it's been a long time since Käpt'n Kalle wrote the last time in the street art community. it is high time for a post.
street art is so much more than nice pictures at the walls in you neighborhood. in streetart you find passion, stories, communication, hard work, talent, know how ... .
the following text gives a deeper insight into this type of art. every graffiti or picture on a wall has a story. there is much more behind all the colorful works of art in public spaces. the two pictures in this post are connected. and there is something behind of this two artworks which cannot be seen.
the two photos shown here seem harmless, they are the poles of an exciting event that took place between the two locations of the pictures. the following describes what happened during a night-time action in which one or the other captain was stuck to the wall here and there. enjoy reading.
it is truly unwise to carry a bright white object with you on a night-time activity which is supposed to be secret. it is visible from afar and almost begs for attention. on a freezing cold november night in warsaw, a bright white bucket is nevertheless our visible companion. originally, it was placed in a black sports bag. the lid of the bucket, which no longer closes properly, had caused a huge mess during a recent climbing expedition. so we carry it in our hands to avoid another mess. the bushes and hedges seem to consume the light around us. there are shadows everywhere. we are also a dark shadow in the night. only the white bucket, like the moon, shines brightly through the darkness. it seems to transform the faint light of the streetlights into a bright glow. in view of the icy temperatures, we run along a large dark and almost deserted street. we hoped that we would get warm again. two unfinished parts of our actions, which inevitably led to the interest of the warsaw police. but at that moment we didn't suspect anything of the sort. during the aforementioned spurt, a blue and white vehicle comes towards us. several pairs of very interested-looking eyes watch us from the bus. the vehicle slows down noticeably and passes us at walking pace. at the next opportunity, the car turns around. fortunately, we are on a road with a green lane with streetcar tracks in the middle. the officers have to drive a certain distance in their vehicle to change direction at all, so it takes them a while to get back to our level. they don't stop to get out, however, but drive past us again at a slow speed. after a few more meters, the police car finally stops. admittedly at a strategically clever place that we have to pass. there is no possibility of disappearing unnoticed in any direction from our location. the officers have a good view of the entire street due to the chosen position. in addition, it is possible to change sides of the street again from this position without any problems. the situation in which we find ourselves at this moment can probably be described very well with the simple word “precarious”. no perspective to move away. so we first walk a few meters further. we wait at a pedestrian bridge that leads over the road. the only place far and wide that cannot be seen by the officers from the vehicle and offers us protection from their gaze. when we cross the bridge, we move directly towards the blue and white car. it is not possible to walk further or back without being observed from the vehicle. every step leads directly to a presentation plate. no matter which path we take, all paths seem unprotected, open to view and without any possibility of escape.
we linger in the icy cold for what feels like an eternity. apart from waiting, there's nothing we can do. in the meantime, the paste has formed ice crystals on the edges of the bucket. finally, we hear an engine being started. a cautious glance past the pedestrian bridge reveals a vehicle moving very slowly. the police car rolls up leisurely. across the road, back towards our side. the people in the car seem to have been gripped by curiosity and have grown tired of waiting. we agree on a command: “1,2,3!” we sprint off. onto the pedestrian bridge. as quickly as possible to the other side of the road. having just crossed the bridge, a quick glance reveals something frightening. on the side of the road that we have reached after our sprint, the police car is already coming in our direction again. our questioning glances meet. another sprint follows. this time, however, we don't return to the other side of the road. a wooded uphill area lies directly in front of us. it seems to be a suitable refuge and leads away from the road. we finally reach the forest. we hide our treacherous bucket so that we can run faster. we also leave the other materials behind the trees. at this point, we have no idea what fatal consequences this decision would have for us. completely out of breath, we finally arrive at the top of the hill. freed from our treacherous equipment. the ice-cold air makes itself felt in our lungs with a sharp pain. on the hill, we look for a suitable hiding place with several escape routes and a good view of what is happening down near the road. suddenly we hear the doors of a vehicle open and then slam shut. a short time later we see several beams of light between the dark tree trunks. the officers from the vehicle are now searching the area. they have probably seen that we have disappeared between the trees without our stuff. i suddenly shudder: among the materials left behind is the hotel room card. of course, the name of our hotel is written on it in large letters. but in the meantime, the lights have penetrated so far that it seems impossible to get back to the place where we left the things unnoticed. should we now turn ourselves in to the officers? after all, we don't have much more than a bucket full of paste, a paintbrush and paper pictures. or is it better to simply disappear and then report a lost room card at the hotel? in this case, however, the discovery of the room card by the police would be a direct invitation for them to visit us at the hotel. our knowledge that in warsaw drinking alcohol in public alone has already put the odd unknowing tourist behind bars doesn't make the decision any easier.
while we are thinking, sirens suddenly sound in the distance and another question arises: have reinforcements already been called? is the sound of the sirens meant for us? in germany, we know that sirens are often avoided during night-time operations when people are fleeing and need to be rescued. are our polish colleagues pursuing the opposite strategy? the situation is becoming more and more oppressive and nerve-wracking. is there any sensible way out of this situation? at times like this, it is difficult to even think or form clear thoughts if the territory has not been scouted in advance and there is no plan on how to deal with such a situation. a short time later it would turn out that at least the fear of approaching reinforcements would not be confirmed. but there is still the big question mark in our empty heads as to how best to proceed. we finally make a decision. one of us slowly creeps down the hill, bent over, to see what prospects there are of getting back to our materials. after a short time, the black silhouette has become one with the darkness and can no longer be made out between the trees. minute after minute passes. despite the tension, the cold does not seem to leave our bodies but gradually gains the upper hand. in the distance, only the searching cones of light of the officers can be seen between the trees. after a long wait, a black shadow slowly moves through the darkness. seconds of anxiety pass that feel like hours until it becomes clear who is sneaking through the darkness. seconds of trepidation pass that feel like hours until we realize who is sneaking through the darkness. shortly afterwards, the returned scout gives us a sobering report. there is virtually no way to get back to our property without being noticed. this information means more waiting and freezing. we are still thinking about the best way out of this tricky situation. the policemen are constantly moving between the trees with their flashlights, searching the area. suddenly there is a loud noise. the distant beams of light from the flashlights suddenly move faster. they are no longer searching the ground and are suddenly all moving in the same direction. the officers all seem to be running towards one destination. the place where the noise was coming from. their destination is now in a different direction. it's the parking lot of a dance club, a few hundred meters away. finally! this is our moment. our chance to get back to our things. we run down the hill as fast as we can. to the places where we think our things are. we are shocked to discover that only the gleaming white bucket can be found straight away. have the police already found our other things and taken them away? the hope that had sprung up a short time ago quickly vanishes with this thought. we feverishly search the area not far from the police officers, who are busy with another case. the other things, including the hotel card, simply cannot be found. our gaze constantly wanders from the dark ground to the direction in which the officers are standing. fortunately, they are still busy with a more acute problem. the countless shadows, the sparse light and the uneven nature of the ground make the search more difficult. with each passing minute, our confidence of success dwindles. but then, after a long and desperate search, we finally hold the other missing items in our hands and disappear between the trees in the darkness, running up the hill cross-country.
this happening has not stopped us. not three streets further on, after we feel solid asphalt under our shoes again, there is another interesting wall that receives some of our paste and from which another portrait looks down the street shortly afterwards. nothing more extraordinary happens that night, but the following day will ultimately offer no chance of escaping the warsaw policemen.
this experience report with numerous other anecdotes, as well as documentation of urban art consisting of philosophical treatise and typewriter poetry has been published (at the moment) unfortunately only in german here by Brot&Kunst Verlag and is available.