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Within days of Banksy posting on Instagram last month to confirm authorship of a new mural on Hornsey Road, north London, the local authorities stepped in to protect the artwork.
The work consists of a stencilled green and black figure with a pump-action pressure sprayer, staring up at the bright green paint splattered across much of the wall. From a distance the paint aligns behind a pollarded cherry tree, creating the timely impression of spring foliage.
Banksy posted the picture of the mural on his Instagram feed on March 18 and, as has become the pattern, the artist’s post prompted a flurry of activity, as locals, graffiti enthusiasts, journalists and politicians rushed to see – and document seeing – the work.
TV coverage revealed onlookers wedged amid a growing assemblage of security fencing in attempts to capture the perfect angle. By the end of March, a whole structure of wood and Perspex surrounded the work to protect it from damage. The artwork had been splattered with white paint only a couple of days after it was created.
The (still) unfolding spectacle of enclosure aside, the tone of reaction is familiar, conforming – almost entirely – to what psychologist Susan Hansen has identified as a recent tendency to position Bansky’s work as a valued (and valuable) gift to the community in which it is sited.
Previously, responses that valued Banksy works in this way tended to be offset by concerns that, to quote a 2014 Islington Council document: “graffiti can be the catalyst for a downward spiral of neglect … and encourage other more serious criminal activity”. In recent years, however, Banksy’s continuing market success has moved the work decisively beyond the traditional associations of illicit graffiti with broader patterns of criminality and urban decline.
An indication of Banksy’s exceptional status is the reaction of local authorities to recent works. Islington Council responded to reports of Banksy’s artwork being splattered with white paint by promising to install CCTV. Perhaps they were keen to avoid the fate of Banksy’s preceding work – an addition of three drones to a stop sign in Peckham – which, within hours of Banksy’s posting on Instagram in December 2023, was stolen in front of a crowd of onlookers.
While police initially stated there was no investigation into the incident as no owner of the artwork had come forward to report it stolen, Jasmine Ali, Southwark Council’s deputy leader, soon asserted public ownership on behalf of the council. Two suspects were subsequently arrested and re-bailed in February.
Analysing Banksy
There is an irony to a career built on criminal damage and counter-cultural allure being defended through arrests, improvised cages and CCTV.
Banksy’s developing status as a national treasure, though, is a continuation of a career in which critical acclaim and market success have been driven by popularity and media saturation. Bansky has long been conscious of the importance of how his work is received. A 2014 Guardian article quotes the artist stating that: “a painting isn’t finished when you put down your brush – that’s when it starts. The public reaction is what supplies meaning and value.”
In recent coverage of Bansky’s work, the exaltation of its community (and financial) value has almost entirely displaced analysis of the potential meanings of what is depicted.
With the Peckham sign, early interpretations suggested the combination of three drones and the word “STOP” likely indicated solidarity with wider calls for a ceasefire in Gaza.
In Islington, observers seem confident – with some variation of emphasis – that, as the council put it, the work highlighted “the vital role that trees play in our communities and in tackling the climate emergency”.
Given the polarisation of mainstream debate, it is surprising to see works addressing these themes by a purportedly radical artist attract such unanimous praise. Indeed, over past years, activism around the climate emergency and Palestinian solidarity has offered the pretext for successive (and continuing) legislative attacks on civil liberties and the right to protest.
Many of those who celebrate Banksy hold contradictory positions on precisely the themes his works seem to address. Despite the deputy leader of the Southwark Council praising Banksy’s Peckham stop sign in late December, it took months of local demonstrations, petitions and campaigning before Southwark’s Labour administration joined calls for a ceasefire in Gaza.
Despite this, the council continues to attract criticism for its pension fund, which Palestine Solidarity Campaign research suggests invests tens of millions in companies involved in the Israeli government’s activities in Gaza, including supplying the Israeli military.
The Daily Mail were happy to join MP Jeremy Corbyn in celebrating the Islington “masterpiece’s” symbolic engagement with the climate emergency. But their celebration turns to stark disagreement when it comes to those, like Just Stop Oil, that use pump action spray guns in direct action linked to the same climate emergency.
For some of Banksy’s fans, the work’s strategic ambiguity and capacity to generate attention can all be seen to add to its strength. For them, its ambiguity of meaning cements a fusion of accessible, public and politically engaged street art which is more traditionally associated with conceptual art.
Climate protesters and pro-Palestinian activists, artists and academics are facing ever fiercer cultural, legislative and political pressure. This includes ongoing attempts to brand their activities as extremism. Against this backdrop, some people may question whether Banksy’s “spectacular rebelliousness” offers sufficient response to the themes it addresses.
A 2015 film of work Banksy made in Gaza ended with a quote attributed to Brazilian philosopher, Paulo Freire: “if we wash our hands of the conflict between the powerful and the powerless we side with the powerful – we don’t remain neutral”. With officially recorded fatalities of the Israeli siege of Gaza standing at 32,975 (as of April 5) and the encroaching climate emergency, it seems a good time to ask if Banksy’s ambiguity remains a virtue.
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Ben Wiedel-Kaufmann does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
