In the Beginning Was the Word ... But Is That Word Graffiti?

canterburycathedral.org

 

I. 

 

Graffiti, in one form or other, has existed for as long as there have been walls to write upon. 

 

Arguably, even what we now laud as prehistoric cave art can be considered as a type of graffiti, despite some scholars insisting that to place these two distinct practices on some kind of continuum in this manner is a flawed and romantic assertion.  

 

Jeffrey Ian Ross, for example, an American professor of criminology, concedes that although we may not know for certain why paleolithic peoples painted on walls, we might reasonably assume that it was a consensual act and a collective expression of those living in or around the caves, whilst graffiti, on the other hand, is usually done without permission and is seen as an illicit form of individual self-expression. 

 

Thus, according to Ross, to describe cave painting as graffiti is a failure to understand that the latter is essentially a form of vandalism, not art, in that it involves "the willful and unwarranted act of marking a surface" [1], thereby causing criminal damage. 

 

 

II. 

Of course, not all graffiti is done without permission: if you walk around Shoreditch you'll see plenty of examples of commercial graffiti (or aerosal advertising, as it is also known); i.e., work that has been commissioned by businesses to promote their products in a way that is intended to look edgy and appeal to an urban audience, but which is perfectly sanitised and above board.   

 

The Situationists would describe this as the recuperation of street art [2].

 

Amusingly, even the Church of England is now getting in on the act [3] - much to the horror of many worshippers, conservative commentators, and American Vice President, JD Vance - and it's the (some would say sacrilegious) graffiti installation entitled Hear Us, at Canterbury Cathedral, that I wish to discuss here ... 

 

 

III. 

 

The first thing that needs to be said is that Hear Us is neither graffiti in the criminal sense (though some insist on seeing it as an act of vandalism nevertheless), nor in the commercial sense (I don't think anything is being advertised here other than the desperation of the Anglican church to still seem in touch with the contemporary world).  

 

The spray painted images and texts - in the form of questions directed to God  - have been temporarily transferred on to the cathedral's ancient stone pillars, walls, and floors (not applied directly) with the full support of the church authorities, aiming at the kind of ugly and unimaginative aesthetic usually seen in an underground South London car park (as one critic put it).   

 

Apparently, the organisers, including David Monteith, the Dean of Canterbury, hope that the jarring contrast between the ancient architecture and the contemporary messaging will help spark conversations as well as giving voice to minority communities who often feel themselves excluded or marginalised by the church:  

 

'This exhibition intentionally builds bridges between cultures, styles and genres and in particular allows us to receive the gifts of younger people who have much to say and from whom we need to hear much.' 

 

Hmmm ... I have to confess, I'm not entirely convinced.

 

 

IV. 

 

There are two main figures behind the Hear Us project: 

 

Firstley, the award-winning British-Greek spoken word artist, producer, and playwright, Alex Vellis (who also identifies as a queer vegan).  

 

Secondly, the freelance visual arts advisor Jacquiline Creswell, who in 2024 was engaged as the Consultant Curator for the Association of English Cathedrals.  

 

I wouldn't go so far as to call them woke fanatics, but they do seem to be worryingly sincere and enthusiastic; the kind of people who really believe in what they're doing. The latter wrote of this project on her social media:    

 

"By collaborating with marginalized communities - including the Punjabi, black and brown diaspora, neurodivergent individuals, and the LGBTQIA+ population - the exhibition promotes inclusivity and representation. It transforms the cathedral into a space where diverse voices can be heard, validating their experiences and fostering a sense of belonging." [4]

 

Possibly ... But again, I'm not entirely convinced. Perhaps God isn't as cool as Vellis and Creswell think [5] and graffitiing on the walls of his house isn't the best idea. 

 

Indeed, I'm tempted to share JD Vance's tweet posted on X, which asks: 

 

'Don't these people see the irony of honoring 'marginalized communities' by making a beautiful historical building really ugly?' [6]    

 

 

Canterbury Cathedral is one of the oldest Christian structures in England 

and forms part of a World Heritage Site. 

