Rival Spray Paint Artists Plan Legal Wall-to-Wall Showdown : Graffiti: Like '60s flower power and '70s punk, hip-hop is bopping right into mainstream culture. Its aerosol muralists edge toward the center.

By DENISE HAMILTON

Jan. 5, 1990 12 AM PT

TIMES STAFF WRITER

Michelangelo had the Sistine Chapel. On this early Sunday morning, “Slick,” a 22-year-old graffiti artist from Baldwin Park, has the back wall of the Levitz furniture warehouse.

He also has an aluminum ladder for those hard-to-reach spots, a plastic milk crate stuffed with cans of spray paint and an artistic vision.

“The can is my brush,” Slick says, standing knee-deep in weeds on a desolate strip of land between the Levitz warehouse and the Los Angeles River. “The wall is my easel and canvas.”

His latest work-in-progress is an enormous Superman in vivid reds, blues and flesh tones. Cape flying, Superman clutches a goofy-looking human figure with one hand while winding up for a punch (kazow!) with the other.

But more than artistic expression is at stake here.

Slick is warming up to challenge “Hex,” another graffiti artist who has been up on Melrose Avenue, flaunting his talents by spray-painting a huge Batman. Slick has vowed to “take out” the archrival he calls “Hoax.” This weekend, starting today, the two plan to battle for the title of graffiti king, dueling with cans of spray paint at this industrial site.

“I’m going to make a Super-Slick, dedicated to dissing him, crushing his bat,” Slick says. “Ever since he came to town he’s been irritating me.”

Spray-painting a wall without permission is still illegal, of course. Those convicted face fines of up to $50,000 and a maximum prison term of one year. And property owners must clean up graffiti or face fines of up to $1,000 and a maximum jail term of six months.

But some authorities are beginning to draw a sharp distinction between the growing number of “aerosol artists” who paint graffiti-inspired murals and the street gang members who write their names--in a practice called “tagging”--on everything from RTD buses to schoolyard walls.

“We’re seeing more and more of those big, nice-looking ones in 3-D and different colors. They’re different from our gang graffiti,” said Detective Robert Contreras, a member of the Los Angeles Police Department gang information section.

In some cases, public agencies and private firms are even considering setting aside wall space for the aerosol artists, providing they agree to pressure others to stop tagging--which more sophisticated artists consider unsightly.

The dilemma is that, although some authorities believe the young artists need a place to paint, “If they don’t get permission, it’s still against the law,” Contreras warns.

Welcome to the world of graffiti art. With one foot in the police station and the other in the art gallery, the phenomenon, which started in New York in the 1970s, is hot today in Los Angeles, where the city’s horizontal sprawl and abandoned industrial spaces provide countless opportunities to leave one’s mark.

It’s all part of “hip-hop,” a subculture that blends elements of rap music, skateboarding, underground dance clubs and graffiti art. In the past year, Los Angeles has become the acknowledged center of hip-hop. There is even “Ghetto Art,” a publication that is subtitled “Los Angeles’ Only Aerosol Newspaper.”

Aerosol artists say they are motivated by a desire to create, not destroy. Their crews--groups that spray-paint together--are highly organized, with their own codes and styles. Whereas a few admit to being current or former gang members, most see graffiti as a positive way to channel pent-up energy.

“We make a real point of saying we’re not affiliated with any gang,” says “Frame,” a friend of Slick, who sometimes “bombs”--paints--with him. Frame says up to 90% of the estimated 500 or more local graffiti artists are just creative kids.

The police, however, say up to 80% of the city’s graffiti are still scrawled by gang members and delinquents.

Whatever its motives, hip-hop, like ‘60s flower power and ‘70s punk, is bopping right into the mainstream culture. Its influence has already seeped into fashion, design, film, music, dance and billboard advertising.

“You look at some of the lettering used in advertising today, and you see it came directly from graffiti art,” said Jim Prigoff, a self-styled graffiti expert whose book “Spray Can Art” has sold 55,000 copies.

If L.A. is the center of hip-hop, Slick is one of the key players.

Last May, he and his partner “Risk” walked away with first prize at “Street ‘89,” an International Street Art Festival held in East Yorkshire, England. The duo, who call themselves The Aerosolics, were asked by New York graffiti artist “Vulcan” to represent the United States. Their 20-by-6-foot mural beat out graffiti art from Denmark, Italy and nine other countries.

The dynamic duo aren’t given to modesty. “Risk rules the lettering, and no one can burn my characters,” says Slick, whose given name is Richard Wyrgatscht. He stands more than six feet tall. His head is shaved, except for one long black strand that hangs down over his forehead. He keeps a large, black scorpion named Bertha.

But far from being a gang member, Slick is a middle-class guy whose father is a policeman in Hawaii. His partner, Risk, lives in an upper middle-class Westside suburb. Graffiti art has definitely gone uptown since primitive man first scrawled on a cave wall. Today’s subculture heroes, including The Aerosolics, come equipped with faxes, pagers and Day-Glo business cards to promote themselves.

