Craig Costello (CC):
Craig Costello was born in 1971 and grew up in Queens, New York, immersed in the graffiti, skate, and punk scenes. After moving to San Francisco for art school, he became interested in photography and conceptual art, beginning a transition away from “classic graffiti ‘tags’” and towards more abstract drips of ink. Costello is well known for creating his own twists on classic graffiti instruments, modifying traditional paint markers such as the UNI PX70 and creating his own inks, often silver inks. In 1998, Costello moved back to New York and began to sell his ink and markers at the Lower East Side design shop Alife. His brand, Krink, is the first ink and marker company targeted toward graffiti writers. Since its inception nearly three decades ago, Krink has grown into a global brand that also sells apparel and accessories and has collaborated with brands like Nike, Vans, and Tiffany & Co. In addition to running Krink, Costello continues to create independent artwork which has been exhibited at museums including the Palais De Tokyo and the Museum of Contemporary Art.
Lee Quinoñes (LQ):
Lee Quinoñes was born in Puerto Rico in 1960 and raised in New York’s Lower East Side in the Alfred E. Smith Projects. He began subway graffiti in 1974 at just thirteen years old and quickly became well-known for painting whole subway cars. In 1978, Quinoñes painted the first handball court mural “Howard the Duck” at Corlears Junior High School, his old school, featuring the slogan “Graffiti is a art and if art is a crime, let God forgive all.” This mural had an immense impact on the movement to bring graffiti above ground. In 1980, Quinoñes held his first gallery show at White Columns, an alternative NYC gallery. This show is recognized by the art world for sparking a trend towards painting graffiti on canvas. Quinoñes has since transitioned to a studio based practice, and his work has been displayed in museums like the Whitney Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, the Museum of National Monuments, and MoMA PS1.
Note: The interviews with Craig Costello and Lee Quinoñes were conducted separately.
What sparked your interest in graffiti?
CC: I’m from an era where I feel like every kid dabbled in graffiti. It was just part of growing up in New York. It was common and fun and goofy. Some people took it really seriously and some people didn’t, but it was just kind of a thing that was around. I think graffiti has a lot of different personalities, but the creative types are more exposed to and more interested in it. And, I was a creative type.
LQ: What sparked my interest in art is a better question, because graffiti to me is a state of mind, an attitude, an urgent moment. I was living in a very challenged environment 50 years ago, and art was the only thing that I felt belonged to me but also belonged to everyone outside of myself.
What are your other artistic interests and inspirations besides graffiti?
CC: For me, creativity is a lot of things. For example, I cook, and I think cooking can scratch that creative itch. I’m interested in music, architecture, and design. Design has become really relevant to me in the past twenty or so years since having the Krink brand. I’ve learned a lot from it, and it has been really interesting. I also think production is really interesting—with production there is both thinking about making something and bringing it into the real world. This is especially true when discussing collaborative projects. There are a lot of limitations: budget, minimum orders, a minimum number you can produce. And so production is really interesting as far as asking yourself just how you can make something happen.
LQ: I love performance art, whether it’s dancing or acting. I love film, it was one of my first draws. I’ve been involved in films both behind and in front of the camera over the years. I’m always fascinated by that medium and how it’s used to portray a time and a feeling in the air. Obviously, it’s the most attractive out of most mediums because it’s both visual and auditory. It’s a very visceral experience to see a film.
Are there other people in the graffiti scene that have taught you or inspired you?
CC: A lot of my friends are graffiti writers. If you’re the creative type, you end up running with creative people, and, through the years, we all morphed into fine artists, designers, fashion designers, and musicians. I get a lot of inspiration from people. In New York, it’s super cutthroat and you really have to hustle, and I think that that’s a big inspiration to maintain my art and business.
LQ: I’m inspired by people that are curious and daring. When I first started back in 1974, I was only about 14 years old. I looked up to just a few characters that were painting bigger and broader pieces at that time: Cliff 159 and Blade, who I would not meet until years later.
[Cliff 159 was a Bronx-based artist who started writing graffiti in 1970 and specialized in tagging whole subway cars. Steven Ogburn, known as Blade, began graffiti in 1972 and is one of the most prolific NYC graffiti artists, also famed for painting whole subway cars. He later transitioned to gallery works.]
