes with time; (2) Muralism, practiced so majestically by the Mexicans in the wake of their 20th century revolution (Orozco, Rivera, Siquieros) and from which Jackson Pollock, among many others, learned so much; nor (3) the 'Fine Arts,' which are the exact opposite of the kind of work seen, for example, in the extraordinary Thomas de Quincey, that opium-eating murderer of art and life; and of course (4) the piecing, or assembly-line repetition that feeds the hungry maw of the market; not to mention even remoter influences, each with their appellation d'origin.

 

Before this great conceptual swindle, which won't even admit to its own name, only the Bombers propose to do battle, Counter Current. Only the Bombers dare to look across the river of lies that so many pay tribute to, that so many permit by averting their eyes -- those mute masses that know nothing of true graffiti and even less of its spirit, philosophy and world vision. 'Bombers' preaches the real gospel of the street: anarchism, iconoclasm and revolution.

 

Jeffrey Charles Gallery is an artist-run space. Bombers is the 15th show.

 

Private view Thursday 24 July 6-9pm

 

Image: a work by Earsnot

 

Hours: Saturdays 12-6 or by appointment

 

Jeffrey Charles Gallery

34 Settles Street

London

E1 1JP

 

Whitechapel Project Space

20 Fordham Street

London

E1 1HS

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Wow!

'Extreme Hipsters' isnt that bordering on an being an oxymoron.

Seems as if the 'lifestyle' of a real hardcore writer is being hijacked by those

on the fringes of the culture.

We all have a friend who turned out to be

mentaly challenged in later life (or eventualy dead),

due to excess partying during thier younger years.

Hipster shit is starting to look real tired real fast.

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