New York’s Sidewalk Prophets Are Heirs of the Artisans of France’s Lascaux Caves

By Seph Rodney

A critic’s tour deciphers the signs and symbols of the street art adorning boarded-up storefronts. What it tells us about our shared political realities and the ways our stories are connected.

On Wooster Street, a mural emerged during the unplanned collaboration of five artists, Erin Ko, Justin Orvis Steimer, the artist known as EXR, Antennae and Helixx C. Armageddon.
On Wooster Street, a mural emerged during the unplanned collaboration of five artists, Erin Ko, Justin Orvis Steimer, the artist known as EXR, Antennae and Helixx C. Armageddon.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

About 17,000 years ago, in the caves of Lascaux, France, ancestors drew on grotto walls, depicting equines, stags, bison, aurochs and felines. They wanted to convey to other humans a political reality crucial to their survival: They shared their environment with other beings that looked and behaved differently from them.

Those early artisans drew these creatures over and over, likely fascinated by their forms and their powers, but also intuiting that whatever happened to the animals would almost certainly be a harbinger of what would happen to humans. The presence of the bison and stags, their physical fitness and numbers, their mass migrations would have indicated the onset of plagues or cataclysmic weather systems. Containing some 15,000 paintings and engravings from the Upper Paleolithic era, the caves in Southwestern France were not simply an exhibition space for local talent. They essentially constituted a public square where a community shared critical knowledge.

These portraits and discrete stories are not very different from our contemporary forums: the street art adorning boarded-up storefronts in New York City. They tell us about our shared political realities, the people we coexist with in social space and the ways in which our stories and fates are tied together. If you walk the streets of SoHo, the alleys of the Lower East Side, and heavily trafficked avenues in Brooklyn, as I did over the last few weeks, you will see these symbols and signs and might wonder at their meanings. What became apparent to me is that in the intervening millenniums between those cave paintings and the killing of George Floyd, the messages we share, like the sociopolitical circumstance that impel them, have become more complex.

ImageA prehistoric cave painting of stags, bison and horses in Lascaux, France. 
A prehistoric cave painting of stags, bison and horses in Lascaux, France. Credit...Universal History Archive/Universal Images Group, via Getty Images

Now street artists take account of the qualified legal immunity protecting police officers, the Black Lives Matter movement and the ramifications of a dysfunctional democracy, among other realities, using a well-developed visual language of cultural memes that illustrate the ideological battles among regional, racial and cultural factions.

When we see the image of thin, green-skinned, bipedal beings with teardrop-shaped black apertures for eyes, we typically read “alien.” But when I see the image of such a creature holding a sign that reads “I can’t breathe,” I grok an urgent message: Even aliens visiting from light years away understand the plight of Black people in the United States because this situation is so obviously dire.

Today’s street paintings contain dispatches that proliferate across the city sphere — lovely, challenging, angry, remonstrative and even desperate. There are two critical things to note about them. They are different from graffiti, which to my eyes is egocentric and monotone, mostly instantiating the will of the tagger over and over again. I am here and you must see me, is the message.

The street artists in these works point beyond the self, to larger, collective issues. The other pressing point is that these images in chalk, paint and oil stick are ephemeral. Between the time I walked these districts and alerted the photographer to document them, five images had already disappeared. One was a depiction of the transgender freedom fighter Marsha P. Johnson, whose image was marked in chalk on the sidewalk in the ad hoc tent city created near Chambers Street a few weeks ago. It’s since been cleared out by police officers.

Unlike the caves of Lascaux (which are on the UNESCO World Heritage Sites list) most of this work won’t be protected or anthologized — but it should be. The lingual messages and coded images on these plywood facades are the means by which future historians and researchers will come to understand this time and give our generation a proper name.

“Demilitarize the Police,” on Broadway, by Nick C. Kirk, features serialized images of Donald Trump.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times
A detail of “Demilitarize the Police” featuring the character the artist calls “Citizen Trump,” in riot gear, with a shield that reads VIP. It is part of a series he began in 2016.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times
“I want people to be angry when they see these pieces and to understand they need to fight back,” the artist wrote.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

In SoHo the artist Nick C. Kirk serialized images of Donald Trump standing in for over-militarized police officers in a work constituting a visual indictment of a commander in chief who claims to deploy state forces only to quell violence and enforce the peace. The “VIP” sign on each shield seems to allude to his widely documented narcissism and suggests that the deployment of police is a self-serving ploy to burnish his public image. More, the running banner of “Demilitarize the Police” suggests that in the artist’s eyes, the police do not come to make peace.