  

 

Notes

 

[1] Jeffrey Ian Ross, 'Stop giving the Neanderthals so much credit. Why prehistoric cave painting is not graffiti' (12 August, 2021): click here. 

     Whilst conceding that we may not know for sure why paleolithic peoples painted on walls, Ross seems fairly certain that cave painting was a consensual act and a collective expression of those living in or around the caves; graffiti, by contrast, is usually done without permission and is seen as a form of individual self-expression.

 

[2] Recuperation is the process by which politically radical ideas and images are co-opted and commodified within corporate media culture; i.e., safely absorbed and packaged within bourgeois culture - everyone loves fucking Banksy, don't they?   

      The concept of recuperation was formulated by members of the Situationist International and was originally conceived as the opposite of their concept of détournement, in which images and other cultural artifacts are appropriated from mainstream sources and repurposed with radical intentions.

 

[3] It should be noted that the debate around graffiti in relation to the word of God is not a new one; see, for example, Fiona Burt's excellent article 'Using graffiti to spread the gospel', in Premier Christianity (September 2022): click here to read online.  

 

[4] See Creswell's Instagram post of 9 October 2025: click here. 

 

[5] Fans of The Simpsons might recall the tenth episode of season fourteen - 'Pray Anything' (2003) - in which Homer learns precisely this lesson, after incurring God's wrath (something that Marge foresaw, understanding as she does that God, actually, isn't all that chilled about those who desecrate a church and break his commandments): click here.

 

[6] I have slightly altered Vance's post on X, framing it as a question. The original post, dated Friday 10 October 2025, can be read by clicking here.  

 

 

On Recuperation and Karaoke Culture: Welcome to Glastonbury 2023

Steve Jones, Billy Idol, Tony James, and Paul Cook demonstrating 

the spectacular nature of punk rock at Glastonbury 2023 [1]

 

 

I. 

 

 

I hate - and have always hated - the Glastonbury Festival. 

 

And so, whilst 'Smash It Up' may not be my favourite track by The Damned, it contains one of my favourite verses of any song and I fully endorse the vitriol aimed at those zen fascists who continue to insist we all wear a happy face and share their vision of unity in diversity: You can keep your Krishna burgers and your Glastonbury hippies [2].  

 

Glastonbury may have started out in 1970 as a counter-cultural event rooted in the free-festival movement, but that's not what it is today, over fifty years on. Now it has become the coldest of all cold monsters, feeding on everything and everyone, and from whose mouth comes the monstrous lie: Art can make you happy and music set you free! 

 

Glastonbury, basically, is a means of establishing the total control and coordination of all aspects of what was once known as pop culture, or youth culture. 

 

The Nazis had a term for such a process: Gleichschaltung. Some translate this as bringing-into-line, but it more accurately means that everything is placed on a single circuit or network, so that it only requires one master switch that can be flicked on or off at the will of a single governing body or individual: Michael Eavis Über alles.   

 

 

II. 

 

For those who think this comparison with Nazi Germany is a bit over the top and who are uncomfortable with the use of the word Gleichschaltung, let's try another term - this time one that is recognisable in English, even though it's French in origin: Récupération ...

 

This term, often associated with the Situationist Guy Debord, refers us to a process by which politically radical ideas and subversive art works are defused, incorporated, and commodified within mainstream culture (usually with the full collaboration of the media) [3].  

 

Glastonbury is a huge recuperative machine making a spectacle out of aged rockers who were once the voice of teen rebellion; gleefully castrating the Sex Pistols, for example, and even managing to strip the songs of the Smiths of all negativity (their dark humour, their melancholy, their pain) by hiring the smiling anti-punk Rick Astley to show that Morrissey really isn't needed any longer. 

 

The audience sing along and wave their arms, or passively stand and watch the reified spectacle. It's an amusing irony that the festival takes place in fields where usually there are a large number of dairy cows grazing, because that is what these audience members essentially constitute - a human herd consuming pop fodder.     

