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Kilroy Was Here


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I have always found graffiti annoying. I have also found it by turns to be funny, thought provoking, inciteful and vainglorious. Usually the latter if i'm in a bad mood.

No, I never engaged in graffiti as a child or teenager. Not my style. I have been writing since I was thirteen, so when I had something to express I did it with my trusty typewriter, and then later on my computer.

For the longest time it was difficult for me to separate graffiti from graffiti art in my mind. It was all just the childish scribbling of ratbags with no respect for private property. The word is from the Italian graffiato ("scratched"), which is how the earliest graffiti was created.

The earliest graffiti, besides scratching, was done with charcoal and paint. Sometimes it was political or satirical, other times it was crude anatomical humor or even just normal representational art. Today graffiti has evolved into several types. Political graffiti; such as that in the picture; tagging; which is marking one's territory with a unique signature, usually stylized; and graffiti art, which is usually associated with Hip Hop culture these days. The last are often large pieces, even murals in many colors with a high degree of artistic ability involved.

On a trip to Rome in 2005 we visited Pompeii and I was startled to find the place literally covered with graffiti. Everywhere we looked. There is an inscription from the 1st century on one the walls at Pompeii that reads: “I wonder, O, wall, that you have not fallen in ruins from supporting the stupidities of so many scribblers.” There turned out to be much graffiti in every large city in Italy we visited. I later found out that modern graffiti dates back to both the Greeks and the Romans, and I recall seeing much of it in Greece, especially Athens. There was even graffiti at the Parthenon.

Graffiti has been found in the catacombs of Rome, on the bases of Greek vases, on the faces of coins, on the Mayan temple walls of Tikal, and on early medieval Scandinavian church walls. It is an urge as old as man.

People of a certain age will be aware that during World War II there was a bit of graffiti that went viral, to use a modern expression. Kilroy Was Here. The phrase and image of ‘Kilroy’ poking his head and nose over a fence wall was suddenly everywhere in America and everywhere that U.S. servicemen went. I remember seeing it as a kid on the walls of businesses on the street where we lived.

The graffiti in the picture above was on a wall in Tallinn, Estonia, where we spent a couple of weeks last September. While I usually don't care for graffiti itself, i'm often interested in seeing graffiti that has been vandalized by someone else who begs to differ.

The only graffiti that ever got a great big smile out of me was an exchange of the sort above in San Francisco during the 80's. It was the time of a movement to get the Soviets to permit Jewish emigration. Someone had spray painted in big letters across the wall of a service station:

Free Soviet Jews

To which some wag had added right below it:

With Every Fill Up!

San Francisco is that kind of place.


The Taste Of Strawberries


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Raivo opened his eyes as he roused himself from another deep sleep and gazed at the place where the window used to be. Nothing. Just as the day before, and the day before that. He tried hard not to let himself lose control. He had to be strong. For the sake of the family, he must surely be strong.

It wasn't enough, he thought to himself, that there was a war on and times had gotten hard, but now this...this...nightmare. Or was it? There was simply no way to know. The last any of the family knew, it was August, 1939. The Soviets were marching into Tallinn, and things were not looking good. And what had he, Raivo, done? Merely wished with all his might that things could be different. So perhaps he was responsible. Perhaps he was the reason they were now trapped in their house, a house that they had awoken one morning to find no longer had doors or windows.

It had been...what? three months now, since they had last seen the light of day? A chill passed through him as he remembered how they had panicked when they could find no way out, and had no way of knowing what had happened. No doors, no windows, the phone had disappeared, they were well and truly cut off from the outside world, if indeed it even still existed.

Gradually they had become resigned. They discovered that they would not starve, for somehow they had only to imagine what they would like to eat and it would magically appear on the kitchen table! There was no accounting it. Any of it. It simply was what it was. There was no way out. They had tried to break through the walls, but nothing they used made the least bit of difference.

Raivo heard his brother Andres moving about, so he got up and went to greet him. "Good morning, Andres", he said. Andres looked at him blankly. "Is it?", he asked. "please Andres, we must try..." Andres cut him off with a look as his sister Leida entered the room. She gazed at her brothers and then cast her eyes downward. She couldn't bear to look at the others anymore. All of them had gradually changed since they had been cut off from the world. Their faces had become unrecognizable, all of them with oddly round eyes and a rictus grin.

"Are the others up yet?", Raivo asked Leida in as light a tone as he could muster. "Yes", she replied simply. "Then what shall we have for breakfast?" he asked. Leida thought for moment and then said, "Strawberries, Raivo. I should like to have some strawberries."

Raivo nodded and they proceeded to the kitchen, knowing full well what would be waiting for them on the table. Life must go on, he thought to himself, but he wondered how and when he would confess to the others that it was his simple innocent wish that they could be spared the misery that would surely ensue with the coming of the Soviet soldiers that had probably led to the twilight zone they now found themselves in.

One must always be careful what one wishes for, Raivo thought to himself as he contemplated the strawberry he was about to bite into, but the alternative was something he could not bring himself to contemplate.

[The painting I based this story on is called Strawberry Eaters. It is a Naivist painting by noted Estonian artist Paul Kondas, and hangs in the KUMU Arts Center in Tallinn, Estonia, where I took the photo.]