ENAMUR ART returned this January to Les Franqueses del Vallès with its 4th edition, continuing to build a locally rooted, artist-led platform for graffiti, music, and shared experience. Hosted in a municipality in Catalonia, Spain, located in the province of Barcelona and situated along Carrer de la Serra, the jam once again activated a long concrete wall as a public canvas, reaffirming the event’s commitment to graffiti as a lived, social practice – and naturally, some spectacle. What began as a modest initiative has grown into a recurring meeting point for writers, painters, neighbors, and friends from across the region.
This year, 24 artists painted nearly 100 meters of wall, working side by side in a session that emphasized exchange, spontaneity, and presence. The visual production unfolded alongside a program of live music by emerging local acts, grounding the event firmly in its community context. A free tote-bag customization workshop opened the door to younger participants and curious passersby, while the presentation of “Tornar a lluitar”—a song created by local youth with support from the Dula project—underscored ENAMUR ART’s ongoing interest in youth voices and collective expression.
Among the standout moments was the collaboration between Boogie and MarcNone, a pairing that carried both personal history and mutual respect. “This is more than a collaboration — it’s two friends doing what they love most: painting and living life,” MarcNone reflected. “The good vibes we share are reflected on the wall, and the result is for all of you.” The piece reads less as a formal duet and more as a conversation in paint, shaped by trust, rhythm, and time spent together.
“Thanks for the invitation and all the crazy cats out there for the good time and the nice talks,” says Boogie on Instagram. “Spanish writers are on a different level!”
The event’s energy—part jam, part reunion—was carefully documented by photographer Lluis Olive and videographer Pol Casquett. As MarcNone and Boogie put it simply, “Graffiti connecting people.” With each edition, ENAMUR ART continues to prove that scale isn’t measured only in meters of wall, but in the strength of relationships built around them.
On a late-night private tour during the Art Basel week madness, with just two guests in tow, the Museum of Graffiti can feel less like a public institution and more like an unlocked archive after hours—quiet enough to hear details that usually get lost in daytime traffic: the cadence of a tag, the logic of a crew name, the way a single artifact can rearrange what you thought you “knew” about the early years.
Alan Ket, co-founder of the museum alongside Allison Freidin, has an advantage as a guide that goes beyond carrying the historian’s timeline in his head. He knows the people in that timeline. Together, Ket and Freidin have spent years building a place where those histories can be shown without being flattened into a slogan.
Three Arguments, One Program
The current program is structured like a three-part argument, each section reinforcing the next: the foundation of UGA-era legitimacy, the long arc of a writer who outlived the rules and the era that formed around graffiti, and a parallel street-writing tradition from Brazil that insists on its own terms. Around those anchors, interstitial context stations—about Subway Art, about a “Hall of Fame,” about what writing is when it’s more than a product—and those do real work in a short visit, especially when the museum is closed, and you’re not fighting a crowd.
The Origins exhibit opens with a title that doesn’t hedge: “UNITED GRAFFITI ARTISTS (UGA), 1972–1975 — The First Organized Graffiti Collective.” The wall text frames the early 1970s not as a hazy prelude, but as a moment when New York’s walls and trains became “the visual language of a new generation writing its name into history.” The intent is clear: to meet those writers as authors, not as an anonymous “phenomenon.”
In a key early moment, a 22-year-old sociology student at City College of New York, Hugo Martinez, pulls together a group, a show, and a generation of young writers emerging from an expanding visual movement. Seeking out Puerto Rican and African American writers, Martinez traces an early chain of connection—through HENRY 161, he meets active Washington Heights figures including SNAKE 1, SJK 171, MIKE 171, STITCH 1, and COCO 144—and invites them into something new: a collective, publicly legible, with a name that could travel.
The Canvases Reappear
The exhibition pins down a crucial milestone: UGA’s first exhibition at City College in December 1972, anchored by a 10-by-40-foot collaborative mural that drew coverage in The New York Times. That context explains why the newly surfaced canvases land with such force today. They aren’t “early work” in the abstract; they are evidence of one of the first moments graffiti writers entered an art context without shedding the culture’s DNA.
Then Ket takes you to the proofs themselves—the ones that stop conversations. He describes the unveiling of the massive canvas as a reunion at the edge of disbelief:
“We opened yesterday—the first time anyone had seen the (mural by UGA) work publicly. Doze was here. Coco was here. Flint 707 was here. Mike 171 was here. Artists who were part of that original moment, or closely connected to it.”
