SCRAWLS ON THE WALLS: Graffiti and Muralism in Mexico City
by Lina Katz

by Diego Rivera
Since the 1920s, when Diego Rivera depicted his country's history with sweeping brush strokes on city-walls, muralism has been an integral part of the way Mexicans express themselves and their culture. Rivera, along with muralists David Alfaro Siqueiros and Jose Clemente Orozco, are often referred to as "The Three Greats of Mexican Muralism." Together, they painted and directed the painting of thousands of murals, converting bare public spaces into vibrant forums for raising awareness and cultivating communities.

Muralists Felipe Ehrenberg and Daniel Manrique participated in a resurgence of Mexico's muralist movement in the 1970s. Although influenced by the Three Greats, they forged their own artistic philosophies and styles, drawing on contemporary influences and events. With the invention of the spray-can in the late 1900s, writing on walls took on a different form and meaning in Mexico. Rawer in execution and expressive of a younger, more urban subculture, the art-from became known as graffiti. Ehrenberg and Manrique's generation of muralists find little connection with their work and this new form of spray-can muralism, while graffiti artist Pedro Van Lenger insists his work is an evolution of traditional Mexican muralism.

Ehrenberg sits at his kitchen table in his home in Mexico City.
Felipe Ehrenberg takes a deep drag of his cigarette, and then stubs it out, adding it to the already overflowing pile of cigarette butts in the ashtray that sits atop his kitchen table. His round fingers, adorned with tattoos of ornate bones, light another cigarette, and pull the fire-tip to his lips.


Born in a small village which has since been swallowed whole by Mexico City, Ehrenberg considers himself a General Practitioner of art, and refuses to let himself be categorized or defined. As a practitioner of public and performance art, He views art as a dialogue betwen two people. "The Maker and the Watcher become accomplices," says Ehrenberg. "The Maker just initiates it. For the Watcher, the work of art never stops growing."

Community involvement in art is vital for Ehrenberg. In the late 1970s, he formed a group called Grupo Processo Pentagono along with several other artists. Together, they painted and directed the painting of hundreds of murals throughout Mexico, using traditional and contemporary mediums. Although he has used a spray can in his creations, Ehrenberg distances himself from being called a graffiti artists.
I never called it graffiti art. I just called it art. I didn't do graffiti," he says. "I did it on the walls, and I thought it was very logical to use spray cans," he says, taking a long drag off of his cigarette.

Ehrenberg prepares looks through recent figure drawings.

"Giant companies created a tool--the spray can. After a while, people learned sophisticated ways of using spray cans, that these companies never thought possible," he says. "The tool is being appropriated by different clientelle, who "deface" whole cities. That marking of a city's skin bothers one part of the population, but to another part, it establishes all sorts of codes and messages."

For Ehrenberg, the quality of graffiti ranges from "a dog pissing on a wall to a very sophisticated works of art." For Ehrenberg, graffiti art and murals have very different purposes, even though both are public expressions of art. Whereas traditional murals are signed by the creator, graffiti pieces are typically signed with a "tag" or pseudonym. "Mural artists get empowered or commissioned by their community," he says. "Graffiti artists feel empowered. They take over a wall."

Traditional muralism is informed by a long tradition of specialized skills, such as the fresco and mosaic-creation. Whereas graffiti artists have only claimed sophisticated skills as of the invention of the spray can. "They made art history, but they didn't draw from it," he says.

Still, Ehrenberg does see some validity in sophisticated graffiti art. "Graffiti artists pull from their surroundings, which artists have always done," he says. "Art is a biological need for humans and graffiti is one way that people meet that need."

Manrique poses in front of 1999 mural in painted in Tepito.

Wearing only black, Daniel Manrique stands in stark contrast to his vibrantly colored murals.

Throughout his 60 years, he has painted hundreds of murals throughout Mexico City. A native of Tepito, Manrique feels drawn to paint the familiar scenes of his childhood. He also celebrates the lives of those who work with their hands. "I paint the shoemaker, welders, bedmakers and mechanics," says Manrique. "All their work is done without official schooling."

Although he is one of Mexico's most famous living muralists, Manrique does not respect the work of Siqueiros, Orozco or Rivera. "I understand Rivera was an excellent painter, but he didn't create anything," he says. "He was an excellent learner, but he didn't leave anything new behind."


Manrique's vibrantly colored murals often depict the struggles of laborers and slaves.
Manrique separates graffiti from muralism. He believes that even good graffiti artists may have good technique, but their work lacks content. "I can't take graffit seriously," he says. "It's just messing around."






Van Lenger talks on a pay phone in Mexico City, near a graffiti wall.

On a chilly night in October 1996, Pedro Van Lenger was illuminated only by the moonlit sky, as he spray-painted a wall in La Condesa, Mexico City. The only sound around him came from the intermittent rattle and hiss of a spray can as it spewed paint in fine lines and bursts.

"A graffiti wall is a mural in my opinion," says Pedro Van Lenger. This particular graffiti wall was painted in remembrance of Mexico’s 1968 UNAM Massacre and depicted a snake in a dove’s claws, surrounded by Zapatistas.

V
an Lenger has painted both commissioned murals and self-commissioned graffiti walls. The difference, he says, is mostly permanence. "Graffiti is more temporary than a mural," he says. "Since the work is not commissioned and is often illegal, no one owns it." Graffiti artists knows their work may be buffed over by authorities or property owners the day after they throw it up on the wall, creating a different impetus for creation than is the seed for most artists who hope to gain notoriety through eventual exhibition.

Van Lenger’s La Condesa wall has since faded and has been tagged over by other graffiti artists and gangs. Unconcerned about his own work’s transience, Van Lenger believes in this dialogue that public art, including graffiti, inspires in a community.

 
Colofrul grafifiti covers many of Mexico City's walls., representting symbols of youth and underground culture.

This young graffiti artist and muralist defends his craft against the anti-graffiti sentiments of some of his predecessors, like Daniel Manrique. He attributes Manrique’s harsh judgments to a "generation gap" and insists that graffiti walls often have sophisticated political messages. In 1997, Van Lenger traveled to San Miguel, where he spray-painted a war zone scene in protest of human rights violations happening in Chiapas. The wall-turned-canvas depicted body parts, a severed head, clustered dollar-signs in the shape of bushes and a river of blood dripping to the wall’s edge.

Van Lenger recognizes graffiti’s validity, even if the works explore an artist’s immediate environment, rather than political or historical themes. "Murals are supposed to have educational content," says Lenger. "Graffiti has that, even if it’s just paintings of Cadillacs and weed. That’s still valuable information. It creates a dialogue and brings it out there."

For Van Lenger, graffiti is not only expressive of a particular community, it is also reflective of contemporary artistic trends. "Look at modern art. No one paints Rubens anymore. Modern art is so distorted, like Rothko," says Van Lenger. "Similarly, graffiti is an evolution of Rivera’s muralism."