#CMethics: The Art of Vandalism

We stopped and slipped off our bikes. The guide drew our attention to a weatherworn wall. Under a sheet of clear protective plastic, a young girl held an umbrella as rain poured down upon her upturned face, as though falling from within her umbrella’s dome. The surreal image, the guide explained, was the last remaining Banksy piece in the city of New Orleans. All other pieces by the artists had been destroyed. The plastic cover served to protect this lone remaining work from the elements and vandals.

It is ironic that measures were put in place to protect—from vandals, no less—a work of art that was itself vandalism. Whoever owned that building had certainly not given Banksy permission to use his or her property as a canvas, but it is almost certain the image of that forlorn girl has raised rather than lowered the building’s property value.

Banksy is a criminal. However, many of us (myself included) admire his work. In other words, we admire his crimes. But should we? Does his message of social justice excuse the fact that he is essentially defacing public and private property? Does his talent make his actions okay? What about the fact that his work has now been imbued with monetary value?

At which point does graffiti become street art?

If you owned a restaurant or shop and arrived for work one morning to find an entire outer wall of your building plastered with an image you had not requested, how would you react? If you recognized it as a Banksy, you might immediately order up a sheet of clear plastic or bullet proof glass, maybe even find a way to charge people to see your new prize. But what if you didn’t recognize it? What if it had been created by a lesser known street artist/vandal, someone like Miss Me?

Swiss born but raised in France and based in Montreal, Miss Me has been lauded for her work and message but she has yet to achieve Banksy’s renown. Furthermore, her sex-positive, feminist imagery—as much as you might love it (as I do)—might not be so pleasing to your clients

So do you get rid of it? What if you can’t afford to, and what if your sales dry up because of it? Given the opportunity, would you take legal action against the artist? And if you’re willing to keep the Banksy but scuttle the Miss Me, does that make you a hypocrite, an opportunist?

Beauty, of course, is in the eye of the beholder, but what about the law? We like to think creativity has no limits, but its application certainly does. So maybe that is the inherent value in the works of artists like Banksy and Miss Me: their ability and willingness to test those limits, to stretch and reshape the boundaries of “acceptable” creativity.

Written by Andre Farant

Illustration by Stefano Di Lollo.