And then the realization:
“A lot of people initially thought the paintings were replicas. Even people who knew the work. They couldn’t believe these were the original canvases.”
UGA’s short-lived run broke cultural barriers that still echo graffiti’s resistance by many institutions today, timid as they are to recognize this movement. The 1973 Deuce Coupe live backdrop performance with the Joffrey Ballet, UGA on the cover of New York magazine, and early exhibitions—including the group show at the Razor Gallery in SoHo—all pushed that door open. Like coming across a great piece on the street—there one day, gone the next—UGA’s tenure was brief, explosive, and foundational.
The museum’s educational nodes function as interstitial primers, uncovering codes and influences that might otherwise be missed. Between the larger narratives, local histories offer insight into Miami’s scene, here with a focus on Tesoe and his highway sign writing. The tag, forever individual and cryptic to the everyday observer, is decoded and compared across multiple cities, enabling a handstyle compare and contrast.
Elsewhere, a closer look at style points to a youthful desire for flash and image, shaped by the tensions of New York’s 1970s streets—gang violence, territorial pressure, and a driving need among artists to create, to mark presence, and to be seen.
“SUBWAY ART: The Book That Changed Everything” is presented as the crack in the wall that allowed the rest of the world to look in. A quote from Daze underlines the point: “I don’t think anyone could have anticipated the global impact that Subway Art has had on the culture. For many, it became the entry point to a worldwide phenomenon.”
“GRAFFITI HALL OF FAME — Strictly Kings and Better” shifts the lens from documentation to reputation—how writers judge writers. The inaugural class sets out clear benchmarks: CASE 2, DONDI, FUZZ ONE, IZ THE WIZ, and TRACY 168, with painted portraits by Beto Landsky. It points to a canon shaped internally, through practice, reputation, and peer recognition.
One of the most useful sentences in the building comes from PHASE 2, because it tells visitors what to value without preaching:
“Writing is centered on names, words, and letters… Writers agree without a doubt that there is an attitude and commitment within the soul that accompanies being a true writer… that one’s volume of work can in no way replace.”
The JonOne featured section reads as a biography laid out in public, a sprawling timelines history that holds back little, crowding in detail and storytelling. “JonOne — Key Milestones & Exhibitions” is dense on purpose, with purpose. The wall text defines tiguere as Dominican slang for someone street-smart and resourceful, then charts the arc from Washington Heights adolescence into 1980s New York graffiti, where the city “asserts its status as the capital of graffiti.”
The timeline—supported by the artist’s own handwritten explanations—allows visitors to track the evolution without forcing a “from trains to galleries” redemption narrative, as if commercial success retroactively absolved the past. It doesn’t skip the way things actually played out: Catholic school discipline, immigrant family pressure, street education, and the reconfiguration of practice in Paris.
“I have been following Jon’s artistic journey since the 1980s in New York City and marvel at what he has accomplished with his signature tag. Once vilified, we now celebrate his artistic genius.”
“PIXAÇÃO — MARKS OF REBELLION” opens with a question about whether you live on your own terms or follow a script written before you arrived. The wall text situates pixação historically—dictatorship-era Brazil, punk culture, São Paulo’s hard edges—while refusing oversimplification. Before conclusions form, it names the internal infrastructure outsiders often miss: hierarchies, disputes, archives, and community memory.
When artists like LIXOMANIA!ZÉ, Cripta Djan, and Eneri bring pixação into the Museum of Graffiti during Art Basel, the question isn’t whether it’s art. It’s what it forces viewers to reconsider about culture, value, and voice.
Adjacent Wynwood Art Gallery makes the museum’s economy explicit: a commercial-facing space where the work is translated into objects—canvases and small sculptures—without pretending that’s where any of it began. Artists who came up in the street, like UFO 907, alongside projects like Las Bandidas, sit within a now-expanded field of artists finding traction on different registers of the broader art world. Young collectors and die-hard old-school fans criss-cross, each eyeballing the other and the works for sale, well-lit and charged with sudden jolts of electricity.
Bathed in light and framed by white walls, the work is legible to a buyer while remaining tethered to the culture that produced it. This is also where familiar critiques tend to surface—often loosely aimed—circling class, race, commerce, vandalism, validation, and contradiction. The argument isn’t whether this belongs here—it’s what gets lost once it does. Most people, quietly and without much hand-wringing, agree on one thing: it’s good when artists can make a living, and it always has been. This gallery appears to contemplate the complexities, the backstories, and opens the expanse of studio expression that is global today, wide and varied, multistyled and multi-lingual.
