“Graffiti is everywhere when you look for it, unlike the writers themselves.”
Graffiti is hidden in plain sight in Dublin; it colours the side of train tracks, shutters, electricity boxes and abandoned buildings. Graffiti is everywhere when you look for it, unlike the writers themselves. These often elusive artists operate like nocturnal animals, going by aliases or so-called “tags” for anonymity. This is because of the inescapable fact that graffiti is, by nature, illegal.
In recent weeks Iarnród Éireann announced that they have employed security dogs from LFK9 Security Ltd. to combat vandalism on their trains. This has received mixed reactions from the public, given that graffiti incidents have been on the decline in recent years. Still, Iarnród Éireann cites €1m worth of damages from roughly 100 acts of vandalism to their fleet over the past year, and they are “confident [they] will have convictions” within the year for vandalism. Graffiti writers are skeptical of these figures, and they assert that going to court has never made them want to do graffiti less.
“I first started painting the streets when I was 14”
In such a hostile environment, what motivates people to pursue this artform? Trinity News sat down with some of these graffiti writers to get an insight into their motivations and what the graffiti scene is like in Dublin. Ethan, 21 years old, described how his first encounter with graffiti was through a workshop in his primary school. He said that it was in “Grangegorman squats that I saw real graffiti in action. Then I first started painting the streets when I was 14.”
Kevin, 32 years old, described how he was 11 years old when he started practicing writing his tag, as he spotted tags around Blanchardstown. Kevin emphasised that “feeling like you belonged somewhere was a big aspect of what drew [him] to graffiti, and the creative side of it for sure. The creativity and freedom you feel is indescribable.” While this feeling of belonging to a community is central, so is the competitive aspect. “It’s a community, but it’s a community driven on competitiveness and big egos … it’s rare for someone to nurture your love for [graffiti]; you get shunned and bullied when you first start out,” recalled Ethan.
If people inside the community can be unwelcoming, the public are even more so. Senator Michael McDowell published an article with the Irish Times in 2023 entitled “Stop glamorising spray-paint vandalism by calling it art” in which he refers to graffiti writers as “moronic” and “sad people”. The condescending tone is nothing new to graffiti writers, who are often dismissed for being young, egotistical and destructive. Might this quick dismissal of graffiti writers stem from a misunderstanding of their culture?
Ethan noted that there is a difference between pure vandalism, or “scribbles”, and graffiti. “Not all people that paint see themselves as graffiti writers, some just see themselves as strict vandals. They want to destroy stuff and see their name everywhere … For the most part, I don’t think any graffiti writers want to make anything look ugly. New kids get into it and don’t know how to do it yet, so they might make things look messy.” Kevin explained that the more colour and time that is put into a piece, the more respect you are conferring to the space. Ethan added that “if [the graffiti] looks wrong, it probably shouldn’t be there”.
“We’re actually pretty conservative compared to England…”
There are, however, places that are considered “off-limits” by graffiti writers. As Kevin explained, “nobody’s property, like houses or cars, trees, churches or schools” should be tagged. “Vans in Dublin are off limits too, though in the rest of Europe people do tag them because a lot of the vans belong to corporations.” While graffiti in Dublin is prevalent, it is noticeably less visible than in other European cities like Bristol. When it comes to where you are allowed to paint, “we’re actually pretty conservative compared to England,” Kevin laughed.
Not everyone sees it that way, though. An Garda Síochána in their graffiti information sheet bemoan the effects of graffiti on communities and property, pointing to a “lack of respect for property” and “falling property prices” resulting from graffiti. But in a city with a severe housing crisis and lack of amenities for young people, it is no wonder graffiti artists are unconcerned about falling property prices.
Ethan, in response, said “I think graffiti is an easy target. It’s easy to make visible change by cleaning the graffiti off a road and then saying, ‘Look, I’ve made a big change! Get me into government.’ There’s bigger, invisible problems that are harder to deal with, like the drug problem the country is facing.” The graffiti scene has not been immune to these problems. As Dublin becomes increasingly gentrified, Kevin observed that there is a deficit of legal walls on which to do graffiti safely. “When I was younger there used to be Windmill Lane, Liberty Lane and Tivoli Theatre among others.”
“Graffiti, if anything, took me away from that cycle [of decay]”
Now, only Liberty Lane remains among that list. Kevin went on, “if there were more legal walls, I guarantee you there would be less scribbling on people’s property” because there would be spaces for the community to flourish, and for young graffiti artists to learn the ropes in a non-destructive way. The Guards describe graffiti as “the start of a cycle of decay”, but for these writers it is the opposite. “Graffiti, if anything, took me away from that cycle. It raised my confidence and I know the city I grew up in so well now…It’s one of the only times I’m able to feel mindful [and] feel proud of myself.”
Ethan and fellow graffiti writers plan on providing a graffiti workshop for children in tandem with inner-city community centres in the near future. They hope to provide the children with a space for self-expression and engage them in art. For now though, those spaces are few and far between. What remains is a profound sense of destruction, but not because of graffiti. These young writers are crying out to a city that they are being alienated from. Each tag and piece is a letter in their own private language with the city, saying, “I was here. I existed. This was mine for a moment.” If loving something is leaving a mark on it, then these writers sure do love their city.
*Names changed for anonymity*
