Graffiti
:: MONSTERS OF ART
Words and images 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.
;)
;)
;)