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Graffiti artists taking talent from street corners to Madison Avenue By CHELSEA J. CARTER A look back at 1998. "Don't worry. It's just business," said Nicer, one-third of the trio. He handed a business card to the officer, who asked to hire them to make a banner for a benefit dinner. "You have to laugh," Nicer said afterward. "Who'd have thought we'd ever be doing business with cops?" In the neighborhood where hip-hop culture was born, the group known as TATS Cru are the crown princes of graffiti - up from petty crime to commercial stardom as painters of murals for the likes of Coca-Cola, Reebok and Chivas Regal. It has been nearly two decades since Nicer, Bio and BG183 picked up black markers and cans of spray paint and made their names known on the city's rolling canvases - subway trains, trucks and buses. Nowadays, in the free art classes they hold for kids at the Point, a community center, they teach the basics of graffiti art but counsel the children to stay out of trouble and keep their art in their sketch pads. "I kind of feel like a hypocrite sometimes - telling them 'don't do it.' And that's how I got started," Bio said. Graffiti, one of the scourges of urban life today, used to cost New York City taxpayers roughly $50 million a year, said Tom Kelly, spokesman for Metropolitan Transportation Authority. That sum has dropped considerably since the city started treating graffiti artists as criminals and mounted an aggressive cleanup effort, which included buying subway cars with graffiti-resistant substances, Kelly said. Some may call it art, but "Their art is somebody else's eyesore," he said. Nicer, Bio and BG183 met in an art class in high school when they were known as Wilfredo Feliciano, Hector Nazario and Sotero Ortiz. It was the 1970s, and the three spent their days in school perfecting their "tags," or street names, on school books, desks, bathroom walls and any other available space. Then they would take to the streets, or jump subway turnstiles and train yard fences, to put their finished product on display. They were arrested several times, convicted of vandalism and sentenced to community service cleaning graffiti from subways. "You have to understand the thinking behind it to appreciate it. These trains would roll from the Bronx through Manhattan to Brooklyn with your name on it. People would see it," said Bio. Then they grew up. Bio, now 32, became a social worker for the National Puerto Rican Forum, counseling new arrivals. Nicer worked at an ad agency, designing perfume bottles for Elizabeth Arden and Clairol. BG183 was an engineer who made metal gates. But they never left the Bronx, and they never stopped painting. Seven years ago, they gave up their jobs to found their own business. "It made a lot more sense doing something that we enjoyed, and getting paid for it," said BG183. TATS stands for Top Artistic Talent Inc., and its blend of street lingo, attitude and hip-hop style are as much a part of the business as the art itself. Diana Garza, spokeswoman for Coca-Cola USA, describes the crew taking a meeting with executives: "They come in all dolled up. I introduce them to a conference room full of button-down types ... typical Brooks Brothers suit types, and they all just stare at these guys." "Then, of course, the subject of 'how do we make ourselves more appealing to the urban market?' comes up, and they have one great idea after another." They are the talent behind the colorful Olympics mural at the World of Coca-Cola in Atlanta and the gigantic Christmas mural in New York for ABC's "World News Tonight" holiday broadcast of 1997. One recent day, over plates of broiled fish and rice at a Mexican-Chinese restaurant under the elevated subway tracks close to their office, Nicer, Bio and BG183 were businessmen, discussing how they made their deals. Bio is the salesman, negotiating with potential clients. Nicer is the ad man, touting their work and their successes. And 34-year-old BG183 - just BG to friends - is the quiet one, listening and often catching the "too-good-to-be-true" nuances of business offers. "It works great that way. Each one of us can focus on a part of the business," said Nicer, a softspoken 31-year-old with paint-stained hands. They won't reveal how much money they make, except to say it's in the six figures a year. They went to Atlanta last month to conclude negotiations with Coca-Cola for a promotion that will take them around the country, Garza said. During a tour of TATS Cru's work from the back seat of the Honda, they pointed out splashes of color on brick buildings: memorial wall murals, tributes to people who died, and advertisements for everything from auto parts to soda pop to alcohol. The TATS Cru trio also keeps a photo album of their hundreds of murals. It's a sales book of sorts, since most clients can't or won't travel to the South Bronx to see their work. Their paintings can cost hundreds or even thousands of dollars and may take days or weeks to complete. Bio does the lettering, Nicer paints background and BG183 does figures, such as faces. "We