Banksy is back, and his nine graffitied works around London in nine days have prompted the usual questions. Is it art? Vandalism? And what does it mean, anyway? All featured wild animals – among them a horned mountain goat perched atop a narrow column, a trio of acrobatic monkeys swinging across a bridge, pelicans eating fish on a wall above a fish bar, a randy rhinoceros mounting an abandoned grey car with a horn-like traffic cone on its hood and, at London zoo on the last day, a gorilla lifting a curtain to release a sea lion, birds, and butterflies to freedom.
There was no advance publicity. At 1pm on the day each went up, a photo appeared on Banksy’s Instagram page with its 13.2m followers, and despite a lack of captions or location details, crowds were soon flocking to see them.
Meanwhile, in contrast to the public’s enthusiasm, the critics’ reaction, as is their wont regarding Banksy, was hardly hospitable. The Guardian’s Jonathan Jones wrote, “At his best he’s a satirical agent provocateur with few rivals. At worst he’s vacantly sentimental or ideologically crass, often both at the same time” while the Spectator’s Igor Toronyi-Lalic grumped in an interview that Banksy is “the worst artist in history … the biggest moron who has ever existed in art.”
There was a moment, perhaps, when I might have agreed, given most critics’ kneejerk prejudice against anything that’s too popular. However, having lived in New York during the heyday that produced Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat, I’ve always had a soft spot for graffiti and admiration for artists who are willing to risk their lives for their art. I’ve spent a lot of time in England so when Banksy came to NY in 2013, I was more familiar with him than my colleagues who were clearly writing about him for the clickbait, and I resented that otherwise scrupulous critics felt research was unnecessary when reviewing an artist they’d decided in advance was unimportant.
Working on the suspicion that there was more to the artist than most realised, I resolved to study all things Banksy, never thinking it would result in a book. However, the more I found, well, the more I found – concluding that Banksy is a trickster, a true provocateur who is redefining what art is. My title, Banksy: Completed urges us consider that what happens after the painting goes on the wall – whether it is preserved? Painted over? Removed and sold by others for profit? Stolen? Destroyed? – is an intrinsic part of the art along with what it reveals about our culture and values, including critics making fools of themselves.
The problem for critics is that Banksy’s work resists categorisation. Is it art? If so, can it be judged in traditional terms? Or are these simply illegal scribblings that encourage others to subvert the law? Another problem for our capitalist society is that there’s no obvious profit motive. Except for works donated to particular charities, Banksy has produced no artworks for sale since he exited the gallery scene in 2008, and although his work may bring in millions at auction, those are pieces sold previously to others on which he sees no return. Same with the myriad “museum” shows of his work that have been circulating the globe, put together without his involvement or permission – or, as he’s put it, “non-consensual”. Therefore, how Banksy funds his ventures is as much a mystery as his identity.
I think of Banksy in the tradition of John Cage’s “happenings” – situations set up to produce responses which, Cage said, “should be like a net to catch a fish the nature of which one does not know”.
Therefore, consider the complexities around Banksy’s seventh work of the series, which just happens to be about fish: a glass-paned police sentry box painted with translucent spray paint to make it look like an aquarium tank swimming with piranhas. A representative of the City of London police stated “We are aware of criminal damage to a City of London police box in Ludgate Hill,” while a City of London spokesperson promised, “We are currently working through options to preserve the artwork.” So which is it? “criminal damage” or “artwork”? Designating it as either would set a crucial legal precedent going forward. Meanwhile, not one of the many articles I read online noted that Banksy’s view of the police may not be entirely positive – these are not just any old fish but piranhas, known for their sharp teeth and predatory nature.
The police have long been subjects of Banksy’s works – one of his most famous depicts two cops kissing. Although almost always political, Banksy’s success has to do with his seemingly feigned lack of seriousness and avoidance of partisanship – no caricatures of Trump or Netanyahu here. Instead he concentrates on a single objective: making the world safe for children – where the dove of peace doesn’t have to wear a bulletproof vest, a little girl can pat down a soldier or use a clutch of balloons to fly over Israel’s dividing wall. Concentrating on basic values of peace and love may seem corny to some, but in this age of extreme division they are uniting.
But now, what about the animals? When asked for a statement about the recent series, Banksy’s management organisation, Pest Control Office, responded: “The artist’s vision is simple: the latest street art has been designed to cheer up the public during a period when the news headlines have been bleak, and light has often been harder to spot than shade.”
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That’s very nice, but I’ve learned that in Banksy’s world, nothing is ever random, let alone “simple”. His work has often involved animals, with the unspoken sentiment that they might do a better job of running the world than humans. In 2003 he did a six-foot-long stencil portraying a row of apes wearing aprons with the inscription “Laugh now but one day we’ll be in charge.” It was followed in 2009 by a massive work classically painted with oil on canvas complete with gold frame entitled Question Time (later renamed Devolved Parliament), where Banksy replaced politicians debating in the House of Commons with chimpanzees. Perhaps now having the world taken over by wild animals is not such a bad thing.
Having put so much time and effort into Banksy, I’d been waiting for him to do something specific to the war in Gaza, where he has previously focused so much work–including, in 2017, established The Walled-Off Hotel in the West Bank’s Bethlehem. Later donated to the Palestinians,the hotel was a place where – at least before the conflict – people could actually spend the night in an artwork. Having to go there and write about it for my book, meeting the people, has made me feel extremely close to present events.
But then I think about another aspect of the work. Why nine days? Why not eight or seven? I look it up to find it is a Jewish period of mourning associated with Tisha B’Av, the dates of which correspond to Banksy’s venture and include a fast where one does not consume meat (which I know, from the food offered at his Dismaland theme park, Banksy also does not). Is this simply a coincidence? Maybe, maybe not. We will certainly never know. But it is a reminder that we are all in this together, and to look forward to a day when we can be as carefree as his monkeys swinging across the bridge.
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Carol Diehl is the author of Banksy: Completed
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