Historian Lewis Mumford famously stated, “The timelessness of art is its capacity to represent the transformation of endless becoming into being.” History is a testament to the people, families, towns, cities, and society that are constantly changing and evolving. Art of a specific time period can bring into focus the spirit of the era, capturing a time of transformation, and revealing a guiding principle of the past.
For illustrator and graffiti artist RC, art can illuminate the zeitgeist of an era by utilizing the seemingly ordinary objects that populate people’s everyday lives. More importantly, creating art connects RC to his family, who have played an integral part in San Francisco Bay Area history.
To understand RC as an artist, we have to begin with a significant piece of Bay Area history. The late 1800s in California was a confusing time; ranchos of the Old West were slowly divided up, sold, or taken, and the days of vaqueros, dons, and wealthy land ownership were coming to an end. The transition from Mexican government land grants to American settler claims under statehood was messy. Before this transition, however, was the Robles family, who arrived in Monterey in 1797. In 1847, brothers Teodoro and Secundino Robles purchased Rancho Rincon de San Francisquito, 8,800 acres of beautiful grazing land located in what is now south Palo Alto. The family home stood at Alma Street and San Antonio Road, where Don Secundino and his wife, Dona Maria Antonia, became known for their hospitality—a stage stop between San Francisco and San Jose. They would offer refreshments, hold bear and bullfights, host fandangos, and allow hunters to ride Secundino’s beautiful horses across the property. Secundino and the Robles name became a cornerstone of late nineteenth-century peninsula life, known as the land of wealth and abundance of goodwill towards all.
“I don’t think there are any prerequisites for how a really great artist can come to be, except one—I think they need to possess a rebel or outsider spirit in some way, and it should be very natural.”
Secundino and Maria Antonia Robles are RC’s great-great-great-great-great-grandparents. Their story and its role in the history of the Bay Area, when the Old West began to meet the modern age, holds significant value for RC when the Old West began to meet the modern age. During this time, innovation and the natural environment lived hand-in-hand. “That time period was interesting because it was soon enough ago that we relate to the objects seen from that time, but they were created with simple materials (wood, glass, metal). There was a boom of modern-day conveniences being invented constantly, but everything still had a natural beauty to it. Most of the objects in your house back then would have been one-of-a-kind, but you could have still felt you were at the edge of innovation.”
The spirit of innovation and entrepreneurship of the Old West influences RC’s approach to art and helps frame the visual aesthetic of his work. RC explains, “I don’t think there are any prerequisites for how a really great artist can come to be, except one—I think they need to possess a rebel or outsider spirit in some way, and it should be very natural. The overarching spirit of the West is that of creative outsiders.” RC carries this spirit as his art and life occupies a space between conformity and rebellion.
RC is a software engineer—a job that pays the bills and provides health insurance—but his real passion is his graffiti work. The challenge of working within the confines of letter-shape rules and limitations, while simultaneously creating art where one feels they shouldn’t, is a welcomed one. “Graffiti is a mental and physical challenge, which gives a higher sense of achievement in return after overcoming those challenges.” The discipline of working within a certain form while applying it through a medium historically seen as vandalism mirrors the rebel spirit of the Old West.
Graffiti took hold of RC in high school when all he wanted to do was draw and tag. As his skills grew, people started hiring him for flyers, logos, or website design. Full-time graphic design wasn’t paying the bills, so he transitioned and started doing hybrid design and software engineering work. It wasn’t until the recent California wildfires and the pandemic that RC found the streets less crowded than usual. “Everyone was staying inside. I remember thinking it’d be a great time to get back on the street again in those smokey years. Then, when the pandemic hit, it was like a very not-subtle ask from the universe to paint all the Bandos in my neighborhood.”
The letter forms in his graffiti work have a heaviness to them; solid and firmly planted as if they were cornerstones to a building. Yet the letters turn and stretch into each other, bringing a lightness and life-like quality to his work. RC’s fine art illustrations follow in his graffiti’s footsteps as his subjects seem to hold a particular shape, like that of a letter form, with lines that flow and bend in the same direction, giving the subjects a sense of confinement. In one black and white illustration entitled “The Long Hat Horse Rider,” a vaquero sits upon a horse. RC illustrates a half-wooden and half-fabric horse whose legs fold upon themselves into wheels. A bird cage sits upon the haunches of the horse as the birds stick their heads out between the bars. The transformational time of the last decades of the Old West produced in ornate detail, grace RC’s illustrations. Their overall stamp-like quality further suggests the antiquity of the subjects.
