story by Sara-Jessica Dilks, photos by Maria Donnelly, video by Maddie Knopke and Cecilia Butler

Editor’s note: The graffiti writer exposed in this article is a senior at an area private high school; he wished to remain anonymous because of his involvement in illegal activity and instead will be identified by his spray painter name, “Scuba Steve,” a reference to the film “Big Daddy.”

There it was: a relatively low green highway sign above a secluded exit road near Interstate 35, one that was already defaced by black, scrawled letters that someone else had made. Scuba Steve had spied his perfect target, a prime place to, in his words, “make history,” and a way for him to fulfill his wish of being “unnoticed for noticed art.”

He ordered for the car to stop immediately in the isolated darkness. The driver, also a local high school senior who asked to remain anonymous, pulled hesitantly into the road’s median, his horror film-style white grimacing mask concealing his face. Scuba Steve bolted instantly to the side of the highway, which bordered a densely wooded area. He was armed and ready with a can of purple spray paint and a handmade stencil in hand; his signature scuba mask was suctioned to his face, a cheap disguise to protect his identity from any possible passerby.

Those still in the car first shouted for Scuba Steve to return, but soon had no choice but to watch in awe as he vanished into the darkness, just barely visible as he managed to scale the 20-foot overhead sign, which shook slightly as he climbed it like a jungle gym.

When Scuba Steve returned to the car a few minutes later, he breathlessly explained how he had completed his mission to tag the sign; he had branded its front with his signature stencil that he had created during art class and free time. Scuba Steve described a feeling of utter “liberation” — an adrenaline rush that the driver said most people cannot experience every day.

“Yeah, it was scary; my heart was beating,” Scuba Steve said right after, his eyes still wide with excitement. “That was so worth the thrill. Yeah man, and I snapped a pic of [the stencil] up there.”

“Dude, don’t put that on Instagram,” the driver replied, smiling still with disbelief.

The scrawled, splattered work of graffiti writers on public and private property can be seen throughout Kansas City on street signs, bridges, light poles, walls, sidewalks, garages and dumpsters. Yet the creators are not nearly as visible as the residue itself that covers so many surfaces in this city.

“The best part [of graffiting] is knowing that no one knows it’s you,” Scuba Steve said.

Most graffiti artists and writers participate in secrecy because their work is illegal, for graffiti vandalism is a misdemeanor and in more severe cases is considered a felony, according to Kansas City Police Department detective Alec Lepper. Lepper also said that graffiti on public property is a city misdemeanor and carries up to a $500 fine and six months in jail.

“The bottom line [with graffiti] from being a police officer, is that if you’re writing on property without permission, that’s not artwork,” Lepper said. “For the [property owners] who bear the brunt of [graffiti], it’s detrimental to their business and property.”

According to Lepper, those seeking the adrenaline rush from doing graffiti can cause serious issues for the Kansas City Police Department.

“It hurts the response time … it’s gonna take that officer off the streets for an hour, two hours to [deal with the graffiti] … when they could be responding to more important crimes,” Lepper said. “Would you want [an officer] to respond to a shooting, or to someone who’s upset about their property being [graffitied]?”

Scuba Steve’s driver, who mainly acted as an assistant while Scuba Steve independently tagged downtown bridges, railroad tracks, signs and buildings, said that the act of graffiti is just an opportunity for youths to express themselves.

“It’s important to remember the act itself [of graffiti] isn’t vandalism,” the driver said. “It only is once it’s on public or private property. For them, it’s just a different canvas.”

Scuba Steve’s initial canvas for spray painting was “Graffiti Hall,” a secluded tunnel in Prairie Village that over the years has been covered with amateur graffiti. According to Scuba Steve, Graffiti Hall is one of the most “basic places” to spray paint; he considers it to be a vandalism destination for beginners. His wishes to go beyond the basic led him to vandalize other, more public parts of Kansas City.

“I’ll do it anywhere,” Scuba Steve said. “Like, if I make a mark, then I got it, dude.”

Alan Lankford, father of STA senior Paige Lankford, has dealt with graffiti as a business owner in downtown Kansas City’s Crossroads Arts District; his office building and event space have collectively been graffitied about five times. Each time, the clean-up costs between $350 and $600. While Lankford accepts that vandalism is just “part of the life of owning a Crossroads business,” he also disagrees with the messages that graffitists produce for the community.

“Art has a meaning and purpose, but graffiti is unmeaningful,” Lankford said. “Tags and graffiti just give people a negative feeling about the area … it can make your building [seem] unprofessional.”

Last July, Kansas City began an effort to combat and prevent the same type of graffiti that Scuba Steve tags and that Lankford cleans up. The Oak Park Neighborhood Association was one of several neighborhood groups that Kansas City provided with free power washers and cleaning materials, according to the Kansas City Star’s article “Tired of Graffiti?”

But when it comes to Scuba Steve, it appears his main concern is his work.

“My Scuba Steve stencil looks good, and that’s all I know,” Scuba Steve said. “You just have to think of it like, ‘why not?’”

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