A daunting task, the Museum of Graffiti is telling the stories and assembling the language needed to explain to a broader audience how a culture built through vandalism and illegality also produced enduring forms of authorship, influence, and value. It gives voice to writers and artists who have hit the streets for more than five decades, across many cities. There is enough grammar here to choke on, and enough history to get buried under—but also enough evidence to make the tension unavoidable.
With each layer, a viewer understands why certain objects carry weight, and encounters enough names—accurate, specific, and placed in time—to keep the story from dissolving into lazy “legend” tributes. And because the guide is Alan Ket, co-founder of the museum, someone who can stand with writers in front of a newly unearthed UGA canvas and watch them realize it’s the real thing, the scholarship doesn’t feel like a lesson delivered from above; it feels like a history being returned to its authors, in public.
ORIGINS, JonOne, and Pixação: Marks of Rebellion are open to the general public MUSEUM OF GRAFFITI for information on schedules, events, and directions.
While at MOG, make sure to visit WYNWOOD ART GALLERY next door to see their current exhibitions featuring Las Bandidas, UFO907, and more.
Snowy. Hard to see through right now. The physical temperature here in NYC is low, but the rhetorical temperatures are spiking across the land. The battle for freedom is in the courts and Congress and in the streets again, with the demonized and disenfranchised reeling back on their heels. When pressure like this builds, it surfaces everywhere at once—across institutions and culture, on ballots, in courtrooms, and eventually on the street—because culture absorbs, and sometimes rejects, what power attempts to normalize.
Humans never tire of this story—our story—the one where autocrats punch down, reign briefly, and are eventually upended by resistance. Otherwise, why does it recur across centuries, across societies and school districts and states and strata and Shakespeare? Silly and careless as we are, immigrants and the descendants of immigrants let our guard down again, and those who mistake domination for virtue rise again, attempting to strip us all of liberty, to fracture us, to manufacture narratives of the “other.”
One thing people don’t tire of is what keeps reappearing on walls and signs in cities nationwide: reminders of our ideals of welcoming the stranger, embracing difference, and becoming stronger because of it. Walls—often instruments of exclusion—remain contested surfaces for street artists and rebels, carrying rebuttal, invoking memory, and thrashing out dissent in public view. Immigrants are the heart of New York, our DNA melded through toil, competition, and chutzpah. We know tyrants, many of us, as did our parents and grandparents—having escaped them, named them, and fought back against them.
Lo, beware of those who forget where we came from: everywhere.
“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free… The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Here is our weekly interview with the street, this week featuring ACE, Caryn Cast, CRKSHNK, DELUDE, Dieka, Garret Wasserman, Homesick, Jibz, Jim Power, Mosaic Man, Naiver, Qzar, Rae, Salami Doggy, and Welinoo.
Los cimientos de la armonía y de la invención, by Escif. 2024
Reprinted from the original review.
Spanning twelve years of studio and mural work, public interventions, installations, and collaborations, Los cimientos de la armonía y de la invención is Escif’s most comprehensive book to date, and possibly his most deliberate. At 600 pages, this massive, clothbound volume is both an archive and a slow meditation, mirroring the artist’s own evolution from a clever, idea-driven street painter into a conceptual provocateur whose understated gestures leave wide, lingering ripples of interpretation. Drawing its title from Vivaldi’s Il cimento dell’armonia e dell’invenzione, the book positions Escif’s art as both experiment and orchestration—a counterpoint of humor and grief, silence and confrontation, metaphor and material.
Escif’s reputation rests on his ability to place subtle yet impactful works into public space—a painted ladder rising to a window, a cracked phone on a corner facade, a series of sleeping figures mapped across city rooftops. Based in Valencia, Escif began his graffiti practice around 1996–1997 and started developing his public mural and intervention work in the early 2000s; this period overlaps with peers like Hyuro and SAM3 who were also gaining recognition in Spain. He soon distinguished himself with minimalist forms and sharp, socially aware narratives. Escif’s visual language borrows from signage, illustration, and protest banners, but his tone is often that of a haiku or fabled tale: distilled, ambiguous, gently subversive.
A recurring theme is rupture—between humans and the natural world, between economies and ethics, between surfaces and what lies beneath.