 

Shortly before he died in April 2010, Malcolm McLaren bemoaned the fact that genuine creativity (which is a chaotic phenomenon that often ends in failure) was increasingly becoming impossible within what he described as a karaoke world - i.e., an ersatz society, that only provides us with an opportunity to safely revel in our own stupidity and the achievements of others; a life lived by proxy [4].

 

And, whilst I'm a little uneasy with his use of words like authenticity, he was making an important (though hardly original) point. Britain's got talent: but it's lost its soul.          

 

Notes

 

[1] I am grateful to Roadent for suggesting that Generation Sex are best understood in terms of the Spectacle (i.e. from the theoretical perspective of Situationism).

 

[2] The Damned, 'Smash It Up', single release from the album Machine Gun Etiquette (Chiswick Records, 1979): click here for the official video. 

      Alternatively, you can click here, for a live performance of the song on The Old Grey Whistle Test (6 November 1979), followed by a (curtailed) performance of another track released as a single from the above album, 'I Just Can't Be Happy Today'. 

 

[3] See Debord's seminal text La société du spectacle (1967). It was first published in English in 1970, trans. Fredy Perlman and friends.  

[4] Readers who are interested can click here to watch McLaren deliver his final public talk at the Handheld Learning Conference (2009). Originally entitled 'Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Txt Pistols', the talk is now better known by the title it appears under on ted.com - 'Authentic creativity vs. karaoke culture'.  

 

From Harold Hill to Hampstead Heath: Walking in the Footsteps of D. H. Lawrence with Catherine Brown

 

Ceramic Blue Plaque erected in 1969 by Greater London Council 

at 1 Byron Villas, Vale of Health, Hampstead, London, NW3 

englishheritage.org.uk

 

 

Hampstead is an affluent residential community in northwest London, long favoured by an assortment of artists, intellectuals, millionaires, and Marxists (i.e., the posh, the privileged, the often pretentious, and the politically radical). 

 

It's not an area I'm familiar with or particularly comfortable in; for whilst it's certainly very lovely, it's a long way from Harold Hill and I don't wanna go to where, where the rich are living.      

 

Nevertheless, putting aside my prejudices as a Clash City Rocker [1], I recently agreed to join a walking tour of Hampstead, led by Dr Catherine Brown; Vice President of the D. H. Lawrence Society, Founder of the Lawrence London Group, and unofficial Queen of the wider Lawrence collective [2].

 

Because Lawrence - a red-bearded poet and novelist who was deeply proud of his working-class roots in an East Midlands mining community - was once, briefly, a resident of Hampstead, there's even an English Heritage blue plaque celebrating the fact. 

 

We might see this as a good thing; a sign of nascent social mobility in the twentieth-century, or the classless nature of the art world; a meritocratic community in which anyone with genius [3] is welcome. Or we might view it as just one more attempt to neutralise Lawrence by assimilating him and his work into the dominant culture that he did so much to counter [4].       

 

Still, the blue plaque was just one of many things to stop and gawp at and hear about on the walking tour. Other highlights included:

 

(i) Hampstead Underground Station, which Lawrence used (but didn't like). Whether he knew it was (and still is) London's deepest tube stop - 192 feet beneath the surface - (or whether he would've cared), I don't know. Designed by architect Leslie Green, it opened in June 1907, just a few months before Lawrence first visited the area.    

 

(ii) Whitestone Pond, close to where Lawrence saw a German airship over London, in September 1915, an event that obviously captured his imagination. This is how Lawrence describes the incident in a letter: 

 

"Last night when we were coming home the guns broke out, and there was a noise of bombs. Then we saw the Zeppelin above us, just ahead, amid a gleaming of clouds; high up, like a bright golden finger, quite small, among a fragile incandescence of clouds. And underneath it were splashes of fire as the shells fired from earth burst. Then there were flashes near the ground - and the shaking noise. It was like Milton - then there was a war in heaven. But it was not angels. It was that small golden Zeppelin, like a long oval world, high up. It seemed as if the cosmic order were gone, as if there had come a new order, a new heavens above us: and as if the world in anger were trying to revoke it. Then the small long-ovate luminary, the new world in the heavens, disappeared again. 

