On November 19, 2013, one of the world’s most beloved public art meccas was destroyed. Jerry Wolkoff, the owner of 5Pointz, a Long Island City building famously scrawled in graffiti, had the site painted over in the middle of the night ahead of a plan to redevelop the buildings into luxury apartments. It was a sobering development for thousands of artists and fans to wake up to. Public art — specifically art made by mostly-self-taught artists wielding spray paint cans — had the power to drastically revitalize a landscape, but it could all still be taken away on the whims of a property owner with a can of white paint and dreams of cashing in on his long dormant investment.
But there would be justice, after all. On February 13, a federal judge ruled that Wolkoff owes 5Pointz artists $6.75 million dollars for destroying their notable work without informing them of his plans at least 90 days in advance, thus violating their rights under the Visual Artists Rights Act of 1990.
The decision is a major landmark in not only artists’ rights, but particularly when it comes to artists who work with aerosol paints in outdoor spaces. Whereas pieces of spray paint art are commonly coded as illegal, the 5Pointz decision has tested the assumption that legal, graffiti-inspired art is not of artistic value. At last, the street art movement in the U.S. has gotten a cosign from the federal justice system. And in a showdown between artists’ rights and property owners’ rights — in a time when both art and housing costs are skyrocketing in cities — the latter’s power has proven to be not quite as all-encompassing as some may have thought.
One of the artists who emerged victorious from this battle is Sandra Fabara, better known as legendary graffiti writer, street artist, and muralist Lady Pink. Renowned in the art world for being an early trailblazer in the New York City graffiti scene and larger street art movement, Lady Pink was part of the lawsuit, along with 20 other artists. She spoke with The Outline about what this case means, and what 5Pointz meant to street artists and the perception of public art at large.
How do you feel now that this lawsuit has been settled?
It’s just a relief that it’s over.
Could you tell me a little bit about your relationship with the 5Pointz?
I’ve known the space since before it was 5Pointz. It used to be called the Phun Phactory. The guy who used to run it, Pat DiLillo, was just a horrible human being; we couldn’t do business. He was there to exploit the young graffiti writers, and I didn’t care for that attitude. I’m glad that he disappeared and that [aerosol artist] Meres [One] took over. I lived like ten minutes away in Queens, so I went there hundreds and hundreds of different times. It just became a part of the scene.
Tell me about the day you learned it had been whitewashed.
I never saw it in real life — the building whitewashed or destroyed or anything like that. I never have. I just saw it on TV briefly that it had been whitewashed, probably the day after it happened.
What were you feeling that made you want to go forward with the lawsuit?
The responsibility for all the other artists that went there and have gone there and lost their work. [Not] responsibility for the entire movement, per se, but more as in the respectability of our art and how we were not being respected. I personally get respect wherever I go, but all of these young people do not and they’ve never reached that level. For me to have reached that level of respectability and acceptance and being an established artist and all of that — without me being involved and taking responsibility for my fellow artists, this wouldn’t have been successful. It definitely helped having my background there, and I know that.
I understand when people want to use my name and all of that so that they can launch themselves; that’s fine. When I’m fully aware of it and down with it and willing to help these artists, I do it. This lawsuit was no different. They needed me on board and so I had to stick with it. Meres has been my friend for many years, since he appeared on the scene and took over 5Pointz and he’s been very good to me. He’s been very good to my artists; he’d always give them a spot to paint. I had to give back.
What do you feel like this decision does for emerging artists?
It gives them a bit of confidence in their work and a bit of respectability, like I said. Now they’re aware that when they paint a mural and it’s legal, they’re protected by the law. That’s just unheard of in our world. What? We get justice? There’s a law on our side? Yes, the Visual Artists Rights Act of 1990 has been around for decades, but this has just brought it to the forefront — not just law enforcement and the general public, but to other artists that they can have confidence that their work will be protected, that their work will be respected, and that they should go ahead and flex their skills and give it their all. I think that we set a precedent for other artists to do their thing.
“This place was special. No one had beef. No one had attitude. No one went there for anything except having a recreational fun time painting a wall.”
I’ve read some opinions that say that this decision is actually bad for artists because it will discourage property owners from allowing artists to do work on their buildings, because then they will be afraid that they won’t have the option of altering or destroying it someday.
I think that’s just misguided. There’s absolutely no problem with an artist and a landlord having a dialogue and saying, you know, I’m selling the building, it’s time to paint over the wall and then com[ing] to an agreement. It isn’t as if most artists are copyrighting their work. My piece at 5Pointz was copyrighted. That is a level of protection most street artists do not undertake.
