Art, schmart
The Commodification of Self-Expression
Justin Schamotta

‘All art is propaganda,’ declared Mexican muralist Diego Rivera. True to his word, when commissioned by Nelson Rockefeller to create a mural for the lobby of the self-glorifying Rockefeller Center in New York, Rivera depicted a 63ft by 17ft workers’ rebellion against the cancer of capitalism - represented literally as cancer. As if this wasn’t enough, he also felt compelled to add a perfectly rendered portrait of Lenin in the middle of it.
This was in 1933, but such blatant refusal to compromise personal ideals has become increasingly rare as the boundaries between art and business blur. Mainstream political parties implore you to vote using stencilled graffiti. Diesel and Gap create a line in ‘protester-chic’. The BBC lifts a spray-painter to advertise the new, revamped Canterbury Tales - the list goes on. So, it is hardly surprising that, for today’s young urban artists, the move from expressing their own ideas and feelings to expressing those of money-thirsty corporations is often a small and acceptable one.
‘A lot of artists are getting disillusioned with how best to move their careers forward,’ says Ben Reed, art director of Spearfish Ltd. ‘If you want to get paid then the money has to come from somewhere. You have to meet the brand halfway.’ The very thought of graffiti artists considering themselves to have a ‘career’ is in itself a telling move from the art form’s roots.
Spearfish is one of the many new advertising enterprises being set up by members of traditionally anti-corporate sub-cultures. Their attitude is part of the post-ironic ‘corporations are here to stay so I might as well engage with them on my own terms - I’m too clever to be sucked in’. They stretch from musicians’ collectives playing corporate events through to graffiti artists promoting the likes of Red Bull and Stella Artois.
‘The thing with urban art is that it gives everyone a voice,’ says Jon from a Manchester-based art collective aiming to ‘raise the standard of design in politics and the amount of politics in design’. ‘Especially people who have no other means of it being heard. It came from the poorer marginalised communities but now it’s being used to sell them stuff which they can’t afford.’
Art as a vessel for hawking a company’s products is an old game. The world’s first advertising agency was opened in 1841 by the unlikely-sounding Volney B Palmer. Since then all manner of artists have succumbed to the corporate green. ‘Advertising is the greatest art form of the twentieth century,’ declared Canadian social scientist, Marshall McLuhan, and many still believe him.

In 1931, Coca-Cola commissioned an illustrator by the name of Haddon Sundblom to develop an advertising image to encourage people to drink coke during the winter months (it was until then considered a summer beverage). Inspired by Clement Clark Moore’s 1822 poem ‘A visit from St. Nicholas,’ which describes the toy-maker as ‘chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,’ Sundblom created the modern day image of Santa Claus. Ironically, what gave Sundblom’s Santa credibility was the mass media’s portrayal of it as a part of an ancient folk tradition - a mythical hero unchanged by consumer culture.
And this is still Coca-Cola’s, and virtually all other corporation’s, strategy - take what’s happening at the moment, repackage it and then pretend it’s still the same thing. ‘I have just completed installing a major canvas (30ft x 9ft) into Coca-Cola’s London headquarters,’ says graffiti artist, Temper (aka Aaron Bird). Temper has also been paid to ‘tag’ 50 million cans of Sprite and work for Saatchi & Saatchi Advertising, Airwalk and Allsports. He received around £9,000 for the Coca-Cola job. ‘The piece is visible from the street,’ he insists, by way of apology.

The irony of graffiti being appreciated as a ‘proper’ art form by the establishment is sometimes lost. One minute you’re a systematic vandal looking at five years inside; the next you’re a Soho star celebrated in private drinking clubs around the capital. The upcoming anti-social behaviour law will see graffiti further criminalised,’ says Jon, ‘but the corporates can pay for space in urban environments which is just chequebook vandalism. On one hand graffiti is unacceptable but when it’s used in a safe manner like kid’s TV or in adverts it becomes acceptable.’

Corporations don’t, of course, like graffiti. They don’t like anything. They’re corporations. Its interest to them lies squarely in its appeal to a prime retail demographic - white, middle-class kids. Get those kids to think your brand is cool and you’re away. The trouble with this from the artist’s point of view is that brands are innately controlling. ‘We had commercial commissions from Carling for £1,500 a piece to go up in student’s unions,’ says Spearfish’s Ben. ‘Each poster had to incorporate a can of Carling in it somewhere.’ And it’s always the same. ‘When Guinness wanted a commission, they didn’t want anything that spoke politically about Ireland,’ says Temper. ‘That would have been commercial suicide.’ The supposedly grassroots Urban Discipline event in Germany features acknowledgements to the sponsors, Eastpak and Carhartt, on each piece of work displayed there.

Even after you’ve done your work, things can still go awry. Since working with Airwalk, Temper claims that his artwork and designs were modified in-house and re-produced without permission or payment. ‘You take a company like Airwalk, with their history and roots in street culture and heritage in skateboarding and it would be hard to understand why they would choose to disrespect these cultures and also their consumers.’

That corporations want input is hardly surprising, after all, they are paying for it. What is surprising is that artists feel obliged to strive for this kind of deal. ‘When artists do their work for nothing it’s not furthering the art form and it doesn’t get taken seriously,’ insists Ben rather conveniently forgetting about Van Gogh, say, or Beethoven. ‘Damien Hirst and the like get £1 million for a piece. I can’t see why we shouldn’t get that too.’
One ruinous aspect of this mode of thinking is the corporate boundaries which are invariably set when things are done for money. Those that won't, or can't, reside within these boundaries don't get the money and suddenly find themselves marginalised and dispirited. Spearfish, among others, have reached the end of this murky road. ‘It’s a struggle to find artists good enough to present to my clients,’ muses Ben.

A far bigger worry is the fact that a new generation of artists is unconsciously training itself not to challenge established perceptions but rather to tailor its art to some worthless corporate vision. Jack Napier of the Billboard Liberation Front agrees: ‘With increasing frequency they apprentice to the advertisers; no longer needing to falsely maintain the distinction between ‘fine’ and ‘commercial’ art. The most successful artists are those who can most successfully sell their art.’
That this is happening at a time when even classics such as Picasso’s Guernica (which hangs near the entrance of the UN Security Council) are considered offensive enough to be covered to prevent them being used as backdrops during photo-opportunities, is a truly scary situation. As existing art is censored or hoarded away by overzealous collectors and new art rapidly learns to regulate itself for maximum commercial value, we’re unwittingly opening ourselves to whatever terrible dreams the advertisers create for us.

Links
See: www.uhc-collective.org.uk for a range of politicised stickers, stencils, flyposters, subverts and banners.
See: www.randomartists.org Art collective/network who exhibit in squatted spaces in London
See: www.spearfishltd.co.uk to learn corporate-speak.
See: www.billboardliberation.com for tips on reclaiming corporatised outdoor space.