(This is an extension of Milo Hatfield’s submission to the fourth issue of Shoebox. Non-Institutional Art as a Means of Protest: Speed, Urban Space, and Social Commentary was originally published on the author’s Medium here.)
Milo Hatfield, Koninklijke Academie van Beeldende Kunsten, Den Haag (KABK)
Abstract
This essay explores the intersection of art and activism, focusing on non-institutional art forms as a potential tool for social commentary. By analysing case studies, including Wong Kar-wai’s film Chungking Express (1994), parkour in Gaza and Amsterdam, and graffiti around Europe, the paper identifies common themes and strategies employed by artists to challenge societal norms and power structures. It argues that these art forms, though often marginalised or criminalised, offer powerful means of resistance and expression, particularly in the face of institutional and corporate control. By examining the aesthetic and symbolic potential inherent to the different mediums, the essay aims to contribute to a broader understanding of the role of art in social change.
Introduction
It will come as no surprise when I say that “we live in hard times.” When everyone grapples to find a way to deal with the horrors humanity is facing, companies and institutions catch up with the notion of “hard times.” As distrust in our government and representatives declines¹, so does belief in our institutions, which rebrand in rainbows for a month² and exhibit colonial achievements under a decolonial guise³.
However, hope is not lost; grass-roots efforts – by nature – are independent of institutions and are versatile, adapting effectively to our fast-spinning, ever-evolving world.
In this essay, I want to explore how art manifests itself outside of typical institutions and embodies an inherent tone of protest. While protest exists in many forms, ranging from personal lifestyle choices to vast public assemblies, I want to identify potential tools for activism in alternative modes of expression. The hateful rhetoric spewed by politicians and parrotted by trusted media outlets rests comfortably in a dangerously complacent society. Peaceful protests are defamed, even banned, as our freedom of speech is utterly shunned. I hope to suggest a guide to protesting that can amplify the People’s voice, even when undermined by corporations and institutions. What aesthetic and symbolic tools could be leveraged to challenge societal norms and power structures?
For the sake of argument, I will start by analysing three specific examples of creative expression, covering legal, grey-zone and illegal mediums. I will be looking into Wong Kar-wai’s low-budget film Chungking Express (1994), parkour in the urban environment, and organised graffiti tagging and bombing.
The first example I have chosen is a now commercially accepted piece by Hong Kong filmmaker Wong Kar-wai. Though it has reached cult status, the making of Chungking Express (1994) was much more down-to-earth than the vibrant aesthetic of the work might give off. In short, the film follows two melancholic policemen who fall in love; one with a mysterious woman from the city’s underworld, the other with a dreamy waitress at a late-night restaurant⁴. As they wander amidst hectic slums and skyscrapers, they present an alternative view of the globalised cityscape. In this work, the guerilla-style filmmaking allows the “director-flâneur” to resist the commercialised cultural scene and challenge hierarchical norms.⁵
To continue, I have chosen parkour. Devised by a French naval officer⁶, it is a creative martial art that promotes courage, gut reactions and the ability to overcome both mental and physical obstacles quickly. Originally, it forbids trespassing, but as the owner class increases its wealth, practitioners have agreed to bend the rules a little, foregoing restrictions without any intent of harming or damaging property. Given its intense and exciting nature, parkour’s philosophy allows people to harness full control over their bodies and temporarily escape their oppressive present, whilst sparking hope and imagination.⁷
In my final example, I will dive into the world of illegal tagging, featuring respected names such as 1UP and Sano. Time is an essential part of graffiti, and your achievements in under ten minutes demonstrate your artistic prowess. It is a rare art form that combines planning, coordination and confidentiality with the sole purpose of leaving a mark.⁸ Though respect is the name of the game, the practice of tagging is more activistic than most might think. In reality, it becomes an effective tool to visualise disdain without physically harming a person. A blacked-out security camera sends a message, whether intended or not.
Once dissected, I will compare the methodologies to each other to distil a guide to protest outside of the institution.
To be clear, the aim of this essay is not to answer questions like “What is art?” and “Is this allowed?” nor is it to provide the solution to end all evil. Rather, I intend to look for repeating characteristics and tangible approaches within the varied forms of expression, and to translate them into a guideline for the contemporary Camusian Rebel.