      I cannot get over it, that the moon is not Queen of the sky by night, and the stars the lesser lights. It seems the Zeppelin is in the zenith of the night, golden like a moon, having taken control of the sky; and the bursting shells are the lesser lights. 

      So it seems our cosmos is burst, burst at last, the stars and moon blown away, the envelope of the sky burst out, and a new cosmos appeared, with a long-ovate, gleaming central luminary, calm and drifting in a glow of light, like a new moon, with its light bursting in flashes on the earth, to burst away the earth also. So it is the end - our world is gone, and we are like dust in the air." [5] 

 

(iii) Various places associated with the short story 'The Last Laugh' (1924), a tale in which Pan appears in Hampstead, with predictably tragic consequences. The story is  an example of what might be termed sardonic paganism; a mocking and malevolent form of queer gothic fiction directed towards a dark god who is always coming, but who never quite arrives or reveals himself. 

      By setting the story in a leafy north London suburb, Lawrence relates his onto-theological vision to everyday experience, whilst, at the same time, demonstrating how the latter unfolds within a wider, inhuman context that is resistant to any kind of moral-rational codification. He thereby attempts to loosen the aura of necessity surrounding categories of the present and restore a little primordial wonder to NW3 [6].

 

(iv) Several houses belonging to Lawrence's swell friends, who often provided him and Frieda with refuge when needed. These didn't particularly interest, but Hampstead Heath certainly did and one can see why Lawrence - who mostly hated London and its damp gloom - loved this ancient area of woodland, meadows, and ponds spanning 790 acres. 

Anyway, in closing I'd like to thank Catherine for all her hard work and kindness; I'm sure the handful of Lawrence devotees who turned up on the day - including Nottingham's favourite son and digital pilgrim, James Walker - enjoyed the tour and learnt something new. 

Members of the London Lawrence Group 

   

Notes

 

[1] I'm referring here to (and paraphrasing a line from) a song by The Clash called 'Garageland', the final track to be found on their eponymous debut album (CBS Records, 1977): click here. The song was written in response to a snide remark by middle-class music critic Charles Shaar Murray - precisely the kind of person who lives in Hampstead.  

 

[2] Catherine Brown, 'Lawrence's Hampstead: A Walking Tour'. Full details (and illustrations) can be found on Catherine's excellent website: click here. 

 

[3] Lawrence was deeply suspicious of how the term genius was used by certain people to excuse his lack of finesse and the more problematic aspects of writing. In a short piece written towards the very end of his life, he recounts, for example, Ford Maddox Hueffer's reaction to the manuscript of The White Peacock: "'It's got every fault that an English novel can have. But, you've got GENIUS.'"

      Lawrence notes: "In the early days, they were always telling me I had got genius, as if to console me for not having their incomparable advantages." See 'Myself Revealed', Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton, (Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 178-79. 

[4] Guy Debord famously describes this process of recuperation in La société du spectacle (1967). In brief: all politically radical ideas and/or subversive works of art are eventually defused and then safely incorporated back into mainstream culture, where they can be successfully exploited.   

 

[5] See The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. II, ed. George J. Zytaruk and James T. Boulton, (Cambridge University Press,1981), pp. 389-90. The letter was sent to Lady Ottoline Morrell (9 Sept 1915).

      One suspects that, Lawrence being Lawrence, he also found the phallic shape of the Zepplin particularly striking ... This same event was also described in his 1923 novel Kangaroo; see pp. 215-16 of the Cambridge Edition, ed. Bruce Steele, (1994).

 

[6] See the post dated 15 May 2017 - 'Pan Comes to Hampstead' - click here.