What puts Slick ahead of the pack is his talent at “ ‘piecing”--short for creating masterpieces. Unlike most other youths painting the town, Slick is a trained artist who could parlay his graffiti art into a career, say those familiar with his work.

At Pasadena’s Art Center College of Design, where he once studied illustration, Slick showed “tremendous potential,” said Philip Hays, chairman of Art Center’s illustration department. “The guy can draw beautifully in a traditional sense. He’s a really good draftsman.”

Hays sees a parallel between Slick’s work and that of Keith Haring, the New York East Village graffiti artist who spray-painted his way to fame in the 1970s on the city’s subways. Slick is part of the second generation, and his 3-D figures have spawned a host of copycat artists, Hays said.

Slick got his start in Hawaii, painting petroglyph-inspired figures while in high school. But after seeing “Wild Style,” a movie about New York rap and graffiti artists, he traded in his paintbrush for a can and began to spray.

Two years ago, he moved to Los Angeles to attend the Art Center. In between drawing Michelangelo-inspired nudes, he honed his cartoon characters on the walls of Los Angeles.

He dropped out of Art Center in late 1989. Now, primarily supported by his parents and friends, he weighs whether he should go back. There are so many options. He hears that the Japanese might pay up to $4,000 for hand-painted leather jackets emblazoned with his characters.

Unlike walls, which get painted over, jackets are permanent. And Slick is enough of an artist to be attracted to the idea of permanence.

He won’t even call his work graffiti. “We don’t use the G word,” Slick said solemnly. “That confuses people.”

And he is giving legitimate art galleries a try.

His first big break came this fall, when the Pico House Galleria in downtown Los Angeles included one of his works in a graffiti art exhibition. Although Slick didn’t sell anything, the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art for the first time signaled an interest in Los Angeles graffiti art when it picked up a work by an artist named “Mondoe,” said museum spokeswoman Angela Escobar.

But Slick worries about the future and that “there’s so much negativity associated with a can.”

To squelch some of those bad feelings, Slick and his friends sometimes get permission now before they whip out their spray cans.

On this recent Sunday, Slick and Frame had gotten the thumbs up from Levitz, which has long fought a losing battle with “the ugly kind of graffiti,” said Anita Tellez, operations manager for the store, located on the Los Angeles-Glendale city line.

“So far, we’ve been pretty pleased; they’ve put up some interesting artwork,” Tellez said of the building’s rear walls, which are covered with ‘pieces and great big swirling 3-D names with characters or skylines sprouting from them.

In between slugs from a bottle of mineral water, Slick wields his spray can like a paintbrush. His arm makes large arcs as he shades in five different colors to show Superman’s muscle tone. A few more deft strokes and a torso emerges, twisted and tortured, reminiscent of the German Expressionism of Egon Schiele.

Slick and Frame are putting up a message as well. In big, bold letters it says: “PLEASE RESPECT. NO TAGGING.”

Tagging “makes the rest of the neighborhood look all thrashed,” Slick said, sounding for a moment like a peevish burgher. “Most property owners, they don’t mind the mural art, but when kids write their names they get mad.”

Still, even artistic graffiti frequently is on the wrong side of the law. Many artists admit they steal their paint, which runs $4 a can over the counter.

And not everybody draws distinctions between tagging and mural art. “It’s all graffiti to us,” says Detective Roger Mora, a spokesman for the Los Angeles Police Department. “If it goes up on a privately owned wall, it’s going down.”

Graffiti artists concede that what they do is illegal. But they see themselves as outlaws, taking risks to make an artistic statement.

“Part of graffiti art is getting up, getting fame in the most outrageous places possible, places that are illegal,” Frame said. “Whether people accept it or not, to become kings on the street, to get fame, not with the media or the art world, but with the street, with our peers.”

But these young people also know that a dead end often lies at the bottom of a can of spray paint. Only one in a million of them will make it into the mainstream art world.

“You should stay in school,” one onlooker tells Slick. “Yeah,” he responds. “Knowledge is king.”

WHAT IT MEANS A brief dictionary of “hip-hop” and graffiti art slang Writer--One who practices graffiti art.

Crew--A loosely organized group of writers.

Tag--The signature of a writer, crew or gang, done in marker or spray paint. Frequently seen on RTD buses.

Down--In, part of the group or action (as in “He’s down with us.”).

King--the best with the most.

Throw up--A name painted quickly with one layer of spray paint and an outline. (Used as a noun.)

Toy--Inexperienced or incompetent writer.

‘Piece--Short for masterpiece. Such murals can take up to three days to create.

‘Piece book--A writer’s sketchbook.

Rack--To steal.

Up--Successful. Used to describe a writer whose work appears regularly.