all do one thing a little bit better. That's how we decide who does what," Nicer said. For store owners, such murals serve two purposes: decorating a dull exterior and fending off would be "taggers." "There's sort of a code. You can't put your tag over somebody else's unless yours is bigger," BG183 explained. "Otherwise, your stuff gets bombed when the other guy gets mad that you messed up his." Paul Chapman, owner of ABC Carpet & Home in the Bronx, hired TATS Cru to paint a mural of his factory's interior on the building's exterior, a broad expanse of whitewashed brick that called to taggers across the city. "We took pictures in sections of the inside while they were working. Then we put them together into one big picture and went with it from there," Nicer said. Chapman has rehired the group several times to touch up the mural, which has faded with time but has been left alone by taggers. Not everybody is sold on the idea of graffiti art. Recently, the three men were painting on a wall around a park when three patrol cars pulled up. A neighbor had called the police and reported them as vandals. "I'm standing there thinking, 'This is like the old days. All these police just rolling up on us,"' Nicer said. It turned out that Bronx borough officials were supposed to get City Hall's permission to have the wall painted. In the end, the city whitewashed the mural. Most of TATS Cru's work can be seen only in poor neighborhoods in big cities like New York, Los Angeles, Miami and Atlanta. But they dream of seeing it one day on billboards in mainstream advertising campaigns. Bio's 2-year-old son recently picked up markers that his dad had left around the house and drew all over the walls. "My wife was really upset, telling me, 'I told you not to leave those markers around,"' Bio said, breaking into a smile. "But I have to tell you, it made me proud. He's following in his father's footsteps." During a recent class at the Point, Johannina Soto slowly traced her name in big, bubbly letters on a sheet of paper, paying attention to the curves of each letter and the star over the "i". "For years, I saw their work all over the place. I used to wonder how they got the colors to go together like in a painting, you know? I never realized that's TATS Cru," said the 17-year-old. "Now, I'm learning from those same guys. That's pretty cool." Mayor Rudolph Giuliani's office said it hadn't heard of TATS Cru. "No one should be teaching anybody how to do graffiti," said spokeswoman Colleen Roche. "Graffiti in and of itself is a crime." Writing and Your Health I'd spent a whole day on a fairly large production. I had this brilliant sensation of a burning throat, chest and stomach. I felt dizzy and sick. This is when I finally realized paint fumes were really starting to get to me. Anyone who has ever done a piece should know afterwards, the colour of your main fill-in, reappears when you blow your nose. If you're saying "yuk.. I don't look at my snot", - let me put it to you another way. Ever painted indoors? If you have, you'll know what I mean by "spray mist". Spray cans let the paint out, and most of that paint lands on your train, wall or whatever, but the gas drifts on outwards.. until it settles. When you're painting, your lungs take in this mist, the inside of your lips and nose absorb it. (Ever seen anyone sniff cocaine?) Paint-toxins can even be absorbed through your skin. (Read anything on aromatherapy baths etc.) Now with this knowledge, think about the ground underneath your piece.. did it ever have a taint of your main colours? A cover of fine, sticky, dusty pigment? Now think about that in your body... Now buy (or rack) yourself a mask, pronto. What Mask? Both filters should fit in, or screw into your mask. Masks themselves are generally made of latex, plastic or rubber, and should strap on tightly enough to stop you inhaling any other way than through the filters. There is usually a simple valve on the mask itself - which allows you to exhale. Filters will continuously "clean" air if they are left in an open space. So when your mask is not in use, keep it in a clean airtight container. (Your mothers tupperware will do ;-) If you ever smell or taste paint through the mask, it's time to change filters. Generally - depending on how much you paint - changing once a year is advisable. There are other, cheaper forms of masks, but these usually only stop dust/mist.. they're meant for sawdust.. not toxic fumes... by all means they're better than nothing - but not good enough. Furthermore Before and after you paint, make sure you eat and drink (preferably water). This should make your body less absorbent to the paint's toxins. Never clean your spray can tips by blowing through them, (this will invariably cover your lips in paint), do it as it says on the can, hold upside down, and spray until only gas comes out. In my case, I think I might of realized just in time. I'd never suffered from asthma before. Now, when I run to catch a train or whatever, I'll quite often end up wheezing and puffing badly. The following extract is quoted from Upski's book "Bomb The Suburbs".