I hope to contribute to revitalising the act of protest and to normalise outrage in a world that has become dangerously complacent in the face of live-streamed violations of humanitarian law and an impotent International Legal System.
Wong Kar-wai and Chungking Express (1994)
Chungking Express⁹ by art-house director Wong Kar-wai has risen to cult status nowadays. Its distinct visual style and emotional resonance have helped propel the movie onto the global stage, offering a glimpse into the streets of Hong Kong during a time of political unrest and fear of the future. The film was released in 1994, during significant tension and disagreement between the British colonial government and the Chinese, approaching the handover of sovereignty to China in 1997. During this time, Hong Kong cinema was experiencing a boom, known as the Hong Kong “New Wave”¹⁰; Suffering from their success, productions started to use their explosive and dynamic style to repackage and retell the industry’s old genres. Soon, the screens would be flooded with regurgitated action thrillers instead of critical works of art¹¹.
However, Wong Kar-wai’s work remains a testament to his willingness to challenge the status quo when compared to many of his contemporaries. It tries to highlight the medium’s materiality, reminding the viewer that they are watching a planned, filmed and edited piece of work. From hand-held shots filmed quickly and without a warrant to sudden drops in frame rate and intense grain, these self-reflexive elements demystify the creative process and foster a deeper appreciation for the work’s narrative¹².
The first scene of the movie plunges the viewer into cold water, exposing them to a blurry, stuttered chase sequence through murky alleys. Wong’s partner in crime, Australian cinematographer Christopher Doyle¹³, pushes work beyond a pretty shot, exploring the full breadth of possibilities with his tools. “Undercranking”, or shooting at a slower film speed resulting in fewer frames per second, and then stretching the action back to its real-time duration, he smears reality as motion-blurred freeze frames follow the hectic action¹⁴. These moments of confusion and confrontation appear repeatedly in the film, at times lending a clear visual framework to the viewer to understand a character’s emotional state, at other times leaving the viewer to question whether the chaos will ever stop.
While Doyle’s prowess deserves recognition, the cinematographer acknowledges a location’s influence on creative processes. In a BBC Moving Pictures interview from 1996 with Wong Kar-wai, Christopher Doyle notes that:
“Basically, you’re shooting in these kinds of places where we’re gonna get hustled off the street anyway. You’re shooting in the airport or the MTR or Chungking Express where you’re gonna get shot if you stay more than 10 minutes – you know, in one place. So […] the style is dictated by the circumstances in which you work.” (C. Doyle, 3mins34s)¹⁵
Chungking Express allows the director to remap Hong Kong by re-incarnating its leading characters with the spirit of the Baudelairean flâneur. Resisting the fast-paced transformation of the city caused by its persistent time-space compression, Wong Kar-wai offers an insider’s view, “like a diary or a map”that follows the intrinsic “logic of the place” rather than its physical manifestation¹⁷.
By following the protagonists closely, the film avoids any grand promotional shots of the city. After all, the movie reflects on the average individual’s existence within the busy, globalised city – not a sales pitch for the Hong Kong tourist office. Instead of shiny skyscrapers and glistening shopping streets, we are shown the city’s underbelly: crumbling shopfronts, meek apartments and cheap takeaways.¹⁸ In the first important location of the film, Chungking Mansion in Tsim Sha Tsui, anonymous structures with pipes that follow decrepit facades tower in front of the night sky, far from the dazzling bars and banks in Central. Each corner turned reveals another crack within the metropole. Even as the “director-flâneur” enters the city centre in the film’s second half, he focuses his gaze on a low-cost fast-food joint. In Wong’s representation, Hong Kong bears more similarities with the dystopian world of Blade Runner (1982) than the big-city glamour of Miami Vice (1984)¹⁹. In the words of notable American filmmaker and cinephile Quentin Tarantino:
“[Chungking Express] has this wonderful romantic comedy flavour to it, while at the same time being encapsulated in this crazy, frenetic Hong Kong world.”²⁰
Fixed close-ups and long stares accompany the protagonist sharing their internal monologue in an evermore complex society. The characters’ alienation and uncertainty — as well as a tangible sense of hope, or naivety — are amplified by the narrator.