Text Steven P. Harrington & Jaime Rojo Fotos Eveline Wilson
Title: ECIF: Los Cimientos De La Armonia Y De La Invencion Published: Self-Published. 2024 Author: ECIF Language: Spanish
New York has long acted as a magnet for graffiti and street artists from around the world—not just because of its mythology, but because this is where the culture took shape, evolved, fractured, and spread outward over more than five decades. For many, that history still matters.
So when Mick La Roc—an important figure in the international graffiti scene who has been writing and painting since the 1980s—recently passed through Brooklyn and took on a new wall, the response was immediate. Despite freezing temperatures, tough winds, and the limited available hours of a short winter day, the block began to fill with young writers and established artists alike. They were eager to meet her, reconnect, paint alongside her, and help bring the piece to completion before she returned to Amsterdam. BSA caught up with Mick La Roc as cans were passed, layers were added, and a multigenerational wall came together—an appropriate setting for an artist whose history and approach have always leaned toward inclusion and exchange.
Mick La Roc came up as a graffiti writer at a time when very few women were visible or welcomed in the culture. Her presence was not positioned as a statement so much as a commitment—showing up, painting, and earning respect through practice. That early grounding in graffiti’s codes, risks, and sense of community shaped her understanding of the street as a place of shared experience as well as rock-solid performance, and it continues to inform how she approaches both public and studio work.
Over time, La Roc has moved between street and studio without severing ties to graffiti’s history or its people. Through decades of activity, she has accumulated a deep reservoir of firsthand stories, images, and lived knowledge—an informal archive built through participation and some retrospection. She shares that history openly, often working alongside younger writers and painters, pairing her own experience with new voices in ways that emphasize continuity rather than hierarchy.
Alongside this role, La Roc has maintained an active international presence for more than four decades, with work appearing on the streets and in exhibitions in cities including New York, Berlin, London, and Paris. She has participated in festivals, group exhibitions, and gallery projects that situate her practice within broader conversations around graffiti, street art, and urban contemporary culture. Her work is often discussed alongside other women who helped expand the field’s visual and social possibilities, while remaining firmly rooted in the graffiti lineage that shaped her early years.
Brooklyn Street Art:You’ve painted in cities all over the world, but New York carries a particular weight in graffiti history. What does it feel like to be back here, painting in Bushwick today? Mick La Roc: It’s really great to be back in New York. Bushwick kind of blew me away. There’s so much street art and graffiti now. The last time I was here was about ten years ago, and it didn’t feel like this at all. What I’m seeing now is really impressive, and I’m happy to be part of it.
BSA:Compared to your last visit, what stands out most to you about how the neighborhood has changed visually? Mick La Roc: It definitely feels like there’s more work now. It keeps expanding. I think more people are open to having their walls or buildings painted compared to the last time I was here.
BSA:Bushwick has become a place where graffiti and street art coexist very closely. How does that mix read to you as someone who came up through graffiti? Mick La Roc: I see a lot of street art, and also a lot of graffiti. To me it’s kind of like Japanese and English—you need both languages. So I think the balance is okay. Honestly, though, I haven’t analyzed it too much. I’ve mostly just been walking around, taking it all in.
BSA:You started writing and painting in the early 1980s, long before graffiti was widely accepted. When did New York first enter the picture for you? Mick La Roc: I started writing my name in 1983, and I started painting in 1985. The first time I came to New York was in 1993.
BSA:Do you remember where you landed when you first arrived? Mick La Roc: I stayed in South Ozone Park. That’s actually where I painted my first pieces here. On 104th Street, I did my first train, and I also painted my first really big piece—it was about this size (gesturing toward the current wall)—at the Franklin K. Lane schoolyard.
Brooklyn Street Art:What are you working on here today, and why did you choose this approach for this wall? Mick La Roc: I’m doing a traditional New York–style name piece. Style writing. Just my name.
Brooklyn Street Art:This wall turned into a group effort pretty quickly. Who ended up painting with you today? Mick La Roc: I’ve been really lucky. Nikki, who has worked closely with Lady Pink over the years, is here with me, which I really appreciate. And then a few guys from the scene stopped by—people I know—telling me their New York stories as they’re living them right now. I asked if they wanted to help out, and they jumped in. That was really nice.
