Graffiti usually confronts us with content which, due either to its obscurity or its aggression, is challenging--some might go so far as to argue it is downright unpleasant. But some practitioners of the illicit art have plastered the city with images of sweet, subtle, even sublime subversion. The posters, featuring simple images of steaks, broccoli, banana bunches, and perfect swirls of pink ice cream sitting atop cones, happily remind us of an illustrated world, known in the pages of textbooks: two-page spreads of simple economies and comunities, where there is not enough room for unresolvable problems or long term corruption. It is the beautiful gift known as clip art, which tries to be as broad and inclusive as possible and asks for nothing in return but that you give it your own emotional weight. And yet within the warm furry remembrances we can also see that the grafitti is as challenging and political as any other guerilla display of public art. The posters bare no labels or logos, no ownership, no message--giving us pure and distilled images of food in a culture where we are otherwise bombarded with sophisticated, sexy advertising. This isn't product; this is its essence.
