When it comes to street art, most individual pieces are not very good. The graphics are often cliché, with artists making slight modifications to characters from pop culture. For example, Marilyn Monroe with tattoos, Chewbacca with a joint, or Mickey Mouse depicted as a skeleton. Even Waldo can be found looking through a sniper rifle’s sight. However, perhaps this is the nature of the street art enterprise. My own sticker designs are also not great, as there’s only so much one can do with a small vinyl rectangle. Furthermore, I don’t believe they should be seen as individual artworks. Stickers become more interesting when several artists collectively decide to cover objects like electrical boxes or trash cans. They add a slapdash flair to functional items, subverting the original intentions of urban designers.
As I walk down the street with a pink rectangle in my hand, I often think about the loss of control. I remember a specific moment from my childhood, possibly in fourth or fifth grade, when I crumpled up sheet after sheet of lined paper while working on a writing assignment. I didn’t want to erase my mistakes; I wanted to be perfect. I threw those crumpled balls of paper onto the kitchen floor. My father mentioned this incident in a letter he wrote shortly after I began grad school. It was his way of advising me to stop being so hard on myself and to let go. However, being told to relax doesn’t necessarily make it easier to do so, but he was right. I struggle with control. I often prefer things to be just right.
Stickers don’t give me the time or space to obsess. When I place a sticker on the back of a sign, I have little chance of lining it up perfectly with the edges. If any part of the glue touches the metal, that’s where it stays. There are no do-overs. Trying to peel off the sticker to readjust it will only ruin it. Once the sticker is on, it’s on. And it looks better that way. Slightly crooked. Done in a hurry. Perfect.
Of course, many people dislike seeing stickers plastered all over the city, and I understand that. However, I don’t paste my designs on church marquees. I only stick them where there are already other stickers, in neighborhoods with numerous bars, restaurants, record stores, and hopefully some bike racks. This doesn’t make what I’m doing right, but it also doesn’t make it so bad. I’m simply adding to the overall atmosphere and engaging in conversations with other sticker artists. Our conversations may be repetitive, but they constantly overlap and evolve. Together, we make the city a bit more chaotic, transforming it from an architectural rendering to a lived place. Together, we give meaning to surfaces that have been left blank intentionally or due to neglect.
I enjoy leaving a piece of myself behind for someone else, perhaps even for me, to discover later. There’s a strange joy in waiting for a burrito and noticing a mark I made months ago, or receiving a late-night text from a friend who just saw my sticker in a bar bathroom. I don’t know how many people notice my stickers among all the others on light poles and phone booths. I don’t know if they appreciate how my designs blend into the frenetic whole; that’s beyond my control. But I do like the idea of them pausing, even if only for a moment, to contemplate what has been left behind.