Graffitti and the single voice

The course of history has often been shaped by a single voice. That voice, brave enough to speak out, to spread an alternative view on the way things are and how they should be.

It was with disappointment though that I heard such a voice waste its opportunity to say something that may just have inspired thousands and altered the direction of so many lives. I was on a bus in Sunderland and happened to pass a road sign which had some graffiti sprayed in the bottom right-hand corner. An opportunity had been recognised and snatched with both hands, I thought. Thousands of people must pass this sign every day and a large percentage of them must glance up and read it. All of those people would read the graffiti and if poignant or philosophical enough, could change those people open to change. It was the equivalent of posting a Minions Meme on Facebook and getting gullible people to share it even though the content isn't factual. Someone with something to say had an opportunity to spread a message of solidarity, peace, love or even a phone number to claim compensation for an accident at work which wasn't your fault.

I thought that the bringer of this message must have something pretty desperate to communicate if they decided to risk their life, spraying a message 8 feet from the ground near a busy road. Because of the height of the graffiti, they must have interrupted their daily schedule and made a special effort to bring a can of spray paint and a small step ladder with them. When they got there, they climbed up, shook the can and sprayed the word “poo” in red lower-case letters.

The graffiti in the photo above isn't the one I'm talking about; the one above needed to be done. The 'P' was already there just aching for two o's to be added. The graffiti I saw, was entirely the product of what was stirring in the 'artists' soul. Either they :

a) Got up their ladder and forgot what they were going to write and sprayed the first thing that came into their head in a “many people in cars watching me” induced panic or

b) It was completely premeditated and “poo” is indeed what was going on in their head. They couldn't sleep at night; the only cure was buying a can of red spray paint and finding an appropriate canvas.

Whatever the reason for this need to express themselves with little grace or eloquence, I'd like to think someone planned this meticulously and didn't just pass by one day and 'wing it'.

There must also be another group of people who fall into the ‘extreme graffiti artists’ category. I’ve often looked up at railway bridges with graffiti on the sides and wondered how they got up there to do it bar your mate dangling you over the side by your legs.

You must have something particularly weighty on your mind to contemplate hiring some scaffolding, a crane and an array of cans of neon-bright spray paint. Invariably though, they always end up spraying something like ‘Bazza was ‘ere 97’.

Having thought about the ‘poo’ which was sprayed by that wise academic, I've come to a couple of conclusions. It could well have been a commentary on the state of public transport under the current government, or more likely, an indictment on the quality of road signs in Sunderland. Probably the latter.