You do have to have an open dialogue and mutual respect. [Landlords] don’t want [artists] to paint horrible stuff on the building, so you respect that. You’re just beautifying the neighborhood. But the landlord also doesn’t have the right to allow a group of artists to paint one time and then just completely invite another group of artists to paint over the first artists without speaking to [them]. This is just common sense mutual respect. It’s okay when it’s known that the time is over, the building is coming down, we’re selling it. Street artists know that there is a shelf life for the work. It isn’t to be there forever and permanent like fancy, ancient, old school muralists [who] would take months and months to put up a mural. We paint it a lot faster, and we are aware that a city’s an ever-changing landscape and [that when] it’s time to take the work down it’s going to have to go. [But] you can’t just go over an artist’s work without opening a dialogue and having mutual respect there. And that didn’t happen [at 5Pointz] obviously.
What about 5Pointz was so special that you were willing to put so much effort into the lawsuit after it came down?
5Pointz was welcoming to everyone of all ages, of all skill levels. There were at least 20, 30 artists painting on the weekend all over the building up and down and around rooftops. The energy that was coming in from all the different artists feeding off each other — the vibe was just unheard of. Usually, there’s issues with graffiti writers getting together. There’s beef, there’s politics, people don’t get along. But this place was special. No one had beef. No one had attitude. No one went there for anything except having a recreational fun time painting a wall.
The place had such a wonderful vibe that people brought their children there. You’d see little kids sitting on the sidewalk with their coloring books and mom and dad just giving it their all and painting amazing stuff. It gave a venue for not just artists and up and coming painters in New York City, but all over the world, since New York was the mecca of graffiti. At first [artists] used to come and they’d want to paint our subway trains. But that became difficult and incredibly dangerous, so they would just come and buy some spray paint and spend all week long painting at 5Pointz. They don’t want to go to the Statue of Liberty, they don’t want to go to the Empire State Building, they don’t want to do shopping. They just want to go to Home Depot, get some spray paint and spend their entire vacation painting at 5Pointz and flexing their skills because everyone around the world will see it [through] social media.
And depending on how amazing the spot that you were given [was], it had a shelf life. Some stayed up for years and were like permanent spots and others circulated every few months. In the back of the building there was an area that was for teenagers and circulated every few days. So if I had kids — 15, 16 year olds who wanted to paint spray paint things for the first time ever — this was the spot. If a dad rolled up with his 10 year old and a can of spray paint, Meres gave the 10 year old a spot and [he] painted til he was blue in the face and the can was empty. You [could] give your child a legal venue, because otherwise they’re gonna sneak out at night and paint anyway, something in the dark that don’t belong to them at the risk of their little lives.
So this was a godsend. And it was also amazing to see the oldtimers. These were the first generation graf writers from the early 70s — and they’re in their 50s pushing 60 — and they’d go there. Meres was doing Old Timers Day on some weekends in the summertime. They’d have a deejay, have a little food. You’d see these guys going back into their childhood, and turning into teenagers and being part of a group where they feel that they belong. Some of them would bring in their grown children who for the first time in their lives realized that daddy is really cool. He did cool stuff as a kid. He’s down with these graffiti writers and this movement. So the place was just unparalleled in the venues that it gave.
It was a place of belonging [where] everyone knew your name. They welcomed you [to] paint whatever you want [and] have fun. It wasn’t like that painting the subway trains. It was pretty scary and dangerous and little small isolated groups doing their thing in the middle of the dark. But this was a broad daylight kind of recreational place. When they knocked it down, you know, that’s when the fun went away.
What would you say has been the hardest part of this whole process?
The hardest part of this whole process was sitting for the closing argument of this case and hearing the opposing lawyer talk about us like we’re dirt and worthless pieces of crap. That’s never fun. I’m not used to being spoken to that way. Maybe only my sister talks to me that way. But in the real life no one talks to me like I’m a piece of dirt worthless, my work is worthless and I have no value and that I am a nobody. I have a career of 40 years that says different. But having to hear that was the hardest thing in the world. So having to sit through that and not being able to get up and punch this man in the face was incredibly difficult.
How do you think this legal victory will be remembered in graffiti history? Do you see this as a turning point?
[In the early days] we imagined graffiti was going to be a fad and we were teenagers [who would] have to figure something out to do when we grow up. We certainly didn’t imagine that it would still be around and that it would be a career for us, so it’s difficult to predict how historians will see this. But because street art has become the world’s biggest art movement, I think it’s necessary that some of these laws come to the forefront and to the awareness of the general public.
Yes, graffiti is still illegal. But legal murals, street art, if it’s with permission it is protected by the law. I always spend my time educating other artists saying your work is protected. The minute you paint that on a wall you own it. If somebody uses it in a TV commercial or some kind of ad, you can sue. The work belongs to you always. Just because it’s in the public eye doesn’t mean it belongs to the public. It belongs to the artist always always, and this lawsuit has just cemented that.
