Un ejemplo elocuente de ello es la muestra Art in the Streets, organizada por el MOCA, a la que hay que reconocer el mérito de haber generado polémica en tiempo récord. ¿La razón? La orden de borrar la obra de Blu para una de las paredes externas del museo: un mural frente al L.A. Veterans' Affairs Hospital -para militares retirados- en el que se representaban ataúdes cubiertos de billetes de un dólar.
La decisión ha bastado para sacar a la luz -además del eterno tema de la censura- una rancia retahíla de prejuicios anti-graffiti: vandalismo, basura, anarquía, mal gusto... Algunos se han escandalizado ante los rumores de llevar la exposición a Nueva York. Paradójico, cuando menos, considerando que se trata de una de las mecas del arte urbano.
No conviene perder de vista, sin embargo, que la controversia es la razón de ser de un modo de expresión que vertebra toda una cultura. La lógica del graffiti se define por la expansión y la transgresión; implica cuestionar límites y conquistar espacios; su reproducción doméstica, por el contrario, sólo puede suponer un confinamiento o, en el peor de los casos, una ampliación en sentido inverso, es decir, un proceso de asimilación y desactivación de su lenguaje por parte de la industria cultural.
El problema, maticemos, no es acercarse al graffiti, sino naufragar en su superficie, en la anécdota y en la voluntad de desproblematizarlo. La única aproximación posible suponer admitir dos términos, disensión y conflicto, más allá de la jurisdicción del espacio museístico, por definición ordenado. Si la institución fuese capaz de reconocer sus propios límites, podría contribuir activamente a la exploración de territorios que le resultan ajenos. Pero eso supondría abrir la veda, socavar la jerarquía, poner en tela de juicio los monopolios que controlan la cultura y aceptar las incómodas consecuencias de un verdadero autocuestionamiento.
Suena bien, ¿verdad? A Ben Davis le sobran dos párrafos para explicarlo:
The endless graffiti-as-art versus graffiti-as-vandalism debate is just a displaced version of the fundamental question raised by the tumultuous pluralism of contemporary aesthetics: "what is art?" In the case of graffiti, however, debate over the question is played out on the streets, where the cops and perfectly innocent, aggrieved small business owners get involved. The white cube serves to sterilize and contain the debate over what we call art, transmuting it into a question of abstract taste, when it is in fact a question of rival ideas of how society works, different communities, classes, and cultures. And not every one of these has equal access to the white cube.
The tremendous popularity of shows like "Art in the Streets" goes hand in hand with the troubled issues that haunt them. Not in the sense that controversy attracts media, which attracts crowds -- though I suppose there is some of that. Rather, in the sense that graffiti is a popular art; more people can identify with the illegal route to aesthetic self-expression than can identify with the esoteric route offered by traditional museum culture. Our society has a creative potential too massive to fit in the cramped confines of the official art world, and the attempt to squeeze this energy into these confines naturally exposes this contradiction rather than resolving it, as the fuss around "Art and the Streets" has demonstrated.
Idéntico espacio necesita Nicolas Lampert para meter el dedo en la llaga:
The issue, however, runs deeper. I would guess that Chalfant and Fairey offer up such a marginal criticism of the MOCA censorship issue because they do not want to upset the power brokers of the art world, in this case Deitch. Why play down the criticism? Because Deitch holds the keys to what many street-art stars want: an invitation to be part of "Art in the Streets."
This hat-in-hand goal runs counter to what street art was built upon: rebellion, subculture, transgressions, and railing against power, privilege, and private property. Today, many of the highly visible street artists have gone mainstream. Corporations hire street artists to paint billboard advertisements. Street artists have their own merchandise lines with mass produced t-shirts, hoodies, and skateboards that are churned out of the sweatshops of China and the Global South.
[...]
Look at the Banksy phenomenon. Bansky's work fetches prices of a half million dollars in auction houses, and when he — or one his team of assistants — illegally spray paints a stencil on a city wall, the action is celebrated and valued as art. Conversely, when a teenager from Chicago does the same type of work, he or she can expect a felony charge and public scorn. These types of questions are unlikely to be emphasized in a show that parades the who's who in street art from a handful of the genre's capitals.
Parece que, en efecto, en el graffiti el medio es el mensaje; en su dócil versión de mercado, sin embargo, el dinero es el mensaje.
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