As beautiful as the visual remnants of a bygone time are, those times were hard. Eventually, Secundino’s famous hospitality was slowly taken advantage of by those who desired his land, and in 1876 his estate was down to a mere 300 acres. Though the Robles family had to conform to the new norms Americans brought with them, a quiet rebellion took place as Secundino and Maria Antonia never wavered from opening up their home, offering a drink, and allowing visitors to enjoy their land. The Robles hospitality continued into the early 1890s and refreshments were handed out by Maria Antonia to passing bicyclists until she died in 1897.
RC continues to carry his family, their journey, and history with him through his art. Growing up, drawing with his older sister and grandparents planted the seed for RC to embrace the philosophy of staying true to himself. He has carried them through tough times as his art has pulled him out of a “dysfunctional state” after losing a family member to suicide. He carries them now as his graffiti work adorns the concrete landscape of Silicon Valley, the same valley where his ancestors rode across endless pastures and became known for their famous hospitality.
If art can represent the “transformation of endless becoming into being,” then it’s RC’s family and their endless becoming that his art strives to bring into being. “The story of the West, in particular, is one of having no backup plan and being on your own should something go wrong, and without any established settlements to help you, given it was the new land. My great-grandparents had 29 children. Only eight of them lived to adulthood, and I can only imagine what they went through. The strength they had to have back then is inspiring to me, and I think about it a lot when I’m drawing.”
Wisper’s life resembles an uncanny stack of page-turners. Conversations with him dredge up metaphors, tuned specifically to the relationship between identity and outcome. Subjective as art and truth may be, the sublime coincidences within his experiences hint at more.
As teenagers, Wisper and his best friends—Sno, Poe, Shen Shen, and Bizr—formed the intersection of two arts groups: Together We Create, a collective of muralists (est. 1985), and LORDS Crew (Legends of Rare Designs, est. 1986), a graffiti crew whose members grew out of San Jose and drew international attention. For this tight group of young, talented artists, the potential for fame was palpable. But certain threads split the chapters of their lives into unraveled dichotomies. For Wisper, a path of criminality handed him a prison sentence of 26 to life—ultimately, an unknowable length of time for truth, beauty, justice, and their rivals to battle through his mind like restless gods.
He vividly remembers the first time he caught injustice red-handed. As the middle sibling in his mother’s home at the time, it baffled him that after his father’s death, social security payments owed to his mother—$300 per child—couldn’t bring the family clothes, food, or rent installments. He and his brothers were eating rice every day that summer. Then one night, as he performed his usual chore of cleaning his stepfather’s car, he found Burger King wrappers. Claims didn’t match the evidence.
“If you can learn how to operate from a place of peace while creating art, you can learn how to operate from a place of peace in all aspects of your life.” _Wisper
There was little he could do about it, other than rebel. As a creative kid with a knack for detail, Wisper looked for his identity in spaces where originality shined. In the world of hip-hop, among b-boys, DJs, and rappers, Wisper was hooked by the wave of graffiti that made its way over from the East Coast, bringing with it a culture that admired innovation. As the LORDS Crew formed and grew its membership, some of his friends and fellow founding members went to vocational school to pursue graphic design.
But for Wisper, gang membership stood out as the most attractive option. “Everything I was seeking—unconditional love, loyalty, recognition, notoriety, reputation, education—they were giving it.” His gift for teaching was cultivated by their discipline. He could come up with illustrations and analogies to help someone else learn and memorize the codes of membership, without having to write a single word.
The last year Wisper did graffiti was 1988. The following year he was arrested. Once inside prison, faced with a life sentence, he found no reason to change. To survive, he leveraged his street education and climbed the ranks until he was running the yard. The attention and his gang affiliation eventually sent him to solitary confinement in 1994, with other men in solitary confinement “deemed incorrigible.”
