Breaking the Law of Art (And the Law in General)

As the sun goes down and the creative energy of the day fizzles, most artists step back from their work, recharging for tomorrow’s inspiration. But for some, the real art is only just kicking off. As shadows stretch across the city, cans of spray paint are stashed in backpacks, and whispered plans for location circulate. 

Massey Fine Arts student and graffiti artist Mark* started graffitiing in high school. He says he's been “messing around with a pen since I was 16”. He's spent nights with his mates, running around Wellington city skating, painting, and avoiding the police. 

But three months ago, Mark and his friends were caught red-handed. They were arrested, and now await their final court hearing to determine their fate.  

Ever since graffiti began decorating the streets, the world has been caught up in a debate about the practice. Is it art or vandalism?  

Graffiti was introduced in Aotearoa in the 1980s when American hip-hop documentary Style Wars arrived in NZ theatres. The film explores the early hip-hop scene in New York City, focusing heavily on graffiti. It captures the raw energy of young graffiti artists, offering a rare view into graffiti as an art form and rebellion.  

Style Wars inspired generations of Kiwis who saw themselves in the documentary’s artists. Aotearoa graffiti pioneers such as Darryl Thompson (DLT) and the Smooth Inc crew decorated their communities and inspired youth to pick up a can. 

Despite the art form continuing into the 21st century and still inspiring hundreds, many see it as trashy.  

The Post revealed that between March 2024 to February this year, the Wellington City Council have already spent nearly half a million ($581,309) taking down graffiti across the city.  

Up in Auckland, their council spends at least four million dollars removing graffiti per year, according to RNZ.  

When Mark first started studying Fine Arts at Massey, he wanted to keep his graffiti separate from his studies. However, he struggled to distinguish the two. Mark's peers and lecturers struggle to understand how to approach his work.  

“A lot of the lecturers aren’t as keen on it,” he says. 

The Fine Arts world has always thrived on exclusivity. The reason it rejects graffiti lies in the very thing that makes it powerful – accessibility. Joining the scene is easy. All you need is a can of spray paint, a wall, and the guts to use them. Graffiti can’t be bought or sold. And in a world where art is often measured by its price tag, that makes it dangerous. 
 
In The Guardian, British art critic Jonathan Jones described graffiti as “a pretentious subcultural backbeat” and “ugly, stupid and threatening”. But let’s be real. An old upper class art critic isn’t exactly the target audience for the anti-authority, hip-hop culture practice of graffiti. 

What might surprise most is how many graffiti artists aren’t jumping to defend their work as an artform. When Mark was asked whether he considered his painting as art or vandalism, he laughs, “Fuck probably vandalism aye.” 

While Mark might not defend graffiti as art, he does emphasise how undoubtedly fun it is. The lifestyle and community around the practice is what makes it worthwhile. 

“Most people are addicted to the missions you go on, the things you get up to, and the crazy yarns.” 

But these mischievous missions can turn into a criminal record.  

After being caught graffitiing three months ago, Mark and his friends are currently awaiting their final court hearing. In Aotearoa, the common punishment for vandalism is a $2000 fine. But for serious or repeat offenses, artists can face three months of jail. 

Not only were Mark and his group caught in the act, but the police also seized Mark’s camera. He says that this has “hours of footage with everyone's face in it of us painting”.  

But he’s more concerned about his camera than his punishment, “I just want my camera back.”  

Of course, illegality is something to consider when questioning graffiti as an artform. But artists pushing boundaries is nothing new. With the right regulations put in place, lecturers, art students, law enforcement, and street artists could reach a middle ground. 

But a key factor that is often missed in the art or vandalism debate, is the process of graffiti. Graffiti is a process art.  

In the mid-1960s, artists like Richard Serra, Lynda Benglis, and Eva Hesse sparked the process art movement as a rebellion against minimalist art. Process art emphasises the act of creation itself — the materials, actions, and techniques involved in making the work. It’s about focusing on the exercise and not the outcome.  

The process art movement is becoming more respected, so much so that it is now studied in Massey's own Fine Arts classes. 

You can’t analyse graffiti by looking only at the paint left on the wall. You must see and understand the operation, the enactment, the procedure.  

Mark says, “It is so much more about the action of doing it than the outcome.” 

Graffiti deserves a new lens — one that sees it not just as art, but as a ritual. As Mark puts it, “Every time I go for a paint, I’m not looking for attention from anyone else apart from the other people that paint. We do it for ourselves, but make it look nice for other writers.” 

Questioning the validity of spray paint on a wall misses the point. The real story lies in the process — How did they get up there? What paint did they use? Did they get caught? 

While most may determine what art is worth by a price on a gallery wall, graffiti artists make the shadow of the night, the people, and the process their price tag.  

*Name changed for anonymity