Brooklyn Street Art:There’s a strong sense of respect and familiarity happening around this wall. Does that kind of spontaneous collaboration still matter to you? Mick La Roc: Yeah, it really does. When the Bushwick Collective offered me this wall and I saw the size of it, I thought, why not do the biggest one? Go big or go home!
This week’s BSA images pull together some of the stronger graffiti writers we’ve seen lately, cutting across the range of lettering styles, holding weight on the street right now. From hard-earned handstyles and burners to sharper, more graphic approaches, they sit next to illustrators and pop-culture–driven characters that know how to travel beyond the sketchbook. Sharpened and smart, this work made for public space, shaped by repetition, risk, and a clear sense of visual authority.
So here is our interview with the street, this week including Atomiko, Dirt Cobain, DJJS1, Elena Rose, Jamie Hef, Jest, Keds, Klonism, Mena Ceresa, Meres One, MUL, PHYBER, Queen Andrea, Skewville, Souls NYC, TOPAZFTR, and Zulimar Mendoza.
Wynwood Walls made its presence felt throughout Miami Art Week this December with a familiar mix of new murals, established names, and a thematic frame titled ONLY HUMAN. As crowds moved between fairs, pop-ups, concerts, dance floors, bars, receptions, painting jams, and private events, the Walls once again operated as both one of the primary anchors and an amplifier for street art during Art Basel week.
Developed by Jessica Goldman Srebnick, ONLY HUMAN positioned itself as a reflection on lived experience, emotion, and hand-made mark-making at a moment when digital production and AI are reshaping visual culture. The framing was intentionally broad, while the artist roster leaned toward painters with established reputations for figurative, symbolic, and calligraphic work.
New murals and installations unfolded across the site, with contributions by:
CRYPTIK, who brought his Sanskrit-influenced iconography and meditative symbolism to a prominent exterior façade SETH, continuing his long-running global narrative focused on childhood, memory, and displacement Miss Birdy, whose surreal figurative imagery explored interior worlds and states of reflection Joe Iurato, installing his signature hand-cut wooden figures that sit between drawing, sculpture, and quiet observation Quake, grounding the program in West Coast graffiti history by painting the Wynwood Walls train in motion, dedicating the piece to his friend and graffiti pioneer Tracy 168 Persue, placing his BunnyKitty character into an apocalyptic scenario where graffiti mutates and color intensifies RISK, reinforcing the Walls’ long-standing relationship with early graffiti writers and the culture’s foundational figures
One of the most discussed moments of the week was the return collaboration by El Mac and RETNA, their first joint public work in more than a decade. The pairing carried historical weight, recalling an earlier period when large-scale figurative painting and calligraphic abstraction were helping redefine the possibilities of street art on monumental walls. With El Mac’s son serving as the subject, the work subtly marked a generational passage within a culture now several decades into its evolution.
In the compound, Goldman Global Arts Gallery extended the program with full studio exhibitions by:
Hebru Brantley, presenting character-driven paintings and sculptural works that draw on pop imagery and storytelling, filtered through childhood, hero archetypes, and social commentary Simon Berger, showing portraits formed through controlled fracturing and impact on glass, using cracks, density, and light to construct faces that feel both precise and fragile Sandra Chevrier, exhibiting mixed-media portraits that layer comic-book imagery over the human figure, using those fragments to address identity, social/psychological pressure, and the public narratives imposed on private lives
These exhibitions echoed the outdoor program’s emphasis on the human figure and modalities of identity, while offering a quieter counterpoint to the crowds milling about the grounds outside—one grounded more in interior presence than the spectacle.
As in past years, Wynwood Walls also hosted private previews and invitation-only gatherings early in the week, including an artists dinner tied to the unveiling of the new works. While guest lists and details remain largely off record, these evenings functioned as bubbling and charged meeting points for artists, collectors, curators, academics, photographers, and figures from real estate, music, and civic life—part celebration, part networking ritual that has become a familiar, carefully managed, feature of Art Week.
In the end, ONLY HUMAN reinforced Wynwood Walls’ role as a highly visible platform balancing graffiti lineage with polished mural production and market-aware programming. For visitors, it offers consistent access to both widely recognized and less-circulated names; for artists, it remains a closely watched stage in the street art calendar.
Wynwood Walls, in Wynwood, Miami, is open to the public year-round. Click HERE for more information on directions, schedules, tickets, and special events.
