When graffiti artist Strook decided to create a piece for De Invasie, a series of artworks based around ecology, he grabbed a high pressure hose instead of an aerosol can and removed the moss from the wall, one line at a time, to create this awesome mechanical bird mural.
You can see more photos of this reverse graffiti piece at the link below, including shots of Strook at work on the wall and close-up detail shots so you can more fully appreciate the linework that went in to creating the mural. I wonder if law enforcement agencies will vilify this form of clean graffiti as they have with other forms of street art?
Link Strook's website
Zeon Santos writes: "I wonder if law enforcement agencies will vilify this form of clean graffiti as they have with other forms of street art?"
Not unless the message is popularly objectionable, and even then they'd almost certainly decline to prosecute. But I believe the same issues to remain. In the case of this purportedly "clean" graffiti as much as in the case of conventional territorial pissings of brainless teenagers of all ages, the neglected topic is the /right/ to /artistic vision/ of others. An architect who designs a bridge, building or even a retaining wall might labor over color selections with reflections on myriad considerations, such as expected moss growth. Taking license to paint a brightly-colored mural -or etch a complex design into the moss covering- 3% of the fruits of her labor is an obnoxious expression of self-centered presumptuousness -kinda like people who assume that everybody at a given hot spring or campground would rather hear music they can't stand than none at all (birds chirping, wind in willows, etc).
Not sure where it entered my mind, but somewhere along the way, possibly when I hiked through two hours of Polish forest to the ruins of an ancient castle bearing the phrase "crips is cool" in neon pink, I concluded that graffiti artists are best handled with really long bull-whips. Ideally, the tip of the whip should lash supersonic coin slots into the necks of these souless twits caught /in the act/, but Singapore-style arranged bullwhip sentences would suffice for my purposes. I can dream, can't I? So far I've been constrained to merely giving chase on foot. Somehow, I'm not surprised to behold that /extreme physical cowardice/ seems to universally accompany an affinity for writing one's f_ing name on a, f_ing wall at age 28 or whatever.
Ugh.