Lewiston’s ‘Dump Trump’ debacle draws reaction from street graffiti artists

My friends, here is something I know for sure:

If I were to pause during one of my walks through downtown Lewiston to scribble a dirty limerick on the side of a building, police would descend upon me in seconds. 

Sirens would wail. Spotlights would illuminate my guilty figure. Investigators from secret government task forces would rappel down from ropes to capture me just as I was getting to the part about the man from Thorndike. 

It’s as close to a certainty as you can get. 

How then, I drive myself mad wondering, did some graffiti maestro manage to scrawl “Dump Trump” in 5-foot letters in an extremely public part of Lewiston? 

They didn’t simply scrawl the message, mind you. The artist in question took the time to make sure those bright white words had the proper dimension and depth. The words were outlined in red and were given a cool shadow effect that made the message jump off the faded brick wall like a living thing. 

Magic, is the only way I can explain it. With the stealth of an alley cat, the artist left the work for thousands to see on their drives to work and yet nary a sign or clue to his or her identity was left behind. 

I for sure don’t know who the artist is. Police don’t know, either, and what’s stranger still is that the shadowy people who populate the local graffiti subculture likewise have no clue. 

“The ‘Dump Trump,’ was beautiful,” says one local tagger. “But I can’t claim it.” 

I’ll call this artist Spazz for lack of a better moniker. Spazz agreed to talk to me about his work only after I made a vow of anonymity that stopped just short of a blood oath. 

It was the same deal with another graffiti artist, a 20-year-veteran of spray paint and midnight forays I shall call “T.” 

“The ‘Dump Trump’ certainly was magical,” T says. “I loved it. It’s amazing to me when someone can pull off something that’s not just large and in your face but is also clean and proportionate.” 

T doesn’t have any idea who the work belongs to, either, although I wonder if he would admit it if he did. 

So, instead of grilling these street artists about the “Dump Trump” message, I had questions about their secretive work in general. 

How, I wanted to know. How do you evade detection in an age of security lights and surveillance cameras on every other pole? In the thick of it, do the hands become unsteady as pure adrenaline floods the brain, knowing that at any moment, the bright lights of the law might shine upon it? 

Sure enough, says T. Those adrenaline spikes are half the fun. 

The other half is vanity. 

“The thrill of going out bombing,” he says, “is like no other. Any writer that catches street spots is an adrenaline junkie and doing illegal graffiti can definitely give you that adrenaline. There’s also a certain amount of ego that comes with writing your nom de plume continuously, on everything you can, for years and years.”

The best of these street artists never get caught. Their names are never known to police, to the media or even to others within their own inner circles. They are phantoms who have mastered the shadows.

Yet over the years, police have caught their share of graffiti artists. Roughly a year ago, Lewiston police nabbed the group who had tagged their department cruisers with graffiti in a parking garage on Canal Street. 

When he was working on the street, police Lt. Derrick St. Laurent himself caught a tagger or two through investigative techniques he doesn’t care to get into. 

Police try to capture these street artists, they say, because the damage from even a single can of spray paint can run into thousands of dollars. 

“It’s the taxpayers who end up footing the bill for this stuff,” St. Laurent says.

But the taggers themselves don’t necessarily see what they do as vandalism — it’s a form of civil disobedience inherent in our culture, says Spazz.

And some folks who live in the downtown appreciate it when new artwork appears, as if by magic, in otherwise dreary areas.

“Graffiti artists are real artists,” says Grayling Cunningham, who knows her share of graffiti artists, past and present. “Something within them creates a need to share a message or a picture with others. Not all of them are just vandals trying to mess people’s property up.” 

Which is all very interesting, and yet I’m still hung up on the “how” of it. How is it that so many of these street artists are able to continue their work for so long in unsoiled anonymity?

For some taggers, says Spazz, it’s about doing your homework and picking the right moments. Not all graffiti art, he insists, is done in the dark. 

“It’s sometimes easier to do in plain sight,” he says. “Maybe know when some larger distraction is happening. Or when it’s thought to be part of an event. Maybe know schedules of shift changes, or (when) limited oversight is occurring. It’s also helpful to disguise in case of cameras, tracking of locations etc.” 

T more or less agrees. 

“As far as rules and tactics it’s pretty much to each their own,” he says. “Everyone is different and lots of people do things differently than others. There’s no right time of day or wrong place. It’s genuine and free. It just depends on how much risk you’re willing to take.” 

The latest graffiti to get the Twin Cities buzzing likely involved some planning, he speculates. 

“I know people that if seeing that ‘Dump Trump’ wall for the first time would go home and plan and prep and draw and pick the perfect time for them to go before rocking that spot,” he says, “and others that would pull their car over and bomb it at 1 o’clock in the afternoon. Both of which have happened at that spot. Just what works best for you as a writer.” 

The buzz that came with the appearance of “Dump Trump” last week was similar, in ways, to the clamor that arose when the words “Hope” and “Love” were spray painted in the same area back in 2010. 

Back then, debate raged over whether that graffiti was art or just plain criminal mischief. Some loved it, some hated it and at any rate, the graffiti was eventually sandblasted off the wall. 

Which is the fate that awaits any work of graffiti art that wasn’t sanctioned by the city. But that’s OK, both T and Spazz agree. If you’re a street artist dabbling in illicit graffiti, you hope that your message will stir passions within the community but you also know that your work, no matter how spectacular, is never going to be permanent. 

Part of the charm of street graffiti, after all, is its transitory nature. It’s here one day and gone the next, and once city crews have scrubbed the latest work of art clean, the person who created it just moves on. In any sprawling city or town, there is no end of locations where new art can be created. 

The search for new locations, as it happens, is part of the fun. 

“I’ve seen so many things most civilians can only daydream about,” says T. “Been to some of the most secluded and beautiful places around. I have friends I’ve known well for over 15 years and we stay in touch to this day because of this art.  

“They can buff out the sprays,” T says, “but they can never take our memories.” 

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