Elfo isn’t wrong—but he isn’t quite right either. The statement hinges on where graffiti is most often encountered today: on brick and concrete, or on a glowing fluorescent rectangle in your hand. Conceptually, this is not a new kind of irony, but the choice of text and its placement sharpen the point. In a misty, ivy-covered scene like this, an Italian cow would have more jurisdiction than Photoshop.
The work quietly acknowledges a shift in authorship and erasure—from paint removers and municipal cleanups to crop tools, filters, and deletion. Yet here, far from screens and scrolls, the sentence sits stubbornly in the landscape, where digital tools have no authority at all. The result is less a joke than a measured contradiction, asking whether graffiti now lives more durably on walls—or in pixels.
We’re celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of the next by thanking BSA Readers, Friends, and Family for your support in 2025. Picked by our followers, these photos are the heavily circulated and “liked” selections of the year – shot by our Editor of Photography, Jaime Rojo. We’re sharing a new one every day to celebrate all our good times together, our hope for the future, and our love for the street. Happy Holidays, Everyone!
Street art doesn’t only regale walls, it often reflects us, flaws and all. Call it protest or simply commentary, this piece landed in 2025 right in the middle of the contradiction of our moment. Artist Clown Soldier simplifies the scene for effect: masked ICE agents attacking Liberty, roughing up a powerful symbol of freedom at Ellis Island, the same gateway generations of immigrants passed through to seek a new life and to build this country from the ground up. Now we are asking ourselves, what has changed, and how did it happen?
“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Matthew 25:35–40 “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me… Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”
We’re celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of the next by thanking BSA Readers, Friends, and Family for your support in 2025. Picked by our followers, these photos are the heavily circulated and “liked” selections of the year – shot by our Editor of Photography, Jaime Rojo. We’re sharing a new one every day to celebrate all our good times together, our hope for the future, and our love for the street. Happy Holidays, Everyone!
Street art welcomes all manner of materials and methods, typically deployed without permission and without apology. This hand-formed wire piece reads as a farragoed ruckus of illustration—a continuous line bent into scenes, characters, and visual kiniptions—carrying the brashness and tenacity of illegal under-bridge graffiti while remaining unbound by aerosol means and ‘style’ rules.
Because of its material logic and the artist’s methods, this work by Reed Bmore operates in real-time, framing and reframing its surroundings. Light shifts, traffic moves, and bodies work their way through the streets below. The installation redraws itself again and again, becoming something different from one moment to the next—an illustration in motion that insists the street itself is part of the composition.
We’re celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of the next by thanking BSA Readers, Friends, and Family for your support in 2025. Picked by our followers, these photos are the heavily circulated and “liked” selections of the year – shot by our Editor of Photography, Jaime Rojo. We’re sharing a new one every day to celebrate all our good times together, our hope for the future, and our love for the street. Happy Holidays, Everyone!
The most successful murals are created within the context of a community. Too often, street art festivals operate with little regard for the neighbors they affect—the residents, families, and sacred spaces that surround the work. What is framed as a “gift” can instead resemble a form of cultural imperialism, delivered by self-appointed benefactors.
In Prague this fall, however, we saw a contemporary approach applied to the portrait of a culturally significant figure, and the result felt measured, grounded, and in balance with its setting. Here is a modernist profile of Milada Horáková, who was a Czech democratic politician and resistance fighter executed in a 1950 Stalinist show trial. In Prague she stands as a powerful cultural symbol of moral courage, civic resistance, and the enduring trauma of communist repression, commemorated through memorials, street names, and public remembrance.
At the base of the graphically interrupted portrait is a quote from her, translated as “Walk through the world with your eyes open and listen not only to your pain and concerns, but also to the pains, concerns and desires of others.”
We’re celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of the next by thanking BSA Readers, Friends, and Family for your support in 2025. Picked by our followers, these photos are the heavily circulated and “liked” selections of the year – shot by our Editor of Photography, Jaime Rojo. We’re sharing a new one every day to celebrate all our good times together, our hope for the future, and our love for the street. Happy Holidays, Everyone!
Okay let’s do this! The future is unwritten. Get out your marker.
Seizing the moment after a high-visibility Super Bowl performance, street artist Alberto León created a wheatpaste titled “America” in Barcelona. …Read More »
A transformed school bus becomes a mobile healing site at the US-Mexico border. This documentary short (Guadalupe Maravilla’s “Mariposa Relámpago”) …Read More »
BROOKLYN STREET ART LOVES YOU MORE EVERY DAY
