Up on the roof, there is nobody but Song Wei. He focuses on his clean patch of wall, from time to time shaking the can, a sound like dice clacking in a tin pot.

Wearing a white T-shirt, black jeans and black sneakers, Song faces his illegal canvas. He stands tall, alone, in the mid-day sun atop the flat roof of a Xiaogan University building in the city of Xiaogan, Hubei Province.

The white wall already contains colorful doodles: a human face, Chinese characters and English letters, some by Song, a 20-year-old college student from Hubei Province, some by others.

An aroma like strawberry bubblegum pervades the air. "I used to really love sniffing that smell," he says. "But somebody warned me not to smell too much. It's really bad for your health."

Song bought a mask to protect himself from the toxic gas many years ago. The mask lasted a few years, but it cost him 170 yuan ($25) – nearly one third of his monthly living costs. He has not replaced it since.


Beijing graffiti on June 30, 2009. Graffiti is much more popular with young people than 10 years ago and advertisers have been quick to swoop, according to former graffiti artist Zhang Dali. Photo: AFP
A dozen industrial paint spray cans lie on the ground. Each cost seven or eight yuan. Song will need at least seven cans for this work. While imported cans might make for brighter, fresher colors, they also cost about five times more.

He scribbles a five-meter wide outline in a relatively blank space on the wall. Although far from complete, the squiggle is recognizable as three one-meter high Chinese characters: zuo zi ji. Be yourself.

Being yourself

The officious knock startled Zhang Dali on a sultry Beijing summer night of 1997. He opened the door and a policeman barged into his home, he told Guangzhou-based newspaper Southern Weekend.

"You did the painting?" the officer reportedly told him.
"No," Zhang said and immediately regretted his reply. The policeman hadn't even mentioned which painting he meant.

"My hasty reply was like an admission of guilt," Zhang said.
"Who do you think we are?" the policeman said. "We know everything."
It was not long before Zhang confessed yes, he was indeed the man who had painted tu ya, or graffiti, for the last two years.

What was the graffiti for?

Was it anti-government?

Was it an organization or a group that did it?

The interrogation continued as Zhang explained he was a graduate of the China Central Academy of Fine Arts and no, the graffiti was simply a personal expression. It had nothing to do with politics, he insisted.
"That was the worst time because nobody knew or understood graffiti," Zhang said. "But now it's cool and popular with young people, quickly adopted as an advertising tool, losing its original function of self-expression."

Zhang finally quit graffiti in 2007.

Advertising

More than 10,000 square meters of graffiti was painted on walls all over Beijing at the 2008 city graffiti contest, sponsored by Beijing's Spiritual Civilization Office and Radio Beijing.

They chose the topic: the Olympic Games. They chose the location: usually near schools or on main streets. All participants were required to hand in a sketch outline to organizers before the contest, according to Wang Chong, a worker at Radio Beijing. The censorship was to prevent vulgar words and pictures, he said.

The latest contest took place on June 8 at a 500-meter wall of the Beijing Institute of Technology. More than 500 artists painted more than 100 artworks, with the organizers supplying free materials. Most participants were college students, but some professional graffiti crews also joined in.

Graffiti crew ABS painted 30 meters of graffiti Duo Nan Xing Bang (Trials and Tribulations Serve Only to Revitalize a Nation) to commemorate the trials of China through 2008. The work was even hailed by Premier Wen Jiabao as a boost for people who suffered in the Sichuan earthquake.

"Everything costs money. How can the artist paint if he can't survive?" says Seven, a member of ABS. "But sometimes I feel like I am being used."

He refuses to reveal his real name and uses Seven as his tag. He tells the Global Times hundreds of people practice graffiti in China, but less than 100 might be counted as real graffiti artists.

"Graffiti has nothing to do with city beautification, and shouldn't be used as advertising," he says.

"It's self-expression and personal art practice. Western graffiti might bomb the streets with tags and fiery speeches, but it is just a new form of painting for China's artists and young people."

"Rather than vent anger, I paint for art's sake," he laughs. "Maybe calling graffiti 'art' satisfies my vanity."

【1】 【2】