Reframing Street Art in a World That’s Learning to Look Twice
When was the last time you passed through a city and spotted graffiti? Maybe it was a hastily tagged wall, or a more elaborate use of colour sprawling across an alleyway, a bridge, or the back of a food stall. Did you shake your head and look away? Or did you rather admire it?
Street art is continually being seen differently. What was once dismissed as vandalism is now commanding serious attention and nowhere is this shift more vibrant than in Indonesia, where graffiti is a visual conversation — equal parts protest and poetry.
It’s impossible to talk about street art without mentioning Banksy, the shadowy British figure whose global creations have transformed everyday walls into celebrated canvases. A girl letting go of a heart-shaped balloon, a rat wielding a roller — suddenly, graffiti isn’t just rebellion. It is art.
And yet, long before Banksy became a household name, Indonesia had its own pioneers of public expression. Artists like Darbotz, whose monster-like motifs appear on Jakarta’s walls, or the crews painting around Bali, such as in Padang Galak, the disused theme park outside Sanur. Here, local myths blend with spray can swirls to tell stories of tradition, politics, and pop culture.
Not everyone sees beauty in these bursts of colour. In Padang, for example, research on the symbolic functions of graffiti has shown that it is perceived to be related to crime and vandalism leading to negative attitudes toward such expressions. To many, graffiti remains an eyesore, a sign of neglect and lawlessness. For these people, street art doesn’t speak, it shouts, and not in a language everyone welcomes.
Yet, street art, at its core, asks us to look again. Not just at a wall, but at the world. It reflects who we are, what we fear, and what we dream. Whether it’s Banksy’s global satire or a Javanese shout against injustice, graffiti is a form of communication — one that still divides, even as it decorates.
