I love that mentality, especially for a new writer. Graffiti suffered greatly in NYC with the institution of the Vandal Squad and Gulliani's deliberate holocaust on the homeless, but graffiti has literally been around since hominids scraped rocks on walls. Graffiti predates any other form of communication. My goal is to use that gift to add color. My dude dapped me up at the bodega earlier like "What up, Big Foe, whatchu gettin into today?" "Grabbin this tall-boy, do a little day-bombing. Brighten this hood up a bit." "I been meaning to ask, where can I see yer shit?" I said "Well, if you drove here from yer crib, you did see my shit." He laughed and told me he did and to stay up. That's what it's about. I make art for hood-rats, drug-dealers, hustlers. They might not be reputable characters by societal standards, but they crave art just like every other fucking human being. We can't exist without it. But this coke-dealer from around the block ain't being welcomed into no fucking art gallery, so I get to give him a little something to feast his eyes on. That's word and makes me feel like a true king when this silly white kid in Dickies jeans is recongnized in the hood as "YO, IT'S BIG FOEONE WITH THE COLORS!"