No Permission Needed
Graffiti is rebellion.
It’s illegal and that’s part of the point.
It doesn’t ask to be accepted.
It shows up where it’s not supposed to and stays there loud, imperfect, and alive.
There’s a fine line between destroying and contributing.
Between making noise and saying something.
Risking your freedom for a mediocre tag? That’s embarrassing.
But when someone bends the rules to leave a mark that actually means something, that’s a contribution, whether the city wants to admit it or not.
From the fine stones of the temples of Rome and the columns of Athens,
people have always carved, scratched, and painted where they weren’t allowed to.
Not out of disrespect but to exist.
To feel human where the Gods lived.
Even in imagined worlds, rebellion leaves marks.
In Star Wars, Jon Favreau added graffiti to the universe,
tags, murals and rebellious messages.
Because even in galaxies far, far away,
people break the rules to speak.
One street away from graffiti, there’s another kind of expression.
Not painted but captured.
Photography isn’t about control.
It’s about seeing what’s already there,
and knowing when not to look away.
It’s the shape of a shadow at the right hour.
A wall holding light better than a museum ever could.
Something ordinary, made permanent.
You don’t need a studio or a setup.
You just need to pay attention.
Graffiti and photography are different tools, same instinct:
To interrupt the routine.
To add meaning to a surface.
To leave something behind or take something with you, without consent.
Because neither asks for permission not the tagger placing a sticker on a pole, not the lens capturing a stranger mid-thought.
Both act in the moment.
Both leave a trace.
And that’s what makes them real.
You don’t have to call it art.
You don’t even have to show it to anyone.
But if you feel the need to express something just do it.
Whatever form it takes.
Not for likes.
Not for approval.
Just to prove you were here.
That’s enough.
It doesn’t matter what spectrum of art you fall into painting, sculpture, writing, filming, tagging, whatever. What matters is that you start. That you express something. That you leave a mark, even if it’s small, even if it’s rough. Because one day we’re gone. For good. And all that’s left is what we dared to say while we were here.