In the monotony, Wisper contemplated the value of his life. His path into crime had been a gradual progression of “becoming more and more empty.” As he explains today, “People who commit crimes don’t understand value. If I steal from you, if I vandalize your house…I don’t value you as a person. If my life doesn’t mean something, no one else’s does either.” Even a cup, he reasoned, had worth. It was created for a purpose. Yet like a cup left on the shelf, here he was, a human being locked away in sensory deprivation. If his life had purpose, it couldn’t come from this environment, not from his upbringing, his heritage, or ideologies—which he had been willing to die for. And which he was still affiliated with.
He knew he wanted to change, but change only began when he mustered the courage to revoke his prison gang status, fully aware of the punishment to follow.
Wisper credits supernatural intervention in the events that actually occurred once he lost his status. By the code, he should have died in prison—killed by his own cellmate to protect the rest of the gang. But his life was spared. By the law, he should have been rejected for parole. Involvement with prison gangs was deemed a greater offense than the crime that sentenced him in the first place. But the inmates who would have reported him had been removed from the yard weeks before his arrival.
By the time Wisper came home in 2013, nearly 24 years had passed. His former collaborator, Bizr, had written “FREE WISPER TOUR” on every art piece until Bizr’s passing in 2013, eight months before Wisper’s release. Of the friends who had kept in touch with him, Mesngr was the only one still in San Jose, doing art shows. As he slowly readjusted to life back in society, Wisper decided his goal was to “get my art out, make some money, provide for myself and my family.”
Wisper began looking for opportunities, at times initiating them by reaching out to connections and bringing plywood for the artists to live paint on. As he formed the groundwork to revitalize Together We Create, he also accepted opportunities to speak at high schools and colleges. There were youth who wanted to learn graffiti, and Wisper saw the chance to share about his mistakes so they could make better decisions.
“That’s where I developed a curriculum of teaching peace,” he explains. Acting from a place of courage is revered, but in that state, fear is still present—“you’re acting in spite of fear.” He teaches his mentees to accept responsibility for where they’re at and to apply a faith-based practice until they can believe in themselves. “If you don’t know who you are, you can’t create unique art.”
There are still threads to unravel. To this day, he fights to control the blaze of anger that slices through at injustice. Just like in his youth, he feels the pressure to stay on guard, to secure himself and his safety. “After 24 years of living like that, you don’t just come home and start expressing emotions.” But he knows himself, and he values his life. That deep sense of peace is unshakeable. Hanging around Wisper, friends might not notice how calm and collected he is until he laughs—then, they’re caught by the irreversible, unforgettable belly laugh flying out of him.
This year marks nine years since his release—nine years of using his freedom to help youth secure their self-identity. Often called on to speak and share his story, he is in the final stages of publishing three books that he hopes will aid their discernment. Wisper believes that all people hold a sense of justice, beauty, and truth—but an absence of self-identity spawns a perilous emptiness. “If you’re empty your whole life,” he says, “you don’t know what full is.”
His mission now is to inspire others to create art from a secure sense of identity, free of the pressure to fit a label or hide under a mask. “If you can learn how to operate from a place of peace while creating art,” he promises, “you can learn how to operate from a place of peace in all aspects of your life.”
CONTENT MAGAZINE: How has San Jose influenced the artistic endeavors in your life and career?
GIRAFA: Born and raised in the city of San Jose, Girafa has been writing graffiti across many Bay Area neighborhoods. It wasn’t until his conviction three years ago that he was forced to take time off for self-evaluation. Since then, he has been exploring different mediums and coming to terms with himself on a personal level. Born and raised in the city of San Jose, Girafa has been writing graffiti across many Bay Area neighborhoods. It wasn’t until his conviction three years ago that he was forced to take time off for self-evaluation. Since then, he has been exploring different mediums and coming to terms with himself on a personal level.
CM: How has San Jose influenced the artistic endeavors in your life and career?