Cop 233, one of the four main characters searching for intimacy within Hong Kong’s ocean of anonymity, opens the film with the thought: “We rub shoulders with each other every day. We may not know each other. But we could become good friends someday”.²¹
Note: Wong Kar-wai and Christopher Doyle further intensify this closeness in Fallen Angels (1995) – the story of two more city-wanderers who find love, that was originally meant to be part of Chungking Express. It was left out for clarity and to reduce the film’s length. Stylistically though, the film bears strong similarities to its predecessor, only this time, the camera gets uneasily close to the talent’s face, stretching and distorting it along the frame’s edges. The viewer is at times, unescapably connected to the protagonist and at others, only observing them from the sidelines. The ultra-wide angle fisheye lens amplifies the feeling of alienation already established in Wong’s work, masterfully playing with the uncanny valley.
Wong Kar-wai explores our relation to time and consumption in an overly commercialised society. Grappling with the loss of his girlfriend, Cop 233 routinely buys canned pineapples that are to expire on May 1st, his birthday, setting the condition that once his ex-lover’s favourite fruit expires, so will their love – or his attempt to win her back. Struggling to keep up with city life, 233 becomes deeply melancholic, seeking stability and security in an imaginary past. He concludes that:
“[s]omewhere, somehow, everything comes with an expiration date. Swordfish will expire. Meat sauce will expire. Even Glad wrap will expire. I wonder if there’s anything in the world that won’t expire?”. (Kar-wai, 38min55s)
While seemingly naive, this thought underlines 233’s acceptance of sped-up, sometimes manufactured, ephemerality in a globalised society. How can chances and coincidences that connect millions of people daily still leave the individual feeling so lonely in his urban environment? The rise of consumerism in the world around 233 slowly, but steadily, disconnect him from his surroundings. He blends the scientific rationale of quantification and evaluation with the intangible realm of emotions and thought, and ponders: “If memories could be canned, would they also have expiry dates? If so, I hope they last for centuries”.
While Wong Kar-wai’s work pushes the conventions of both local and now global cinema, one could argue whether or not it truly reaches the audience it aspires to enlighten. Having reached cult status, such a layered piece as Chungking Express still requires the viewer to put the self aside for a while and immerse themselves into the director’s presentation of the world. Regrettably, many audiences will claim to enjoy the piece merely because of its acceptance by those “in-the-know”. On a wave of nostalgic tourism, longing for a time and place they were never a part of, hipsters might be terribly disappointed by Chungking Express’ disjointed plot. However, they will still claim to “absolutely love” Wong Kar-wai because he is a “genius” and his films look “cool” and “aesthetic”. Such an audience might be the same that loves American Psycho (2000) for “the wrong reasons”, gushing over Bates’ lifestyle and status, and dreaming of one day becoming just as soulless, sociopathic and disconnected from the real world as their (anti-)hero. Where hope is lost, there might as well be humour.
Despite being “low-budget”, Chungking Express, or filmmaking in general, remains a resource-hungry practice and does not stand a chance against an oversaturated market unless funded and tolerated (to an extent) by established cinemas and production houses. This forced collaboration with opposing institutions can quickly lead to compromise, but it also unlocks new opportunities for critical discussions, laying a line of communication with an otherwise disconnected audience. It only remains to be seen if the message is received, if it is understood and what the response will be, if any.
Parkour
In contrast, parkour is a form of expression that can thrive fully institution-free. Practised outside and with nothing more than the human body, its only barrier to entry is one’s fear of failure. Similarly to a child learning to walk, anyone can learn to parkour as long as they pick themselves up after a fall.