Imagine having a hero you look up to who is anonymous. Your only perception of who they are is their name and the way they paint. Witnessing others’ work was a very spiritual experience for me as a child. Now, I’m inspired by many artists across the spectrum. Most are not graffiti artists and don’t come from a graffiti-inspired background; they’re just incredible artists. Currently, some of my favorites are Jenny Holzer, Francis Bacon, and John Michel Basquiat, who was a dear friend that I shared a studio with back in the 70s. Nowadays, some of my contemporaries are people like Mare 139, Mickalene Thomas, and Derrick Adams.
Do you consider all graffiti to be political?
CC: I don’t think a lot of graffiti writers are being intentionally political, but I think what they’re doing does end up being political because they’re not fitting into what you should be doing as a kid, or as an adult—they’re bending and breaking the rules. I think that some people, regardless of the law, might look down on graffiti artists because they feel graffiti is a waste of time. Graffiti artists are often disenfranchised, on the fringe, and trying to find their voice. I think that in itself is a pretty big act, one that leaves a mark that then inspires others, and I think that therein lies some sort of political force.
LQ: I think all art is political. The act of creating art is political in itself because you’re taking life by the horns. Whether it’s directly political or indirectly/subliminally political, it’s still a political act to actually pick up a medium and exercise your right to express something. Writing “I love John” on a tree trunk is proclaiming your love for someone right there for the world to see, and that in itself is a political act. Many people never find their voices in their lifetime—they live under the cloak of fear, resentment, and denial. In society, we all have our little speed bumps and points of paralysis where we feel we can’t move forward, but art is what allows us to, whether it’s in the privacy of your studio, your home, or in a subway yard.
How has society’s attitude towards graffiti changed over the years?
CC: I think that there has definitely been a major uptick in the past 25 years of graffiti being more accepted as art. People have had pretty significant careers that have started in graffiti—careers in fine art, in design, in running businesses. Back in the day, graffiti was a symbol of lawlessness and a bad economy, so the perception of graffiti has changed a lot. I also think that there are a lot of people who grew up with graffiti art and are more accepting of it today because of that. So, there has been a natural progression of acceptance and openness about graffiti and recognizing its value.
LQ: Usually, art movements, controversial or not, have to create a skin for themselves right from the start in order to survive the court of public opinion. If the Evening News tells you that a set of people are misdirected and disenfranchised and have no love for their own society, of course most are going to believe that. Fifty years ago, people were saying that graffiti artists were scoundrels and wild teenagers, but young people were just reacting to the circumstances in our society. When a city forgets its young and then beats its young, the young stand up. The young want to change the world and start on an even platform. There are sleeping giants in every generation, and this movement was and is a sleeping giant.
Do you feel that graffiti is respected artistically? Does putting graffiti in galleries ruin its intended purpose?
CC: Is graffiti respected by academics? No, it’s not. Are you going to have some graffiti writer getting his MFA at Yale? I don’t think so. So, no, I don’t think that it’s reached that point. I think it might take one more generation of people who have grown up with graffiti art and understand the aesthetic of it before graffiti can be translated to the high-minded, white, MFA world. I don’t think that those people really understand or can speak on it yet, but I do think that graffiti one hundred percent belongs in a museum. It’s fine if graffiti is in a gallery; it doesn’t disrupt the point. Graffiti is an inherently American art, and there’s a lot being missed there by the greater academic, fine art world.
LQ: I think it’s taking its time. Movements usually take time to manifest themselves and actually mature—between 10 and 50 years. People look back and go, “Oh, my God, there was something there” only because they’ve had time to reflect. When we reflect, we start to see the workings and the politics behind things and then we start to understand why people reacted the way they did. In the case of the graffiti movement 50 years ago, you have to remember: in the midst of so much rebellion, turmoil, war, inequality, and racial injustice—in the midst of all that—about 50,000 young souls picked up cans of spray paint and proceeded to change the world. When I picked up my first cans of spray paint, I was already on a mission to change the movement itself.
Do you think that graffiti is in any way immoral? Do you think that there is a problematic aspect of graffiti given that you’re inherently putting art in spaces where it’s not intended to be?
CC: No, I don’t think so. I can see why people get upset, but immoral just seems like a strong word. It’s a tough one because, yes, it is invasive. It touches on all kinds of property issues and ownership. I understand that that’s an issue. I understand why people would be upset. However, treating everyone who writes graffiti like a criminal and condemning them, locking them up, and telling them what they do is worthless has a fundamentally different effect than praising them and giving them space and some kind of agency or nurturing them. For example, there are parts of Europe where, as graffiti grew, people said, “Wow, look, they’re doing art in the streets.” That is very different than saying, “Hey, they’re all criminals. We need to stop this and arrest them.”
