Proof of Existence in Chicago
On one of our first days of class after our discover week, we watched a video from Australia’s tourist company in which a woman was exploring the city, dragging a piece of yarn behind her that marked her journey. The video was clearly a marketing gimmick, making Australia seem magical, showing beautiful buildings and clean streets. This video felt almost silly after our brutal week of exploring the city. The woman in the video drifted through the streets of Australia, where we trudged through the streets of Chicago. Another difference between our walks was that while the woman had her string to prove her journey, we had nothing except for the stories we wrote on Medium. There was no physical proof of our adventure, of our struggle.
However we chose to move through the city, most of us do so without proof of our travels. For example, one person might choose to walk in the city. Michel de Certeau talks about the walkers of the city, saying “The ordinary practitioners of the city live “down below,” below the thresholds at which visibility begins. They walk- an elementary form of this experience of the city; they are walkers, Wandersmanner, whose bodies follow the thicks and thins of an urban “text” they write without being able to read it”. From Certeau’s point of view from the top of the Empire State Building, he can see the paths of many civilians, but for the walker, they only know where they are headed and where they came from. They follow a path on the way to their destination, maybe it’s from a map on their phone, or just something they have memorized. Once they reach their destination, there is no evidence of this journey except for their memory. The city is unchanged.
The same can be said for taking the train. My typical route is that I get on the red line at Fullerton heading towards 95th and Dan Ryan. While on the train, I sometimes take notice of peoples comings and goings. I learn a short part of their path, but for the most part, everyone on the train is focused on their own journey. Being on the train reminds me of the article Handheld Time Machines by Giles Turnbull. The author logs sightings on his walk, and keeps repeating the phrase “They disregard me”. All the train passengers disregard each other out of respect, but also for their own safety. When the recorded announcement says “This is Jackson” I make my way to the door and walk out of the train car. The train starts up again, heading to the next stop with the remaining passengers. The train is unchanged.
The anonymity of being in a city can be a bleak feeling at times. When I first moved to Chicago, I loved how freeing it felt to be unnoticed, and the way I could move through a place without being seen. But this feeling would quickly flip into a realization that nobody was looking out for me. I could disappear without a trace, and I could get lost very easily. This is a very isolating feeling, but of course, the city wasn’t completely foreign to me. Places started to become familiar, and routes were memorized. Even when I was in a new neighborhood, I found ways to feel more grounded, oftentimes through the graffiti and stickers I found around the city.
As much as there were people and cars around me constantly, these tags felt like the most authentic proof of existence in the city. Where my fellow walkers and train-takers ignored me, the stickers and graffiti were something that I could focus on. I found an intimate connection between these doodles, and I tried to photograph as many as possible. It felt like a little secret conversation every time I saw one and took a picture. As everyone else walked past them without a notice, I saw them and documented them. I also started to see patterns in what I was seeing. For example, I found the same tag “Pokemon!” at three different locations around the city. Also, there was a cut-out cat silhouette sticker that I saw one day and then saw twice a few weeks later.
These drawings were a direct opposition to the anonymity I felt while traveling through the city. The graffiti tags are proof that someone has been here and are proof of a path they traveled. I don’t know the artist behind the “Pokemon!” tag or the designer of the cat sticker, but I know a few places they have been in the city. In a place where invisibility is the norm, leaving evidence of your journey feels bold.
Some people may find the graffiti obnoxious and will speak down upon it, but at the same time, will praise murals and public art for making the city more beautiful. I start to wonder where the line is drawn between the two. The first thing that comes to mind is permission. Murals are commissioned pieces on walls that have been permitted to be drawn on, where graffiti is done in secret, without permission from the city. We often assume which pieces are legal based on style. If we see a well-rendered portrait or a political statement, it is assumed to be a mural. If the painting is of a name in bubble letters or a simpler outline of a character, it is graffiti. But what if a graffiti artist is talented, and creates a rendered portrait? Could we tell the difference, or would we assume it was a commissioned mural? It feels arbitrary to divide the two when they provide the same benefits if looked at equally. Both graffiti and public art bring life into the city and make citizens feel more in control of their surroundings because of the artists’ choices to customize that small part of Chicago.
Graffiti, murals, and stickers that are placed around Chicago are all proof of our existence within the city. If all people in Chicago suddenly disappeared, these works would be evidence of life. What makes public art so interesting is that it is an intentional mark on the city. But not all proof of life is intentional. For example, during my walks, I kept coming across footprints that were left in sections of the concrete sidewalks. I also saw some pawprints in one spot too. I wonder what the person’s reaction was when they realized they had stepped in wet cement. Were they shocked and upset? Or were they excited to have their stride permanently locked into the ground?
These steps made me start to think about the things we leave behind by accident and the way they might affect others in the city. For example, what if during my train ride from Fullerton to Jackson, a piece of trash got left behind on the seat I was sitting in? The trash would stay there, probably for the rest of the day if not longer. Nobody would dare to touch it, and everyone would avoid sitting in that seat. There is a strange amount of power in such a small action, and I think this phenomenon is unique to cities. It is a weird contradiction that we can pass through trains and streets without leaving any impact, but if we leave behind even a small piece of ourselves, we can have a large effect on the people around us.
As I finish up this class and will not be required to document my paths through the city, I want to find other ways to prove my impact on Chicago. I don’t know if I am going to go out and buy spray paint per se, but maybe I would put a sticker somewhere on campus or leave a note for someone to find. These small changes give us an opportunity to interact with the city and make us feel connected when it feels like everything else is ignoring us.
Sources:
de Certeau, M. (1984). Walking in the city. The practice of everyday life (S. Rendall, Trans.). University of California Press.
Turnbull, G. (2011). Handheld time machines. The Morning News.
