What motivates graffiti artists?
Vicky Allan tracks down some elusive devotees SHORTLY after we moved to Leith, I noticed some graffiti on our street saying “Martin’s child, drugged, raped, murdered”. I had only just had a baby and wondered, momentarily, about what kind of place I had brought my family to. Soon afterwards, on my daily excursions up Leith Walk, I began to notice other more esoteric messages on the walls, a series that included: “Do not be afraid.” “I sent you flowers, you wanted chocolates.” “Dante called her Beatrice.” Soon I was photographing and recording almost every graffiti scrawl: not just this set of lines and lyrics, but also the tags, the declarations of love, the stencil images, the hate-fuelled rants. I am not the only person to have done this. Look on the web, and you will discover that graffiti often has its life extended through photographs on virtual walls. Leith, the area I focused on, isn’t known for its graffiti. But there is, on its buildings, the regular cacophony of different voic
