Florentine beauties get face-lift - The Florentine

www.theflorentine.netVoices on the wallLife in Italy19Thursday 25 January 2007Current ISSUESDear The Florentine,There has been a lot of talk in Italy about the‘problem’ of graffiti in and around city centers. Thetalk tends to be biased and focus on things suchas tourism (and negative impressions), punishment,and ways to stop the problem of graffiti.Very seldom or perhaps never has there been apublished article written from the perspective ofthe graffiti writers. I sincerely hope you can helpme change that. I am a native Florentine and agraffiti artist. I have constructed a letter of explanationto your audience wishing to extinguishcertain assumptions and hoping to provide firmfooting on which to create a new opinion. I’d liketo give clear information, without censorship. Ihope to help shed a different shade of light on thesubject. In an unfortunate state of expurgation,I have found that this may be the only voice Ihave. Thank you for your consideration, understanding,and open mindedness.—NamelessYou probably wouldn’t recognize me if yousaw me, but you always walk by with a smuglook of disdain when you see what I have done.Perhaps you where sleeping when I snuck out atnight, armed with a can of spray-paint, a mask, amessage and the desire to do what I love to do.There is something about the way the paint hissesout of the can in meticulous lines and the way itstains the stones, running down in sloppy dropsas if the walls were bleeding thousands of yearsof history. They bleed for Florence, they bleed myhistory, the history of my family and my children.It is a history I hope to change for the better, eventhough few listen, and even fewer understand.I apologize for shaking you out of a fantasy,dear Reader, but I wish to introduce myself in atruer light. I am, to put it plainly, a graffiti artist,although I prefer the name political writer. I amtwenty-nine yeas old, a semi-professional soccerplayer, a writer for a website I myself created, anda college student as well. What I am not is a sillychild with misplaced anger who happened upona can of spray-paint at an opportune moment. Iam a Florentine sharing a culture, a child whowas raised with stories of political complicationand strife, and I have grown up bearing witnessto the fact that my city and country are becoming,in my opinion, an amusement park—a land ofdead and enshrined ruins.I know that when many visit Florence, theydon’t understand the signs and symbols I createtogether with so many others that glare nearlynaked on the wall before them. These people goto the Uffizi, or the Strozzi Palace to see infamousart, to see a historical Italy that has long since flatlined into a dying nation. They are blind to Italy’scurrent situation until the anarchist, fascist,or Nazi symbols scream on a wall before them,‘THERE IS SO MUCH YOU DON’T KNOW!’But there is so much more to discover and theissues underlying these messages are both politicaland social.Politically speaking, Italy has always beenin a constant state of what I like to term ‘pingpongpolitic,’ tossing responsibility back and forthbetween parties and political ideologies. We havegone from fascist control (under Mussolini) tothe other side of the spectrum, Communism dueto an alliance with Russia. We have alternatedbetween what can be coined ‘Christian Democracy’(which lacked democratic freedom in itself),to the Italian Social Movement and their varioussubcultures (including Fronte della Gioventù—aparty that fits my personal beliefs).Now we are stagnant, loitering somewherein the middle of spectrum, abandoning extremistthinking trying to fit somewhere meant toappeal to those too fed up to adopt either side.The names, faces, dates and terminology used inthe politics are countless. What is most importantare the inconsistencies in government thatthe Italian people have faced—the suffocatingsilence enforced by most officials, and the deathand pain wrapped within the wrong political alliances.But when I write, I write for more than thisreason. I write to express my frustration in aworld where illegal immigrants come to Italy tostart a better life, but end up complicating economicsand the daily living of the Italian people.My graffiti is about this, it is about me, becausethese are the reasons I am unable to find a job,and these are the reasons I struggle but can’tseem to make it on my own.I do not write without fear of retribution.The current penalty for my actions (if caught) isimprisonment and 2,500 Euro fine, not to mentionmassive social implications which include butare not limited to inability to find employment. Ihave heard that some have suggested designatinggraffiti sites (moveable panels dispersed amongcities). Milan, Rome, and Florence have allbrought this option to the table, although it willdo little to solve the problem. Perhaps it wouldserve those who make artistic graffiti, thosewith bright chubby letters and a signed name.But what I do—what the problem is—is a differentthing entirely. Those initiatives seem like justanother way to enforce silence, to pacify thosewith unrest, without taking the time to honestlyunderstand what was written in the first place.I am not asking for your approval, just anunderstanding. Me and others like me are theliving breathing composite of Florence: the cityyou and I love so much. We are the people thatserve you coffee, the men driving your taxis, andthe ones teaching your children—the very bloodthat keep the city running. I just wish better forItaly and its citizens, and I wish for a day whenI can look at Florence through the same lens ofadoration as you, and others like you. I want tobe one of those who see Florence as a land ofpossibilities and wander through, a functioningsociety, that despite normal qualms, is able andtruly alive.Seminars at