G: an Jose is home base. I was raised here and influenced by local graffiti crews that run this city. Times have changed and with the relentless buff (term used to describe the attempts of city workers to paint over graffiti) and strict laws and punishments for graffiti artists, San Jose pushes you to work harder and take on more risks. I’ve taken what I’ve learned on the streets and applied it to my indoor work ethic.
CM: To some, you are the most infamous and most beloved graffiti artist in the Bay Area. Do you feel a certain responsibility to the kids and your fanbase?
I feel honored that people enjoy my work. Being an artist, I spend a lot of time in solitude and don’t notice how it affects others since I’m so focused on what I’m doing. If anything, I would want them to follow their heart in whatever they feel passionate about and overcome any obstacles that stand in their way.
CM: Who were your role models when you were growing up?
G: First off, my parents. My father taught me never to give up and to apply yourself. My mother took care of a lot of strays and pets, showing me and animals unconditional love. I watched a lot of cartoons growing up, so…definitely William Hanna, Joseph Barbera, Chuck Jones, Tex Avery, Bob Clampett and John Kricfalusi, Mestre Waguinho and, last but not least, my old friend Buckethead.
CM : Would you say your parents were supportive of your artistic endeavors?
G: My parents have always been supportive, now more so than ever. (laughs) I kept it a secret as much as I could when I was painting on the streets, but when the news broke about my arrest I remember them saying “We knew you painted graffiti, but not to this extent.” Now my mom says “You found a way to turn lemons into lemonade.”
G: I believe my parents always knew I’d do something creative with my life. I was always playing [with my] imagination, locking myself away in my room drawing and I was definitely the black sheep of the family. I’m really thankful they let me be me.
CM: Do you think that your work on the streets limited your full artistic vision, or was it just a different part of it?
G: Yes, working illegally on the streets can be very limiting; that’s where I became very fond of repetition. You want to get in and out before anyone notices or the police show up. I got bored with painting the same icon and started to migrate into other areas, still remaining within the giraffe theme and never veering away from it.
Some graffiti writers are about style, where I was more about a theme. I made it a point to primarily use the colors black and yellow which is the strongest color combination used for street signs to get your attention. Now that I work inside my studio, not feeling rushed or having to look over my shoulder allows me to explore what I did in the streets and grow from that. So yeah, it’s different. There are things that I’d rather do in the streets and not in my studio, and vice versa.
CM: Why the giraffe?
I was given the nickname Girafa which means giraffe in Brazilian Portuguese because of my height. It stuck amongst my friends. I’ve always been fascinated with alter-identities so when I was given the nickname, I took it seriously and later developed a character to go along with the name.
Before the giraffe, I was all over the place with my art. But once I discovered the character, it felt right. Giraffes are such unique creatures. Also, it’s fun to pretend to be something or someone else. I’m able to get back in touch with my inner child, which some of us tend to lose sight of as we grow older.
CM: On a deeper level, what do you think it is about alter-identities that fascinates you so much?
G: I was adopted at a very early age, which leaves a lot of questions about who I am and where I came from unanswered. I needed a way to fill in the blanks so creating alter-identities gave me the ability to create my own story—which became my personal way of dealing with my past. The thing that fascinates me the most is the mystery that surrounds the person. Graffiti is all about that, which is part of why I was attracted to it.
CM: Do you think you’ve learned more about who you are with your experiences and through art?
G: Yes, but I’m always a work in progress. I don’t regret any of my choices. I’d say in the last few years, especially my time spent on house arrest, I did a lot of reflecting, searching, and reading as to what’s my purpose for being here. I strongly feel each of us has a purpose to fulfill whatever it may be.
I don’t believe in bad circumstances, only lessons to learn and grow from. It’s crazy how you can trace all the steps that led you to where you are today, and the signs the universe will present to you so know you’re on the right path. When I’m in my studio alone creating work, it’s definitely therapy. Even though my work is fun and colorful on the surface, I spend the whole time working shit out in my head.
CM: Ultimately, how do you want to be remembered?
G: What an awkward question for me to answer. Honestly, it’s really not up to me. I’m only responsible for myself, and I have my own expectations to live up to. It’s hard to already come up with how I want to be remembered when I’ve just begun.
Originally Appeared in Issue 5.0 Underground – SOLD OUT