“Wisdom Lies In/ Not Seeing Things But/ Seeing Through Things” is an unplanned collaboration with elements by Erin Ko, Justin Orvis Steimer, the artist known as EXR, Antennae and Helixx C. Armageddon.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times
“Seeing Through,” by Justin Orvis Steimer.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times
“Wake Up Sheeple/The Best Baldwin” by Erin Ko.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

On Wooster Street an unplanned collaboration by Erin Ko, Justin Orvis Steimer, EXR, Antennae and Helixx C. Armageddon reads “Wisdom Lies In/ Not Seeing Things But/ Seeing Through Things.” This reminds us that it’s incumbent on those of us who want to survive this time to learn to read the signs around us, the messages conveyed by street artists, ad hoc journalists, digital sources, and by legacy media. It suggests we need to read these communiqués critically, while not falling into the abyss of conspiracy theories.

Protest art by an anonymous creator on Spring Street in SoHo.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

Nearby, on Spring Street, this anonymous artist reminds us of the deeply problematic inequities between police officers and civilians. I think of the similar cases from several years ago: John Crawford III, Tamir Rice, Stephon Clark, and of course, Breonna Taylor, who was only 26 when she was killed by police in her own home in March.

Street poetry and protest by an unnamed artist on Wooster Street.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

This sign by an unnamed artist means to stir up the anger that is simmering. The author recognizes that this moment in our history is an inflection point, a decisive pivot and what comes after this may not bring the cessation of hostilities, but a storm of social and political upheaval. Perhaps this is what is required to finally begin to build a just and equitable society.

Green aliens with signs of empathy and solidarity for Black Lives Matter on Canal Street.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

The green aliens depicted on Canal Street made me both happy and sad. The anonymous artist understood that using aliens to make the point of the simultaneous precariousness and importance of Black lives would be an effective strategy. Seeing aliens advocating the Black Lives Matter campaign cleverly makes the point that even extraterrestrial observers can see our world needs to change.

David Hollier’s “A Smile,” at Fourth Avenue and Union Street in Brooklyn, incorporates Frederick Douglass’s vision for a reborn America.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

On the other hand, this image of a raised fist by David Hollier at Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn offers a universal message by Frederick Douglass for a reborn America, one not pervaded by racism and greed. It proclaims that “A smile or a tear has no nationality; joy and sorrow speak alike to all nations, and they, above all the confusion of tongues, proclaim the brotherhood of man.” We tend to process and comprehend hardship through the lens of ethnic, gender and national differences. This sign is like a light illuminating a cave most people never enter.

A young protest organizer in an installation on Crosby Street, by Manuel Pulla.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

The photographer Simbarashe Cha introduced me to this image, on Crosby Street, by Manuel Pulla, of Ella, a young organizer who holds a large megaphone. This is an apt metaphor for the activist’s voice. She calls for our attention, saying that those who give their commitment to bodily action can transform this country in ways our ancestors could only dream of.

The Peanuts gang, at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Union Street in Brooklyn.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

On Union Street in Brooklyn I found a mural with the characters from the Peanuts comic strip carrying Black Lives Matter signs. It lifted me to see Franklin Armstrong, Charlie Brown and Snoopy joyously and resolutely marching together, as if the movement were the most normative reason to take to the streets. Peanuts, while a cartoon, is also a measure of the degree to which BLM has become an American cause rather than a minority issue.

A mural on the side of a residential building on Allen Street by Conor Harrington.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

On the Lower East Side I found a mural by Conor Harrington that both intrigued and flummoxed me. There is a figure that I take to be a man, in colonial era clothing (the red coat of what would have, in 1776, been the British faction) twirling a flag that seems to be changing from a blue and white striped field to a red and white scheme — as if the figure’s touch has sparked a revolution. This is perhaps a version of the received, hackneyed idea of the lone hero who can change the course of human history (the 19th-century “great man” theory of leadership promulgated by Thomas Carlyle, among others). Or perhaps it’s an attempt to demonstrate how quickly the flame of revolution can spark a fire that spreads everywhere.

“Sad Contrast” by the Colombian artist Calicho Arevalo and the Queens native Jeff Rose King on a boarded-up store on Mercer Street in SoHo.Credit...Simbarashe Cha for The New York Times

Last, there is a bifurcated mural, “Sad Contrast,” on Mercer Street in SoHo that depicts a tearful Statue of Liberty. In the portrait, executed in a colorful expressionistic style, one side of the face is painted by Calicho Arevalo and the other by Jeff Rose King. Mr. King’s side suggests an Indigenous woman in a headdress, composed to mirror the crowned Roman goddess. Both figures look steadily at the viewer, essentially asking: How will you see us, and what will we mean to you?