Spray Cans and Beyond: Why Illegal Graffiti is a Net Positive for Society
When I first picked up a can of spray paint as a child, it wasn’t because I wanted to break the law. I did it because I had something to express, and there was no other medium that had the appeal or seduction that graffiti did for me. Creating art has always been second nature but during this time I became bored with fine. Graffiti was exciting and the walls became my journal, my canvas, my stage. Today, as a college student majoring in Art and minoring in Art history, I can look back and trace a direct line from those midnight runs with my crew to the work I now create in a legitimate studio setting. Graffiti—particularly the illegal kind—was my first real education in color theory, spatial awareness, typography, and cultural critique. Though many still view it as vandalism, I believe illegal graffiti is a net positive for society. Its role in shaping culture, challenging power, and providing a voice for the marginalized outweighs the arguments against it.
To understand the value of graffiti, we first have to understand its roots. Modern graffiti culture, especially in the U.S., emerged in the late 1960s and ’70s in cities like New York and Philadelphia. It was born in neglected neighborhoods, where young people—often Black, Latino, and poor—used spray paint and markers to assert their presence in a society that ignored them. It wasn’t just tagging for tagging’s sake; it was a radical act of self-declaration. Individuals like Taki 183, Lady Pink, and Dondi transformed walls, trains, and tunnels into living galleries, challenging notions of what art is, who gets to make it, and where it belongs. These artists and many others eventually moved their way into the fine art world as well.
From this perspective, graffiti is one of the few truly democratic art forms. You don’t need money, connections, or gallery representation to make your mark—just paint and nerve. It resists commodification, at least in its illegal form, and that’s part of its power. It disrupts the sterilized, corporatized visual landscape of cities, offering moments of genuine expression amid ads and signage. In a world where so much public space is privatized, graffiti reclaims territory for human creativity and dissent.
Critics argue that graffiti is destructive—that it damages property, lowers property values, and contributes to urban decay. These points deserve to be taken seriously. It’s true that a business owner waking up to find their storefront defaced might not see the act as anything but invasive. And there’s a valid concern that some graffiti, especially when done haphazardly, contributes to a perception of lawlessness or neglect. It’s important for me to note that there is a big difference between gang graffiti and the graffiti I am talking about. Gang graffiti is rooted in gang culture and its complex ties. This form of graffiti is said to have started in California, and it really took off with “tag banging” which is essentially graffiti warfare between rival gang members that led to a lot of death and bloodshed. This gang graffiti and its tag banging element is still present. Even though this is not the graffiti I am speaking of I learned quickly that If I came across this graffiti, I should respect it, and realize I may be in a gang zone so if I am painting my non gang graffiti in these zones there could be consequences.
But here’s the thing: the legality of an act doesn’t determine its morality or value. Civil disobedience has always been a catalyst for change, from lunch counter sit-ins to unsanctioned street murals protesting police brutality. Illegal graffiti occupies that same space—it’s a form of resistance. It tells the truth about who lives in a city, how they feel, and what they’re up against. And like other forms of protest, it can be messy. But messiness shouldn’t disqualify something from being meaningful.
Moreover, the relationship between graffiti and “urban decay” is often exaggerated or misunderstood. Many of the neighborhoods where graffiti thrives are already neglected by city governments—lacking in basic services, green space, and educational resources. Graffiti doesn’t cause decline; it reflects it. And ironically, once a neighborhood becomes “hip” or “up-and-coming,” that same graffiti often becomes a selling point—plastered in real estate ads, commodified into murals, or incorporated into branding. The art that was once criminalized is suddenly chic, but only after it’s been sanitized and disconnected from its original context.
My own journey reflects this contradiction. In school, I faced punishment more than once for tagging bathroom stalls or tables. And as I got older, I ended up sitting in jail for my work. But those same instincts—to create, to provoke, to beautify or disrupt—are now at times praised in my art by collectors and viewers. Studio Professors have commended the boldness in my compositions, the energy in my line of work, the rawness of my themes. They don’t usually know that those qualities were honed under threat of arrest or physical danger. Graffiti taught me discipline, risk-taking, and how to see the world in layers. I wouldn’t be the artist I am without it. It has opened so many doors for me and brought upon great opportunities. This may not be the case for every graffiti writer, but it was for me.
Some may ask: can’t we channel those energies into legal outlets? Aren’t there designated walls, community projects, and street art festivals? Sure—and those are great. But they’re not replacements for illegal graffiti; they’re a different category altogether. Legal murals are curated, regulated, and often detached from the urgency that drives graffiti writers to climb scaffolds or duck into train yards. Illegal graffiti is impulsive, temporary, and anti establishment by nature. That’s precisely what makes it potent. It’s not just art—it’s a confrontation.
Of course, not all graffiti is good. Some is offensive, lazy, or outright ugly. But the same could be said of any art form. No one bans oil painting because bad paintings exist. The real question is whether the form itself has value—and I would argue that it undeniably does. Graffiti fosters creativity, cultivates community, and offers commentary in ways that few art forms can. It’s a mirror held up to society’s face, and sometimes the reflection is uncomfortable. That’s the point.
In defending illegal graffiti, I’m not suggesting we abandon all property rights or erase the line between public and private. I’m asking us to rethink what we value, and who we value, in our cities. When we criminalize graffiti, we often criminalize the voices of the young, the poor, the unheard. We miss out on the raw brilliance of people who might never step foot in a museum but have something urgent to express. I don’t believe graffiti should be legalized but I do believe that graffiti writers should not be legally penalized as severely as they are in some places.
I’ll always have a love for the streets. Not in a romanticized way but in a deeply human way. Through graffiti I was able to change fragments of the world and grow through my experiences in the urban landscape. In the drips and streaks and layers of color, I found my first language as an artist. Illegal graffiti gave me that. And for all its flaws, I believe it gives society more than it takes. Many do not realize the cultural intersection graffiti makes with the rest of the art world. Film, photography, music, and fashion are flooded with connections to the illegal graffiti world. I have experienced this firsthand, and this cultural intersection alone legitimizes graffiti to me as a positive and influential force on a grand scale.