Vandalism; an exciting game played in three adventures.

I began spraypainting a long time ago. In and out oif it over the years it took a new significance when I realised that it could express the way that I ferlt personally, aesthetically and politically. So when I returned o this city in the summer I was intent on criminal damage. It was after all not only an intervention into the visual environment of the cityscape, an area dominated by commerce with their advertising and neon, but also a concrete assault which cost my 'vitims' money to erase. I found a car supplies shop with an unscrupulous governor who must have known exactly what was going on as over the weeks, I and my compagneros visited regularly to pick up cans of paint . He never blinked an eyelid as he gave us discounts due to our regular custom, despite the fact that we clearly didn't have a car but had spray paint on our fingers in an area recently covered by our daubings. I tried to combine as many aspects of my personality into these dawn jhouneys around the city, running down alleyways and sidestreets; there were stencils in a sequence: stop, power, pause, play, each accompanied by their respective technical symbol. They were ambivalent, vague. The urbanity of the industrial design was technological and sterilised , reeked of a purge of humanity, these were the signifiers of the functional. On the other hand the commands themselves lost all sense of the imperative and utilitarian, sprayed on grey walls they stood out defiantly, appealiing to the spirit, words that could raise a thousand different questions. STOP, POWER, PAUSE, PLAY a demand to others to reflect on why it is that so often we are mechanical than any machine in accepting a role as cogs in the slow death of the murderous work-leisure- money routine. Then there was the tag. This was my individual act, territorial but anonymous , it's quick to paint and allows you to inflict the maximum of material damage in the minimum of time. It's also an agent of communication to the other sprayers in the city who may not immediately identify themselves with my other work. The tag is our morse code, our beacon to the others fighting on the visual battlefield, whom I respect for their relentlessness and the risks they take. The tag is important to our fragmented community as it is our acknowledgement of one another in recognition and respect. I wanted these people to know that I existed and that I felt solidarity with them. There is something almost tender when you tag a fresh street or becoming wall and return the next week to find ten or twelve others have signed onm as well, without spraying over one another's emblems these become companions and in their anonymity they are like kisses blown in the air. Often I will leave a stencil and a tag beside onme another so that the others will begin to build up the associations and hopefully be inspired to diversify themselves. Lastly there are the slogans of more explicit political or cultural content. As a child I carved, painted and biroed IRA all over the place. It seemed as natural then as now that grafitti be a weapon in politixcal confrontation. More recently, inspired by the Zapatista rebellion which began on New Years eve 1994 and their message to the world that demanding the impossible was not without hope, I chose to try and raise awareness or at least curiousity about their story. EZLN, DESTROY ALL PRISONS, VIVA ZAPATA, SUPPORT THE REVOLT IN MEXICO, these were the most simple gestures I could make to arouse interest. Of course it is impossible to convey any of their ideas in this way but the purpose was not to persuade ideologically, rather it was to encourage the curious weho felt an affinity with echoes of resistance to investigate the everyda heroes fighting the state from the mountains of the Mexican South-East. This was in the context of a series of meetings and the diffusion of litterature which we undertook at the same time and it was a pleasure to see that we had some impact. It first became clear that it was not simply a matter of arty gallavanting around town on a cool summer's night when a friend and I went out to put up some stencils and spray around the south side of the city centre. It was down on the Ranelagh road near Charlemont Bridge where we were initally noticed by the cops. I had sprayed Viva Zapa when Day spotted the car and we picked up our things to walk down the road as though we were just going about our businness. They purred across the road as we passed Norhtbrook Avenue and the window peeled down. Excuse I said top them as we walked around the car, by our composure and accent they were appeased and we made our way off. We switched track and decorated the smaller streets around Mount Pleasant and Rathmines where there is not so much traffic and more alleys to escape wouldbe -pursuers. A short time later the same cop car rolled by, they checked us out again. Why were we still around the area? Wearing bomber Jackets and hats we made ourselves stand out, ill-advisedly. We had more pretensions to make up for not being the dangerous substance we wished to be. But the hours went by and we were tiring, Day's watch said three o'clock so we decided to hit home. By the canal T recalled my unfinished job which had begun the intrigue. I had to complete Zapa..ta so that there would be no misunderstanding! Passing the stencils to Day we agrreed to rendez-vous back at the house for a celebratory joint. As I approached the bridge the car cruised by again, slowly, they wanted me this time but they were on a one way street on the wrong side of the canal. Allowing a few moments for them to advance enough to create a little distance, thus compelling them to cross a different path, I reckoned that there was just enough time to speed over and finish the task. I began to run. Beside McGovern's metals and its alleyway, I did the deed. Relieved .....then in the same instant I felt thwe beam of the lights 9on my ass and turned to find the squad car centred on me. Break. Up the alley at fifty miles an hour; the car mounted the pavement and pursued. Mount pleasant is a difficulkt little estate with many bollards but just as many short cul de sacs, it would have been easy to be cornered. At the end of the alley I had about thirty yards on them, I swung right my head spinning, but remained intent on escape; this was an easier rod for them and there were almost on me when I darted to right again and they were late missing the turn, precious metres. Back down to the Ranelagh Rd and they were on my course again. Straight over the road, quick right, quick left, spray can ejected into a front garden, Northbrook Rd. I see a wall and realise I am momentarily out of their sight, over wall, I bounce on my toes back against the concrete, the cold eases the hot sweat all over my body, quiet.... A car purrs upslowly somewhere on the other side of my hideout. I recognise that engine. Silent now. A door opens,and two heavy shoes echo on the pavement. No breathing. A moment. The door slams shut, my eyes close and my head rings, snowballing adrenalin and areosol fumes. The car fucks off.