Books like The Faith of Graffiti

Gordon Matta-Clark is one of my favorite ever artists. An innovator who crossed the fields of architecture and art, Matta-Clark found new modes of expression by simultaneously deconstructing his urban surroundings and destabilizing the canonical regulations of art. What’s more, and unlike many of his contemporaries, Matta-Clark had a keen eye for graffiti, using it within his own practice (such as in the work “Graffiti Truck”) as well as archiving the images that surrounded him in 1970s New York. 

Whilst some of these images have previously been seen in exhibitions of Matta-Clark's work (his hand-colored, stunning “Photoglyphs” most famously), the majority of the 2000 photos Matta-Clark took during the early ‘70s have never been seen until the publication of this stunning book. At over 400 pages and with over 400 beautiful color images, as well as containing interviews and essays by some key practitioners and writers of the era, this… show more.

The summer I finished my PhD, I had the feeling that I had made a huge mistake—the mistake being I hadn’t written my whole doctorate on the life and work of Rammellzee, the pioneering artist and mythical graffiti writer who had died aged just 49 the year before. A game-changing innovator who combined literature, music, performance, sculpture, and fashion to produce an avant-garde art practice that is still influential today, Rammellzee showed what was possible when graffiti was truly unshackled and set free.

Whilst it was too late for me to go back in time and restart my PhD, thankfully, Maxwell Wolf and Jeff Mao have produced the most definitive monograph on Rammellzee to date. Packed full of incredible images and the most mind-bending ephemera, it’s a must for anyone interested in graffiti, Afrofuturism, or performance art, let alone anyone who wants to learn about one of the most electrifying,… show more.

I learned so much from reading anthropologist Susan Phillips’ fantastic account of Los Angeles over the last 100 years. Exploring the history of the city from the ground up, she combines a microscopic analysis of the city’s diverse graffiti cultures–from the graffiti of hobos to that of surfers, prisoners, and punks–with a macroscopic account of the changing nature of this most famous megalopolis.

I loved the beautiful, intimate images Philips included, as well as her refreshing, first-person appearance throughout the book. More than anything, though, I really enjoyed the way that Phillip's approach extends the understanding of 20th-century graffiti beyond the traditional East Cost (and hip-hop-centric) focus, seeing an entire world within the traces the most marginalized leave behind and showing how graffiti reveals as much about the changing nature of a city as of society itself.

This book blew my mind when I first read it. In fact, it continues to do so today, over 20 years since it was first written. Perverse, contradictory, offensive, effervescent, and totally un-put-downable, Brown (aka Nov, aka Nov York, aka Dumaar Freemaninov) takes us on an extraordinary journey into the life of a 1990s New York graffiti writer, into the underbelly and dirt of the city and into its drugged out, demented dramas.

How autobiographical is it? How much is truth? How much fiction? Whichever the answer, Brown’s anarchic, unique book took me on a trip that I will never forget, and in doing so, gives an insight into a world far beyond the graffiti image itself. A must-read (and to be read aloud whilst travelling on the subway as per the author’s instructions)! 

If you read one biography/memoir of a Gilded Age criminal, make it this one. It tells the story (often in his own words) of the celebrated pickpocket George Appo, an odd little half-Chinese, half-Irish, one-eyed fellow who could make $800 in a few days when most working men made less than that in a year. Appo would rivet New Yorkers when he testified about his second career as a “green goods” con man, working to swindle gullible out-of-towners who came to buy purported counterfeit money at a discount, only to discover that there was nothing but sawdust inside the packages they carried away. Appo refused to name names, though, as he was a self-described “good fellow.”  

This is a novel about Italian immigrants struggling to survive in New York City’s Little Italy during the early years of the twentieth century amid the growth of the Black Hand, the precursor to the American mafia. The book is unique in that most of the characters are the author’s actual ancestors and people with whom they had come into contact during that era. Similarly, the grisly central events described in the story all occurred.

It is beautifully written and filled with fascinating historical details. The characters and the descriptions of places and events come alive on the page. Fabiano includes an extensive Glossary of Italian Terms used in the book, as well as a multi-generational family tree. Elizabeth Street makes for very good reading!

I love the way Bushra Rehman writes about immigrant New York in the 80s – in vignettes that thread together to convey a sense of time, place, and geography.

All her characters are portrayed sensitively and complexly: from the main protagonist Razia coming into her queerness, to Pakistani aunties with their own histories and trauma, to friends who grow further apart.

I love how much this story is about women as the cornerstones of community. 

The complexities of the human, the whole human. That’s what Paley explores. How we think, how we act and feel, how we play and fight, how we talk. And talk. Paley is a master of nuance, and often reveals her mastery through dialogue. There is always a convincing urgency in the way her characters speak, and a delicious talking-around a thing, an idea. Her worlds richly detailed and urban. I’d like to live in the apartment building of Grace Paley’s mind. 

I loved this book because it pitted the criminal’s warped psyche against that of the private detective.

Would the latter be willing to compromise his own moral code to stop the heinous actions of the former? How far is anyone willing to go not only to confront evil but to eliminate it? 

Growing up in New York City, I’ll never forget my first experience, at around the age of seven, with people literally living underground. Our subway stalled in a tunnel in front of an abandoned station. The lights went off in the car and the platform outside was cast in an eerie orange glow by a single bulb.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, charged my subway car, and started banging wildly and laughing maniacally, just on the other side of the glass to me. This continued for what felt like a million years before the train came back to life, and we moved on.

Decades later, I discovered this book about a parallel city below mine where people like that man live an alternative existence in miles and miles of dark warrens underground. I’m obsessed with it.