Has anybody seen a mysterious orange paint line running along the streets of Manhattan? Maybe, but you probably just dismissed it as a paint-leak, or markings for construction or something else. Actually, the line is an eight-mile graffiti tag, which spells out the name of a New York- based artist. The artist, only known as Momo (and who does not want to reveal his real name because painting messages and symbols on NYC sidewalks is illegal), completed his eight-mile signature in 2006. Momo used a bicycle with a funnel-shaped bucket of paint to create the line on two separate trips, between 3 and 6 o’ clock in the morning. Momo planned out his path on a map to make sure that the end result would spell out his name. Now, although some parts are faded and a little harder to see, Momo’s signature on the streets of New York is still there.
I find this amazing, because I can’t believe that someone actually thought of signing his name across the city. Even though you can’t see the whole signature together at one time, knowing the concept and what that orange line represents makes Momo’s work very interesting. I know that the two posts below already addressed the question of graffiti being considered as art, but I think that the size of this work takes it to a different level, because it’s not something that you can just look at and admire, but something that you can think about and even connect to as you walk along that eight-mile stretch of paint.
Momo's Signature With the Orange Paint
A part of the orange line
Article
Conceptually, I love this idea. But I do still have a problem with the way graffiti artists deface the city.
This completely fascinates me, especially after analyzing Kriegel’s “Graffiti: Tunnel Notes of a New Yorker” in Professor Davison’s English class. The issue of graffiti as a personal statement in an “impersonal” urban setting is age old. It reminds me of those “[insert a name] wuz here”s I used to see on every field trip. There’s a heartbreaking passage in the book White Teeth by Zadie Smith where an immigrant, Samad, write’s a piece of graffiti that is later found by his son.
I find that that particular act of art is a muffled cry against the overwhelming crush of mortality. The sense that no one knows me and no one will know when I no longer exist but maybe twenty years from now some one will see my name scratched into a park bench and somehow be aware of my existence. It’s that urge to fight, however pathetically, against mortality and anonymity that drives our every day lives. To me, graffiti is always the strongest and most primal representation of this urge.
It seems everyone in Davison’s class has some response to any blog dealing with graffiti. Kriegel’s article was just that influencing, I suppose.
I’ll agree with Professor Smaldone. Conceptually, the idea is thought-provoking. I can understand a New Yorker’s desire to leave an imprint of himself/herself behind, yet at the same time it seems like a desperate attempt to etch your immortality into the city in which you grew up. With so many people doing it these days, it almost feels meaningless. While this attempt goes above and beyond our normal expectations, the desire behind it seems no different than what Lara pointed out above.
I have noticed that many of the recent blog posts have been related to graffiti, but this idea is definitely stunning. I agree that the purpose of such an idea was for the artist to leave his mark in the city just like any other graffiti artist. The question I have though is who and how did someone discover this work since the artist could not disclose his identity.