URBAN DISRUPTION

As street art falls into the trap of commercialism, collectives like koloWn of Cebu reclaim urban spaces through works that dare to disrupt

- Katrina Maisie Cabral

Across Cebu City’s Archbishop Reyes Avenue stands a stretch of walls, appearing as a stark contrast to the gray slabs and concrete pavement surrounding the road— spraypainted art in vibrant colors, insignias that could stop traffic. These walls stand opposite an imposing government building, as if they were unashamedly challenging it. In Cebu, artwork greets you once you’ve stepped onto its streets. On my route out of Mactan-Cebu Airport into Mandaue, I’m welcomed by graffiti on worn walls, closed garage doors—spraypainted forms scribbled on famous monuments and next to high-end hotels. Driving towards the strip to Cebu City, these pieces stretch endlessly along the road. As with any developed area, the street art of Metro Cebu pervades its corners and finds its way to main roads. Cebu is labeled the oldest city in the Philippines, but it’s one filled with urban modernity, signified in the art that lines its streets. Even its jeepneys, shaped differently from their Manila counterparts, appear like mobile canvases embodying the city’s culture with amazingly spraypainted bodies that would put any “Pimp My Ride” auto revamp to shame.

Street art chooses the city as its domain, as the hub of the powers-that-be and as symbols of economic and political might, now defaced by the oppressed through artistic revolutions occupying the streets. The street art movement finds its roots in 1970s New York, born out of hip-hop’s graffiti. Originators like Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Futura 2000 painted the city with anti-establishment messages that pushed corporations off their pedestals. Much like the ethos of hiphop, the movement placed its communities in the spotlight.