London holds one of Europe’s most established graffiti scenes, with decades of writing embedded in the streets and the Tube network of the London Underground. That lineage continues today through writers such as FATZO.
Hailing from North West London and raised in council estates; FATZO is one of the writers carrying the torch of London’s rich writing tradition. His large, legible tags and throw-ups throughout the city are an example of how a no-frills approach graffiti continues to operate in a city with an above-average concentration of CCTV cameras.
Full segment featured in Issue 13 of Living Proof Magazine
Can you speak a bit about your background and upbringing and how that impacted you getting into graffiti?
My upbringing. I’m from North West London. I ain’t saying too much more about the location, if you know you know type thing. My upbringing was pretty normal in comparison to the other black working class kids that grew up in the council houses that I grew up in. We weren’t super down, and we weren’t super up either. Mum was working a couple of jobs to make sure we had what we had and my step dad was half on the roads and half in the music industry, but an old school London black geezer if you wanna call it that, which is a bit of a dying breed these days. My step dad was a big influence for me. I mean my mum and my step dad let me do my thing creatively. Some people would say that’s not the correct style of parenting, but I’m happy where I am now so they must have done alright. My step dad was into graf. He knew some of the OGs from London being from south himself as well, so from a young age I always knew that graffiti and hip hop go hand in hand and that’s just sort of how I got into graffiti. I was doing graffiti on paper before I knew it was graffiti and we used to call it bubble letters. Everyone in the ends had a tag. If you’re chilling in the block, the stairwell, football pitches, everyone’s got their nickname whether they’re associating themselves with being a graffiti writer or not.
Why do you think certain names within graffiti become iconic in a city while others disappear?
It’s a mad question. I mean, graffiti is a proper selfish act. That’s my opinion. I think it’s quite selfish. It’s about you. It’s about you writing your name on someone else’s property without permission. Savage behaviour when you think about it like that. But it’s also expression. Whether you want to call it art or not, that’s another debate. It’s out in the open to be judged by the public. When things are judged by the public, it’s out of your hands. So I don’t know what the public’s gonna like next or who’s gonna be hot next. There’s a whole heap of opinions in this thing. I can’t really explain why some names get props and some don’t when others are putting in the same amount or more work. If I had to break it down a little, I would say it’s to do with how you’re projecting your brand. It’s essentially a brand. You’re blasting your ting everywhere. Whether you want people to like it or not, deep down it’s nice when people like your stuff. That’s the dopamine hit.
What does London communicate to you and what do you try to communicate back?
For me, London communicates diversity. It also communicates one mindedness as well and that’s something I really like. I just try to communicate back and let London know that I actually fuck with it. I do fuck with it. I also fuck with change. I’ll never forget where I’m from, who I am, or where I was born and raised. If you don’t communicate clearly with the city then your thing is not gonna be reciprocating back. Maybe that’s your vibe. Maybe you’re on an anti thing. But me, I like to work in harmony and just rub shoulders with the city and let it know that it may be an offensive thing I’m doing, but the approach is considered. Even though I’m doing something I’m not really supposed to do, I’m going to try and do it in a stylized way. I might sway someone’s opinion. They might not be into graf and see my thing and think, you know what, I get it.
Do you see graffiti more as disruption, decoration, or dialogue?
Graffiti is disruption, and it is decorative, and it is dialogue. It is a form of art, and it is vandalism, and it is loved by some and hated by some. It’s controversial. It also does the same thing advertising does sometimes. You haven’t asked for it and it’s shoved in your face. If someone doesn’t like it, that’s cool. That’s their thing. If someone loves it, that’s their thing. It’s all opinion based.
If everyone suddenly accepted graffiti as art, would it lose some of its power?
I don’t think it could ever lose its power because it’s so raw and embedded in culture. The power can change, but it can’t disappear. When this thing first started in 70s and 80s New York, writers were already being put into gallery shows. The corporates have always been obsessed with the culture and tried to buy it. But you can’t buy it. There will always be the rawest form available. Some people from that raw form will rub shoulders with corporates, but graffiti will always exist best illegally outside. It didn’t start in studios like oil painting. It started on the street. That’s why it always comes back to the street.
What does the idea of being seen mean in an age of digital oversaturation?
We’re in a mad time right now with the internet. People are forgetting what being seen actually means. Maybe it means something different now than it did 10 or 15 years ago. Nowadays people travel somewhere and already know who’s up in that city because they’ve seen it online. They’re sliding into DMs and linking up. For me I never really moved like that. A lot of the relationships I made through graffiti happened when I was travelling before smartphones, when I was emailing people and going somewhere without knowing what the place was like. The internet can be a useful tool but it’s not something we should rely on. The real understanding of a place comes from being outside and experiencing it.
Read the full interview in Living Proof Magazine Issue 13, available on the Living Proof Patreon and Online Shop.
Photography by: Matthew Benson
