then?’ Robin said as he shuffled his feet in front of us and we
were all a little taken aback. How he had got from the first place I saw him to appear from behind the pillar I do not know because I was looking about the whole time. He was here and he seemed a
little nervous so I tried to put him at ease and introduced him to the chaps who were, by now, regarding him with mild amusement.
We started talking and Robin relaxed. However, it taught me again about how careful he is around people he doesn’t know; how seriously he takes his liberty and how trust with him was a
rare thing – and if you had that trust, even a little bit, it was hard won. By now it was obvious he did have a tag on his tail. He was known and if a copper could take him in for all his
graffiti it wouldbe a very serious business. But still, the image of him checking us out and dodging behind walls and pillars before he made his mind up to meet us that day
still makes my ribs tickle.
As it happened, Jesse and Kes had things to do, so they left shortly after, leaving the two of us alone in the square. I looked at him enquiringly but he didn’t offer an explanation, as if
his behaviour hadn’t happened.
‘Let’s have a look at the Dome, or what?’ I said, and we trotted off through this brave new landscape to view this corporate wonder. It was a big site and obviously we
couldn’t walk in past security but it had fences, which you could see through all around its periphery. The white Dome was actually up and it was quite an impressive sight. There was a lot
going on: earth movers, lorries and workers. They paid us no attention as we circumnavigated, as best we could, the whole place. We ended up bythe waterfront looking over
towards the new buildings of the World Trade Centre, then over at Canning Town on the north side of the Thames.
Robin was pretty distant and I could tell the cogs in his brain were whirring.
‘What do you think then?’ I asked.
‘I’ve got a few ideas,’ he replied. I never did know if he carried out an art attack on the Dome and its surroundings. I haven’t been down there since. The new
architecture creates very exposed spaces so get-away plans are limited.
Every time I was in London I would hook up with Robin. I was moving mostly between Stockholm and Bristol but also felt a pressing need to get up to the capital as often as I could. By this time
he was mostly living there and things were starting to happen for him. As a side effect of his bombing campaigns, in which he would litter neighbourhood after neighbourhood with his judicious work,
he was gettingknown. I was personally amazed at his all-town obliteration. His art was getting bigger and bolder. Shoreditch walls and Brick Lane bridges, Soho for its
centrality, Camden, Notting Hill and several other places all had his signatory efforts.
He never once told me about what he’d been up to, never pointed out a new piece. I just came across them as I moved around – and I didn’t even live there, so the spread of his
work was obviously much wider than I could ever take in. And all this as his work in Bristol was increasing too. He was becoming notorious. Some of the locations were breathtaking like his
‘Wrong War’ on high bridges. How did he get up there? How did he remain unseen? He was outrageous, he was everywhere, like a nocturnal tomcat on the prowl. He saw the city’s
ripped backsides at an hour of night that not many of us are privy to.
The remarkable aspect is that it all seemed effortless. Whenever I saw himhe was just the same as always, admitting nothing, releasing nothing, just composed. I made a
comment that he had hit the ground running in London, that I’d seen his stuff all over. He didn’t even respond. He was totally unconcerned. He was just doing it. Full on, non-stop,
rocking-the-block. Rising again and again.
I was on one of several anti-globalization demos in the wake of the riots in Seattle around this time.
were all a little taken aback. How he had got from the first place I saw him to appear from behind the pillar I do not know because I was looking about the whole time. He was here and he seemed a
little nervous so I tried to put him at ease and introduced him to the chaps who were, by now, regarding him with mild amusement.
We started talking and Robin relaxed. However, it taught me again about how careful he is around people he doesn’t know; how seriously he takes his liberty and how trust with him was a
rare thing – and if you had that trust, even a little bit, it was hard won. By now it was obvious he did have a tag on his tail. He was known and if a copper could take him in for all his
graffiti it wouldbe a very serious business. But still, the image of him checking us out and dodging behind walls and pillars before he made his mind up to meet us that day
still makes my ribs tickle.
As it happened, Jesse and Kes had things to do, so they left shortly after, leaving the two of us alone in the square. I looked at him enquiringly but he didn’t offer an explanation, as if
his behaviour hadn’t happened.
‘Let’s have a look at the Dome, or what?’ I said, and we trotted off through this brave new landscape to view this corporate wonder. It was a big site and obviously we
couldn’t walk in past security but it had fences, which you could see through all around its periphery. The white Dome was actually up and it was quite an impressive sight. There was a lot
going on: earth movers, lorries and workers. They paid us no attention as we circumnavigated, as best we could, the whole place. We ended up bythe waterfront looking over
towards the new buildings of the World Trade Centre, then over at Canning Town on the north side of the Thames.
Robin was pretty distant and I could tell the cogs in his brain were whirring.
‘What do you think then?’ I asked.
‘I’ve got a few ideas,’ he replied. I never did know if he carried out an art attack on the Dome and its surroundings. I haven’t been down there since. The new
architecture creates very exposed spaces so get-away plans are limited.
Every time I was in London I would hook up with Robin. I was moving mostly between Stockholm and Bristol but also felt a pressing need to get up to the capital as often as I could. By this time
he was mostly living there and things were starting to happen for him. As a side effect of his bombing campaigns, in which he would litter neighbourhood after neighbourhood with his judicious work,
he was gettingknown. I was personally amazed at his all-town obliteration. His art was getting bigger and bolder. Shoreditch walls and Brick Lane bridges, Soho for its
centrality, Camden, Notting Hill and several other places all had his signatory efforts.
He never once told me about what he’d been up to, never pointed out a new piece. I just came across them as I moved around – and I didn’t even live there, so the spread of his
work was obviously much wider than I could ever take in. And all this as his work in Bristol was increasing too. He was becoming notorious. Some of the locations were breathtaking like his
‘Wrong War’ on high bridges. How did he get up there? How did he remain unseen? He was outrageous, he was everywhere, like a nocturnal tomcat on the prowl. He saw the city’s
ripped backsides at an hour of night that not many of us are privy to.
The remarkable aspect is that it all seemed effortless. Whenever I saw himhe was just the same as always, admitting nothing, releasing nothing, just composed. I made a
comment that he had hit the ground running in London, that I’d seen his stuff all over. He didn’t even respond. He was totally unconcerned. He was just doing it. Full on, non-stop,
rocking-the-block. Rising again and again.
I was on one of several anti-globalization demos in the wake of the riots in Seattle around this time.
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