If I haven't influenced you, hopefully this will: MESSAGE TO MARIO: WEAR YOUR MASK We used to have a joke that spray paint was fucking up our memories. A few weeks ago, Mario called me with a new joke. "It wasn't the memory, it was the bladder," he said. "About a year ago I started noticing I had to use the washroom more often. Before I learned to control it, I would urinate in bed even. It kept getting worse. Now, I can't drink anything for two hours before I go to bed. I pee once before bed, then I have to get up again twice during the night" The neurotoxins in spray paint have damaged the part of Mario's brain which produces hormones to control his bladder. The label on any spray can will tell you it can also damage the immune and nervous system, kidney, liver and lungs - the same is true for a lot of markers. Anyone who's gone piecing has felt the slight dizziness, and loss of appetite. Some of us get headaches and nausea. I personally get muscle spasms and my hair is starting to go (one of four writers I know who're early balding). In the long run, who knows? Spray paint could be our Asbestos, our AIDS. Coincidentally, I have a second friend named Mario. This Mario lives on the West Side, and he's at least as much of a graffiti head as the first Mario. He paints at least as much as the first Mario, and has at least as many problems. "All my life, I never used to pick my nose," he told me recently. "Then in 1988, I started having to pick my nose all the time, getting paint-colored snot, scratchy throat, wheezing. Then one time, I did this real big production and I coughed up blood. After that I lost my voice for like a week. Dude, I was scared. I didn't want anybody to know. The doctor told me don't spray paint no more. I kept doing it, and my symptoms kept getting worse. I stutter... I get a tightness in my eye, twitches in my wrist... Dude, I get major, major headaches... The worst part is, I feel like I'm getting stupider; I can't articulate myself as well as I used to be able to... I think I'm addicted to doing graffiti, I fiend for it. Graffiti is my life. I feel like I might have to die for it." I have to admit, death by graffiti sounds like an honorable way to go out. I dream of it myself. But isn't that giving up at the game, copping out at the challenge of life: the challenge to be stronger, smarter, healthier, better than we thought we could be. The challenge to survive. Mario, I don't want to visit you in the hospital or at the cemetery, and I don't want you to visit me there. Sometime in life, I too may have to cough up blood, lose my hair, or to lose my mind because of the painting I've done. But I ain't going out like no sucker. When I use spray paint, I do everything to dilute the toxins and keep them out
of my body. I eat before and after painting, use the wind to avoid inhaling fumes, steer
clear of other toxins, refuse to paint indoors, and refuse to go out unless I really care
about the piece. Most of all, I wear gloves and a mask, changing the filters regularly.
I'm wearing that fucker right now. Please wear your mask too, Mario. Both of you. that
shit ain't funny no more." Taken from "Bomb The Suburbs - revised second edition", by William
Upski Wimsatt, published by The Subway And Elevated Press Company. 1994.
ISBN:0-964-38550-3. The book costs $7, and can be ordered from: The Subway And Elevated
Press Co., PO Box 377653, Chicago IL. 60637 USA. [ You can buy filters for your mask mail-order from Xylene FAQ Philly: A place for good wall hunting Artists making bold strokes with city's mural masterpieces by Joe Clark You wouldn't think someone like Stanford-educated Jane Golden would have
anything in common with inner-city dudes like Cornbread, Kool Earl, Disco Duck or Baby
Rock. Golden's a "wall hunter." Golden is coordinator of the Department of Recreation's Mural Arts Program, a nationally acclaimed program which has transformed graffiti-scarred walls and blighted areas into artistic and scenic "oases." Since the program's inception 13 years ago, 1,775 murals -- from Mantua to Manayunk, Grays Ferry to Germantown, Spring Garden to Swampoodle -- have been painted on city walls, making Philadelphia the largest outdoor gallery in the country. It's open 24 hours, too. And there are more than 3,700 walls in waiting. No wonder the city's been tagged Mural City, U.S.A. In recognition of the program's growing success, Mayor Rendell for the first time proclaimed October Mural Arts Month in Philadelphia. "I never would have guessed this program would be this popular," said Golden, a chatty, effervescent bucket of energy. "What I really find significant is the profound impact art has on people. It makes people care about their neighborhood in a very deep way. Look at the waiting list." "It's incredibly gratifying." It was spelled G-R-A-F-F-I-T-I. When gang warfare died in the late '60s and early '70s, graffiti cropped up, Golden said. Former gang members "could travel through another gang's territory. They wanted to leave their mark wherever they went. It was a way to achieve an identity. They felt they didn't have one." Before long, dozens of names of so-called graffiti artists started appearing on walls throughout the city. "They were good wall hunters," Golden said. "That's one thing we have in common." A few went hunting underground, leaving their mark in subway tunnels. "Two were almost electrocuted," Golden said. "One lost a leg." Eventually, graffiti gangs were formed. They met on weekends in an abandoned building in North Philadelphia. In addition to "tagging" (name-writing), some began drawing scenes from