LQ: It’s all about product placement. Do you want to go and paint on somebody’s private car? No. Should you paint over existing art? Absolutely sacreligious. Do you want to touch a church? No. How do you draw the line? There’s already a problem in society with people being inundated with information. You’re in a subway car, or a bus, or you’re driving down the highway, and you see ads for things that someone is trying to sell you that you don’t need, or you don’t want. Why am I having to hear ads about how to fix my tax problems or how to grow hair when you’re going bald? That is a problem in society already. Graffiti showcases the existence of these problems as well as the predatory forces out there that take advantage of people; not only of people of color, but with different genders and sexual orientations. The fact that graffiti was in Pompeii, in 79. AD. and even before shows that the political system there probably was not working for the masses either.
Is Graffiti past its prime? How has increased legislation changed the graffiti scene?
CC: Absolutely not. I think about increased legislation often. The early to mid 1980s was a high point of really classic New York City subway graffiti. People could go in and paint a train that was eight feet by forty feet. They could take their time; nobody was chasing them. You can see the time if you look at the painting itself—at the size of it, the colors. Somebody would have had to bring thirty to fifty cans with them and take 4-5 hours to do it. Because of the crackdown, today, graffiti writers can bang something out in twenty minutes maximum and three to four colors. That’s due to legislation and the environment and structure that has been built around graffiti. So, if people again were afforded some kind of space and opportunity, I think graffiti would go in a different direction. A lot of the graffiti that you see today was created without space or time. Artists are just trying to make the simplest mark that’s gonna get buffed in less than a week. There’s no time and little opportunity. And then people say, “Oh, this is all garbage. This is all terrible,” and, yeah, it’s not that great because they don’t have the time and energy to put into it like they did before when there was essentially no economy to fund the war on graffiti.
[Before 1972, New York City did not have a law against graffiti and the Metropolitan Transit Authority’s rule treated it as an offense about as serious as eating on a train. However, in 1972 New York City Mayor John Lindsay declared a war on graffiti, passing legislation that defined graffiti as a crime subject to legal penalty.]
LQ: No, graffiti will never pass its prime. If it does, we’re all dying. Graffiti is a state of mind and a true testimony to the people of a certain time and circumstance. Legislation can come and go and is often used as an object to boost morale or a politician’s likeability. But what is legislation doing for the community? What are legislators actually sacrificing to make the community better? In my case, I sacrifice my life, my dignity, and my persona in the court of public opinion. I sacrificed unapologetically because I knew that what I was doing was the right thing. I love the saying: “Just because things are right now, doesn’t mean they were wrong back then.” That’s how I navigate around all the naysayers, whether they’re heads of state or rolling heads in the hood. I know my lane, and I’m comfortable in exercising my practice. What’s beautiful about this movement is that it is a very democratic movement. There are also many women artists in this movement. My sister herself painted trains back in the 1970s with me, and she was one of the first to actually take that pilgrimage into those very dreadful subway tunnels and subway yards. Women of all ages can have a voice through this art form that accepts them both for the heroism it takes to create work in the public eye and the skill it takes to work with a very difficult tool: the spray can.
How have your roots in graffiti informed your current work?
CC: I was a very active graffiti writer, and I learned a lot from it. I developed a lot of style and aesthetics from graffiti that still inform me today. They worked for me in the graffiti world, and, as I took them out of the graffiti world, they continue to work for me. I feel like these aesthetics are still interesting to me and a part of what I do. So, that’s just been really natural for me, and I think I’ve been very fortunate to have those things work in a broader world.
LQ: My roots in graffiti inspire poetry. Resilience and resistance. TwentyFour-Eight. Eight ball corner pocket. That’s just my poetry coming out. I love poetry. I write poetry in my work. I wrote poetry on my subway cars fifty years ago. I’ve been painting longer than you’ve been living, most likely. And it’s amazing. Fifty years. Five decades. It’s crazy.
[To CC] Why did you develop the Krink brand?
CC: I started making Krink to write graffiti. Krink as a product was great—it was very successful and it allowed me to stand out and have this lore around who I was and what I did—the guy that makes his own ink and makes his own markers. I was prolific, but I think the aesthetic was a big part of it. That was in San Francisco, but when I moved back to New York, because New York is just so commercial, people already knew who I was through graffiti and pushed me to make Krink. So I made it as a creative project and to sell. I didn’t think anybody would want to buy it, but it did quite well. And then people showed more and more interest, so it was a natural progression. I was never sure about Krink as a business. But it was one of those things where the phone kept ringing. Making ink helped me make a living, and then it just grew and grew.