To sell out, or not to sell out; that is the question—isn’t it? Whether someone be a musician, artist, or anything else, there’s always a line between “keeping it real” and cashing in; selling your soul to the devil of capitalism, so to speak. That’s especially true when it comes to graffiti writers. Time and again, incredible artists have risen from humble beginnings involving nothing more than creating what many find to be petty vandalism, and transformed into respected, sought after artists.
There’s nothing more prolific and accessible than a piece of art put on display in a public urban setting for all to see.
With that incredible level of popularity, it’s likely difficult to stay authentic. Profitable opportunities arise that eclipse the desire to risk getting in trouble with the law, all for something that you’ll never make a dime off of. Still, just about any artist who has a history in graffiti has to appreciate that vital chunk of history. There’s nothing more prolific and accessible than a piece of art put on display in a public urban setting for all to see. That sort of exhibitory natured medium is a powerful tool in honing and evolving an artist’s skill and vision. You needn’t look far to find a talented, popular artist or muralist with some shady bits to his past.
But where does that line between staying true to your roots and selling out lay? Wherever that invisible line might be, no one could tell you more about it than Shepard Fairey. Born in 1970 in South Carolina to doctor and a realtor, you might think that a young Fairey had business in the genes. Instead, Fairey drew, and beginning in ’84, the boy started down a road that would eventually lead him to artistic stardom, putting his work on shirts and skateboards. In ’88 he graduated from Idyllwild Arts Academy, and then in ’92 he received his BFA in illustration from the Rhode Island School of Design. What catapulted this young man into the spotlight, though?

The original “Andre The Giant Has A Posse” and its evolution.
In ’89 Fairey created the “Andre The Giant Has A Posse” sticker while still attending RISD. Admittedly he imagined the sticker campaign would be “few weeks of mischief”, eliciting a response within his circle of art and skateboard friends. Instead, the simple yet striking image of the “Giant’s” face highlighted by the single word “Obey” spread like wildfire. What was this confusing image? Advertisement? For what? Or was it simple vandalism? What exactly did it mean?
While even Fairey’s own definition of the image has evolved over the years, originally it meant nothing at all. However, as he observed the variety of reactions towards the sticker, his mind began to turn. Perhaps what once was nothing more than a nonsensical design could now actually serve a purpose. Inspired by Heidegger’s concept of phenomenology and the John Carpenter movie “They Live”, Fairey began the “Obey” campaign in full, enlisting a wide network of collaborators to spread this strangely iconic image.
… even attributed to an Obey clothing line. Still, what did the visual mean in the first place? In a sense: everything and yet nothing at all.
Over two decades later, the ambiguity and mystery of the image has lost a great deal of impact, now even attributed to an Obey clothing line. Still, what did the visual mean in the first place? In a sense: everything and yet nothing at all. The entire sticker campaign worked to see how people would react, primarily. While some found it intriguing and thought-provoking, others saw it as nothing more than vandalism. The idea that your everyday bystander might press the button for the crosswalk, find this odd sticker, and be driven to research and find out exactly what it meant excited Fairey. Each individual interpretation of the image played its own role in the experiment, and its perpetuator still looks back on the campaign fondly.

A striking example of Fairey’s silkscreen work.
Beyond all the experimental nonsense, Fairey struck up a small printing business in Providence, Rhode Island, called Alternate Graphics. Focusing on sticker and t-shirt silk screening, Fairey explained that the business went towards supporting the efforts close to his heart, including but not limited to the Obey campaign. While his claims towards the purpose of the business are likely true, the practical and profitable side of the artist began to show itself in full. Starting in ’97, Fairey worked with Dave Kinsey and Phillip DeWolff to found the design studio BLK/MRKT Inc. The company specialized in guerrilla marketing, doing work for high level clients as large as even Pepsi. Later he founded a design agency with his wife, called Studio Number One, creating albums covers for a number of popular artists such as the Black Eyed Peas and Smashing Pumpkins.
You know the Barrack Obama “Hope” stickers and posters? Yeah, that was Fairey
At this point, many might say that Shepard Fairey “sold out”. In the end, the truth behind that idea lays in the eye of the beholder. Down to this day, Fairey still hasn’t abandoned his roots. When asked about his view on the idea of selling out, Fairey brought out that “… it is very possible to make money and be a suffering martyr!” That’s an understandable sentiment coming from someone who’s been arrested 10 times and has suffered physical abuse by the authorities. Regardless of how some might view his commercial endeavors, powerful examples of his freeform work are easy to see. You know the Barrack Obama “Hope” stickers and posters? Yeah, that was Fairey, and while Obama’s campaign might have made a few suggestions on it’s design—which they vehemently deny due to the material’s illegal distribution—the iconic image is a result of nothing more than a man and pure, public artistic and intellectual expression.

An image a little more than iconic, courtesy of Mr. Shepard Fairey.
So where is that line we talked about? When does a graffiti writer become a “sell out” through their commercial actions? That’s a difficult subject, with opinions that would likely vary from artist to artist. In the end, Fairey has his goals in focus, at least on a personal level. His commercial contracts allow him to do what he loves on a wide level, as well as keep open an art gallery that he admits is “never profitable”. Some might see a Fairey designed illustration for Saks Fifth Avenue and groan in disgust, but it all comes down to personal views. Then again, maybe a wife and kids have turned a man with a history forged in skateboards and graffiti into a bit of a softy. Can you really criticize that?