comic books on walls of corner stores. They weren't strokes of genius, but "it was interesting," Golden said. "It was raw talent. They had a flair for art." Jane Susan Golden, 43, was born and raised 50 feet from the beach in Margate, N.J. She started taking painting lessons when she was 8. An art and political science major, she graduated Stanford University in 1978. While working part time at a day-care center, she found "this great wall" on the side of a building just off the beach in Santa Monica. Within a few days, with the owner's permission, Golden was painting a mural of the amusement pier that once stood at the end of the street. When finished, it was dedicated by Jane Fonda. The wall is now a landmark. In 1983, stricken with lupus, a fatiguing, arthritic-like disease, Golden returned home. It was around this time that the city was creating the Anti-Graffiti Network, a grass-roots program aimed at eradicating the growing problem of graffiti. One part of the program was giving the wall writers, many of whom were high school dropouts, an opportunity to study the art of mural painting after they did "scrub time," cleaning their work off walls. Acquiring a high school diploma also was required. Golden became the project's artistic director, teaching art to the graffiti writers after they put in time at the wall. "The first class was packed, standing room only," she said. "It was difficult for them to use a brush. They were used to using a can." By 1990, her class had a waiting list of 500 to 600 repentant wall writers. From this amnesty agreement, the Mural Arts Program evolved. The first mural -- "City Life" -- was painted on the Spring Garden Street Bridge, leading into Mantua in West Philadelphia. "We started in the more impoverished neighborhoods," said Golden, a co-recipient of this year's Philadelphia Award. "The murals are a sign of hope around which neighbors could rally. They're a catalyst for positive change. They change the way people see themselves, their lives, their future." Golden proudly points out that less than 5 percent of the murals are defaced. Unlike the $4,000 mural at the Jardel Recreation Center, in Burholme, that police said was accidentally painted over in September, Golden said when a mural is deliberately vandalized "it's a very painful experience." "It becomes a part of you," said Golden. "You become more attached to a mural than you do your personal work. You become attached to the people in the community. It goes beyond just a piece of artwork." In addition to city funds, the program is supported by public, private and corporate donations. Sometimes, the community where the mural is painted also kicks in, in its own little way. "In some areas where we work, it is very hard for the people to make a contribution," said Golden. "Some people contribute other things, a bowl of soup, a cup of coffee. "We accept whatever kindness may come our way." Brush With Greatness Mike Quintana is still making headlines for spraying three graffiti taggers in the face last fall. Now he's thinking about running for Denver City Council and has even hired a campaign manager. There's just one problem: Quintana lives in Arvada. And his campaign manager lives in Pueblo. "I'm doing this to really do it," insists the vigilante-turned-celebrity, who says he's willing to pack up and move to Denver to take his shot at local politics. "I want to help the community. I feel some of the city councilmen and city councilwomen aren't doing enough for the community." The purported council campaign is only the latest piece of high-profile hucksterism Quintana has engaged in since he achieved instant fame earlier this year. Just a few weeks ago, for instance, he chased a group of alleged taggers off the roof of an auto-repair shop on Federal Boulevard after staking out the place. Some say Quintana is starting to get carried away. "He needs to chill out," says Denver police detective Ray Ruybal. "He's not going to save the city by himself." Quintana says he's tired of being called a vigilante. But he hasn't exactly kept quiet since catching three taggers in the act of defacing the Sloan Lake Boxing Club ("Crime Spray," February 12). After police arrived and put the boys in handcuffs, Quintana lost his cool and sprayed the three juveniles in the face with paint. He now faces misdemeanor assault charges, while the kids -- Joseph Bencomo, Jesse Torres and Juan Baltierra -- got off with a slap on the wrist. Quintana's lawyer, Rowe Stayton, says the case has attracted support from local
cops, who he claims want to see Quintana get off. Ironically, though, Stayton says his
defense will center on proving the cops allowed the incident to happen. "He needs to
chill out. He's not going to save the city by himself." "I'm assuming they [police] will admit they were in control of the crime scene," says Stayton, pointing out that the kids were handcuffed at the time they were sprayed. "They didn't step in, and instead encouraged it. They thought, 'We'll let the property owner reap a little of his vengeance before we haul him in.'" Even teenage tagger Bencomo, who's since been dragged into Quintana's media slipstream, says the police encouraged Quintana's actions. "The cops were standing there," Bencomo claims. "They let it go on for a while." While awaiting his trial, which is scheduled for May 26, Quintana has tried to further his cause by appearing on television and radio talk shows. He even summoned reporters to one of Mayor Wellington Webb's recent town hall meetings, where he spoke about graffiti. There he was invited to join a new graffiti task