I am writing in response to response
to the article “Protecting our public spaces” in issue 14, published this
spring in it, the author claims that “all graffiti is public spaces.” I would
like to point out that many people believe that graffiti is an art from that
can benefit our public spaces just as much as sculpture, fountains, or other,
more accepted art forms.
People who object to graffiti
usually do so more because of where it is, not what it is. They argue, as your
author does, that posting graffiti in public places constitutes an illegal act
of property damage. But the location of such graffiti should not prevent the
images themselves from being considered genuine art.
I would argue that graffiti is the
ultimate public art form. Spray paint is a medium unlike any other. Though
graffiti, the entire world has become a canvas. No one has to pay admission or
travel to a museum to see this kind of art. The artists usually do not receive
payment for their efforts. These works of art dotting the urban landscape are
available, free of charge, to everyone who passes by.
To be clear, I do not consider
random words or names sprayed on stop signs to be art. Plenty of graffiti is
just vandalism, pure and simple. However, there is also graffiti that is
breathtaking in its intricate detail, its realism, or its creativity. It takes
great talent to create such involved designs with spray paint.
Are these creators not artists
just because they use a can of spray paint instead of a paintbrush, or because they
cover the side of a building rather than a canvas?
To declare that all graffiti is
vandalism, and nothing more, is an overly simplistic statement that I find out
of place in such a thoughtful publication as your magazine. Furthermore,
graffiti is not going anywhere, so might as well find a way to live with it and
enjoy its benefits. One option could be to make a percentage of public space,
such as walls or benches in parks, open to graffiti artists. By doing this, the
public might feel like part owners of these works of art, rather than just the
victims of a crime.
The writer concludes this passage
by
In the early 1920's,
settlers came to Alaska looking for gold. They traveled by boat to the coastal
towns of Seward and Knik, and from there by land into the gold fields. The
trail they used to travel inland is known today as the lditarod Trail, one of the
National Historic Trails designated by the congress of the United States. The
Iditarod Trail quickly became a major thoroughfare in Alaska, as the mail and
supplies were carried across this trail. People also used it to get from place
to place, including the priests, ministers, and judges who had to travel
between villages down this trail was via god sled.
Once the gold rush ended, many gold-seekers
went back to where they had come from, and suddenly there was much less travel
on the lditarod Trail. The introduction of the airplane in the late 1920's
meant dog teams were mode of transportation, of course airplane carrying the
mail and supplies, there was less need for land travel in general. The final
blow to the use of the dog teams was the appearance of snowmoniles.
By the mid 1960's most Alasknas didn't even
know the lditarod Trail existed, or that dos teens had played a crucial role in
Alaska's early settlements. Dorothy G.Page, a self-made historian, recognized
how few people knew about the former use of sled dogs as working animals and
about the Iditarod Trail's role in Alaska's colorful history. To she came up
with the idea to have a god sled race over the Iditarod Trail. She presented
her idea to an enthusiastic musher, as dog sled drivers are known, named Joe
Redington, Sr. Soon the pages and the Redintons were working together to
promote the idea of the Iditarod race.
Many people worked to make
the first Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race a reality in 1967. The Aurora Dog
Mushers Club, along with men from the Adult Camp in Sutton, helped clear years
of overgrowth from the first nine miles of the Iditarod Trail. To raise
interest in the race, a $25,000 purse was offered, with Joe Redington donating
one acre of his land to help raise the funds. The short race, approximately 27
miles long, was put on a second time in 1969.
After these first two
successful races, the goal was to lengthen the race a little further to the
ghost town of Iditarod by 1973. However in 1972, the U.S. Army reopened the
trail as a winter exercise, and so in 1973, the decision was made to take the
race all the way to the city of Nome-over 1,000 miles. There were who believed
it could bot be done and that it wad crazy to send a bunch out into vast,
uninhabited Alaskan wilderness. But the race went! 22 mushers finished that
year, and to date over 400 people have completed it.
Based on information in
the passage, it can be inferred that because the U.S. Army reopened the
Iditarod Trail in 1972,
When her grandmother’s health began to deteriorate in the
fall of 1994, Mary would make the drive from Washington, DC to Winchester every
few days.
She hated highway driving, finding it ugly and monotonous. She
preferred to take meandering back roads to her grandmother’s hospital. When she
drove through the rocky town of Harpers Ferry, the beauty of the rough waters
churning at the intersection of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers always
captivated her.
Toward the end of her journey, Mary had to get on highway
81. It was here that she discovered a surprising bit of beauty during one of
her trips. Along the median of the highway, there was a long stretch of
wildflowers. They were thin and delicate and purple, and swayed in the wind as
if whispering poems to each other.
The first time she saw the flowers, Mary was seized by an uncontrollable
urge to pull over on the highway and yank a bunch from the soil. She carried
them into her grandmother’s room when she arrived at the hospital and placed
them in a water pitcher by her bed. For a moment her grandmother seemed more
lucid than usual. She thanked Mary for the flowers, commented on their beauty
and asked where she had gotten them. Mary was overjoyed by the ability of the
flowers to wake something up inside her ailing grandmother.
Afterwards, Mary began carrying scissors in the car during
her trips to visit her grandmother. She would quickly glide onto the shoulder,
jump out of the car, and clip a bunch of flowers. Each time Mary placed the
flowers in the pitcher, her grandmother’s eyes would light up and they would
have a splendid conversation.
One morning in late October, Mary got a call that her
grandmother had taken a turn for the worse. Mary was in such a hurry to get to
her grandmother that she sped past her flower spot. She decided to turn around
head several miles back, and cut a bunch. Mary arrived at the hospital to find her
grandmother very weak and unresponsive. She placed flowers in the pitcher and
sat down. She felt a squeeze on her fingers. It was the last conversation they
had.
What other title would best fit this passage?
