We don't get a whole lot of graffiti in rural Vermont. Maybe a few colorful underpasses. Once a cow was tagged in Hinesburg, and it was a really big deal at town meeting.
In Otavalo you can't miss the ubiquitous looping arcs of aerosol paint on cement -- graffiti is everywhere you look -- and so is cement. All these pent-up teenage Picassos with spray-cans, and miles and miles of blank canvas -- it must be tough for them to hold back. Mostly they don't.
The first type of graffiti you'll probably notice are the many declarations of love sprayed all over any wall, but particularly the walls surrounding the plethora of high-schools in the city. And there must be dozens of collegios judging from the hordes of different uniform-sporting, faux-hawk gelled, big belt-buckled youth that flood the streets of The Centro after 1 PM eating popsicles and salchipapas (hot dogs on fries, best with a slathering of mayo). By the way, I no longer buy the argument that uniforms stifle creativity.
The amorous spray painted missives generally follow this pattern: Te amo [girl's name here] attn: [guy's nick-name here, such as Chino, Gordo, Kichy, or some such nom-de-spume]. Some of the Te amos are quite elaborate, the extent of which is surely in proportion to the randiness of the painter. This type of tagging is much like a form of passing notes in class (check "yes" if you like me…) -- or something like online dating, where the "attn" seems to follow the business letter form: "If you like my "te amo," please respond to box # 35. As to whether this wooing is effective or not, I will base my hearty "hell yeah" on two pieces of evidence: the fact that kids keep practicing this form of vandalism-courtship and the booming population of small children with young parents. (Yes, I am aware of the correlation between affluence and birth-rate.)
As for the painted love-letters, I wonder whether the object of the painter's desire is self-conscious about the public displays of affection. But then there must be some comfort in the number of them. You simply can't walk for more than 3 blocks without seeing some form of "I love you so-and-so" on a wall. While the typical teenager here is afforded significantly more independence than their North American counterparts, few if any kids here are going home to an empty house while a single mom or dad works. There is a far higher tolerance for far less space. As a result, a whole lot of canoodling takes place out of doors -- in parks, on benches, on streets leaning against shops, behind bushes, on soccer pitches, and so on (more circumstantial evidence of the efficacy of graffiti declarations).
The other uber common type of tag is simply a name: Sharry, Bryan, Jairo, Darwin, etc. I've said this before, but I'm stuck by the number of North American Anglo-sounding names: Jonathan, William, Jenny -- even Justyn. Then there are the historical signifiers, like the aforementioned Darwin -- which makes sense with Ecuador's Galápagos region -- as well as gringo presidents Jefferson and Washington, tempered with a Lenin here and there as well as a smattering of Che stencils. These tags are simple declarations of one's existence, existential scrawlings into wooden desks. "So-and-so was here," as if the "was here" weren't implied in the name itself. In Ecuador, usually just the name will do. Tamía y sus amigas expresses more than just the name; Tamía was here, and she had the paint and hutzpah to announce it on the wall a block down from the main bus terminal.
One step up from the names are the real tags, an elaborately cryptic blend of letter and image so that you can barely read it if you're not fluent in graffiti. There are a fair amount of these, inspired surely by hip hop culture in the US. There's a lot more of it -- and better quality in Quito, but Otavalo has some talented painters to work on the walls, whether you call it a crime or art (or both). Along those lines, there seems to be a high tolerance for all types of wall art. Like a lot of the trash on the ground, no one seems to deal with it, not immediately at least. (Yes, I would call some of the wall-scribbles garbage, but not all, not by a long-shot.) Whether on a commercial or municipal building or private property, much of the paint is left to fade in the equatorial sun. Some are, however, whitewashed -- which of course is just a fresh new canvas for the next guy.
Less common but much more potent are the political statements: "dirty pigs," "who's more the terrorist -- the USA of Afghanistan?," "Go away, Imperialist North American," and my favorite, "compost" (which I most certainly take both a directive and as a political statement). I don't mind a little rabble-rousing, even when I'm the target audience. I would, however, prefer not to be shot or receive an airmail molotov cocktail, both of which are more likely in Burlington, VT than Otavalo, Imbabura. As far as imperialism goes, you can see the cultural version of it at work in Otavalo, graffiti being one of its manifestations. Oh, the irony. For further examples of soft imperialism see fast-food, Hollywood, and internet games.
At the risk of reading too much into the writing on the wall, there's a sort of narcissistic zenness to this activity. There's an immediate expression, a public one nonetheless. No one seems to think, oh no my design isn't ready for the public, so I'll keep honing my craft in obscurity… or, it's probably not cool to write on this wall in a public space. Whether it's masonry, carpentry, grouting, or murals for that matter -- Ecuadorians don't seem to dwell or hesitate on a drip or a mistake; they just go for it, and then move on to the next thing, in an unhurried and casual way. Maybe he'll touch it up later. This is not to say that there aren't master craftsmen -- the masons here are particularly talented, from what I can tell. Add to that the fact that most buildings are hand-crafted, from mixing cement with a shovel to throwing it on the facade.
There are some elaborate and excellent murals on walls here as well, but some of my favorite works follow that zen painting, haiga. "Like the poetic form it accompanied [haiku], haiga was based on simple, yet often profound, observations of the everyday world." Characterized by minimum brushstrokes and elegance through simple lines, the analog for the contemporary Otavaleño graffiti artist is the haiga painter of feudal Japan. With few lines they evoke a complex set of feelings. Aliens and monsters, twisted humanoids, and gangsta bros are popular, but my favorite is a simple line drawing of Volcán Imbabura with a sun half hidden behind it.
Like a lot of the art I like, it's hard for me to explain why. Still, I can say that I like how something static seems to move. And I like how so few lines can evoke a sense of place. It's both stylized and easily recognizable. It's at once a symbol of the thing and the thing itself, weird as that is. Imbabura represents Otavalo; it looms over at once immediate and distant. I've noticed, too, that the further away you get from it, the bigger it seems. Maybe this is because it's hard to take in a mountain when you live on the side of it. Good old perspective. As for that, I assume that Imbabura oversaw the Inca, too, when they were making declarations of love on their walls.
Like a lot of the art I like, it's hard for me to explain why. Still, I can say that I like how something static seems to move. And I like how so few lines can evoke a sense of place. It's both stylized and easily recognizable. It's at once a symbol of the thing and the thing itself, weird as that is. Imbabura represents Otavalo; it looms over at once immediate and distant. I've noticed, too, that the further away you get from it, the bigger it seems. Maybe this is because it's hard to take in a mountain when you live on the side of it. Good old perspective. As for that, I assume that Imbabura oversaw the Inca, too, when they were making declarations of love on their walls.
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