force the mayor is creating and got to give Webb a public hug. The Sloan Lake gym, which Quintana leases from the city, also received a $10,000 grant from Denver's Safe City program last month. According to Quintana's grandmother, Louise Quintana, the grant covers boxing equipment, telephones and lights. Louise Quintana says the gym has received Safe City money for several years running and that none of the cash will go to promoting her grandson's self-styled crime-fighting. Quintana insists that he hasn't gone overboard since his face-painting exploits were first reported by Westword. "I don't care if other people think it's publicity," Quintana says. "I've taken action toward what I think is right. I don't care what people say. If they think I'm adding more fuel to the fire, let 'em think that. I don't care." The bonfire of media coverage reached its peak on April 23, when Quintana staged a rally at Bencomo's Denver home. At that peculiar gathering, Quintana told reporters that Bencomo has continued to tag his gym, as well as businesses along Federal Boulevard, with the ominous message "Crank Will Destroy You." Unfortunately for Quintana, Bencomo wasn't home at the time, leaving Quintana to shout it out with Bencomo's uncle, Dorion Mondanado, while perplexed neighbors looked on. A few days later Bencomo and his mother, Eleanor, met privately with Quintana and attorney Stayton. Quintana says Bencomo admitted at that meeting that he was responsible for painting "Crank" on the gym wall and says he expected Bencomo to admit as much when the cameras rolled later that evening at yet another press conference. But Bencomo says his understanding was that Quintana was going to apologize to him for accusing him of being the elusive Crank. "He wanted to apologize, let people know I wasn't Crank," says Bencomo. "I never said that I did it." Detective Ruybal adds that Bencomo hasn't been caught doing anything since the incident at the gym. "Unless we have more information -- more than what Mike tells us -- we're not gonna mess with anything," he says. Quintana is incredulous. "He is Crank," insists the graffiti avenger about Bencomo. "There's no doubt in my mind that he is. All my offers to Bencomo are out the window," adds Quintana, who says he planned to help the high-school dropout get back in school if he admitted to the "Crank" prank. "He blew it. He knows and I know what happened that night." Jesse Torres's mother says neither she nor her son is interested in commenting on Quintana. The other gym-tagger, Juan Baltierra, is serving time in the Adams County Youth Services Center, says Ruybal, though Adams County officials say privacy laws prevent them from confirming that. But Baltierra's stepfather, who declines to give his name, says Quintana is pursuing his high-profile publicity campaign in a cynical attempt to promote his gym. "The more they see it's getting attention, the more they go there," he says of neighborhood kids. "That disgusts me that somebody says something like that," Quintana responds. "The gym has been running steadily for nine years. I don't need the publicity. He's crazy." Quintana recently joined Jaymie Vaughn, manager of a Subaru repair shop at First Avenue and Federal, in an effort to ambush taggers by staking out the roof of Vaughn's shop. As Quintana pulled into the lot one night, he saw two kids climbing off the roof. He chased the boys until they ducked into a house and changed clothes. Quintana called the cops and left when officers arrived, figuring they would take care of things. But Ruybal says the two individuals weren't charged. "They were out using the telephone," says Ruybal. "There was no evidence [that they were taggers]." Adds Ruybal, "He's starting to get in our way. We appreciate the help, but if you do it, you have to do it right." Quintana bristles at the criticism, insisting that he pointed the boys out to the officers. "How in the hell can you not charge anyone when I picked them out?" he demands. Even Vaughn says he's not sure what motivates Quintana -- a desire for publicity or a desire to help people. "On the one hand, it seems like a revenge thing for him, but on the other hand, he seems sincere," says Vaughn. The shop owner obviously isn't as fired up about taggers as his new pal: "Graffiti is a problem, but I'm not losing sleep over it," he says. However, some merchants on Federal are grateful for Quintana's effort. "I think the guy deserves a medal," says Alex Katsaunis, owner of the Colorado Cafe at Federal and Speer. "The guy is in the open trying to correct the problem." The cafe has been an easy target for taggers in the last few years but has seen little action in the past few months, though Katsaunis says that may have more to do with taggers "getting tired of painting and painting" than with anything Quintana did. Should he go through with his run for city council, Quintana would presumably go up against Councilman Dennis Gallagher, in whose district the Sloan Lake Boxing Club lies. And even if he actually manages to make it onto the ballot for the May 1999 elections, he'll have his work cut out for him. His campaign, after all, will be run from afar by Steve Martinez, head of the Pueblo chapter of the American Federation of Government Employees union. Martinez admits that preparing Quintana for a serious political campaign "will take some work and some grooming." But Quintana says he's ready to run. "I'll give them my all," he says of his would-be constituents. "I guess to serve and protect them -- that's what I would do."
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