Nineteen-year-old Erik DeBat says he used to get an adrenaline rush from doing graffiti, a high from knowing that his name was in so many places. He ran with a pack of ten other taggers who called themselves “Mad” and prided themselves on eluding the cops. On certain nights, in a location spread by word of mouth, they met with other packs of writers, pulled out their portfolios, and tried to impress each other with snapshots of their tags–the number, the locations, the bravado, the stick-to-itiveness, the colors, the angles, the art.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
“Graffiti was a natural step for me in 1984,” says DeBat. “I grew up in the city and merged with all different kinds of kids. I was in the streets with Spanish and black kids, and I went to high school dances and started break dancing. Then came rap. Then graffiti.”
He became a vandal, spray painting his nom de plume, “Risk,” over and over, all over Chicago in every conceivable shade. In subway stations, he wrote even as trains were coming or while standing precariously near the third rail. His name was along rooftops in every neighborhood.
The designers would give him swatches of fabric and he would come up with murals, which had the name Risk incorporated into the abstract shapes and flowing designs. “Half the time they didn’t know they said anything,” explains DeBat.
Occasionally, DeBat and Kaplan go through subway tunnels for old times’ sake, looking at their work–or what’s left of it. Sometimes they’re shocked to see how younger writers have nearly covered their earlier attempts at immortality.