The name “parkour” is derived from the French word “parcours”, which translates to “the path” or “the way through”.²² The movement became more established in the 1980s through David Belle, who had been inspired by his father, Raymond Belle, and Georges Hebert’s French military training methods that popularised the obstacle course in the West.²³
It was initially called “l’Art du Déplacement”²⁴ or “the Art of Movement”, and while its predecessor only aimed to efficiently move from point “A” to point “B”, the parkour we know today has a greater focus on an individual’s creative interpretation of the sport.²⁵
The Yamakasi, a group formed by Belle, Sebastian Foucan, Stephane Vigroux, Yahn Hnautra, David Malgogne, Chau Belle-Dinh and Frederic Hnautra, among others, helped push showmanship and audacity in parkour. Bringing in their own methods and disciplines, the then-teenagers drew inspiration from the likes of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan, incorporating acrobatic flips and turns into their movements as their new blend of physicality and functionality started to gain an audience.²⁶
The film industry quickly picked up on parkour’s spectacular appeal. It helped propel it onto the global stage once people started copying scenes from Luc Besson’s “Yamakasi: Les samouraïs des temps modernes” (2001) (or “Yamakasi: The Samurais of Modern Times”) and his blockbuster “District 13”(2004) as well as a 2002 advert by the BBC titled “Rush Hour” — all three starring your’s truly, David Belle, gliding through the urban landscape. Today, it is hard to imagine an action sequence without a display of freerunning that hopes to outperform all those who came before it.
For a while, practitioners, or “traceurs”²⁷, have argued about definitions of parkour and/or Freerunning, pitching efficiency against expression, athletics against aesthetics, and arriving against experiencing. Furthering complications, Belle deliberately refrained from giving a short and precise definition of the practice, leaving its interpretation open and fuelling debates on what the movement could or should be²⁸.
Somewhat fittingly, it comes as no surprise that a discipline founded on surpassing personal and physical obstacles struggles to be constrained within a neat set of rules. It is hard to set conventions for a practice that aims to break them. With each new practitioner, a new path is traced through the cityscape.
In truth, the terminology depends on your point of view; parkour can be an athletic practice which nurtures creative problem-solving as much as it can be a physical, artistic performance. However, for the sake of clarity (and as you might have guessed by now), I will be focusing on parkour’s artistic potential within the urban environment and its emotional effects on traceursand their audience.
Naming issues to one side, parkour’s core message is clear: “Know Obstacles, Know Freedom” — as stated by the World Freerunning Parkour Federation’s tagline.
“[…] Parkour, fundamentally, is a philosophy, and a way a life. It’s a way of looking at any environment and believing in your heart that there is no obstacle in life that cannot be overcome. Everyone is a unique individual, so no two people will come up with the exact same solution, but there is a “way through” for us all.” (WFPF)²⁹
Parkour’s global spread has allowed people in the wolrd’s most neglected places to experience a glimpse of freedom. In a 2018 documentary by the BBC³⁰, the journalists follow and interview members of PK Gaza, a daring parkour crew from Gaza, Palestine.
“I feel happy when I jump in the air. I feel free. Then you land on your feet and you’re sad you’re still in Gaza!” (BBC, 1min00s) one of them says in an interview, intercut with bombing the crew caught in the background filming stunts for a YouTube video. Parkour’s philosophy of persistence allows the young adults to briefly forget the misery that surrounds them. As the adrenaline rises, so does the athletes’ focus. Challenging their limits, they are required to take in the bigger picture and minute details simultaneously. Whilst freerunning, they have to continuously judge where to throw their body and where to place their fingertips.
However, an experienced traceur only takes a risk they believe they can master. Parkour is an exercise of identifying one’s boundaries and nudging them outward step by step — or jump by jump. There is no point in aiming for the impossible from the get-go, instead, the discipline nourishes spiritual and mental well-being by having traceurs set achievable tricks before gradually upping the ante.³¹ As one young trainee describes it: “Some things do scare me but I can be brave with other things.” (BBC, 3min42s).
You can sense the deep friendship, even brotherhood³², among the acrobats as they jump through collapsed roofs and somersault over piles of rubble. Community is essential among freerunners. In recent years, the more experienced members of PK Gaza have gained enough knowledge about the methodology and give lessons to the children in their community. While the younger generations look up to their artists with ambition, the artists, in turn, feel an obligation to share parkour’s nurturing potential. As one of the gurus puts it:
“They have fears from the wars they’ve lived through in Gaza. We try to get the kids out of this mood. We try to get them to think about something positive. For us, the most important thing is to look after the child’s mind.” (BBC, 3mins05s)
The apprentices are guided and supported by their fellows and outperform each other, not out of jealousy or competition but out of admiration and respect. One athlete’s motivation fuels the other’s ambition, similar to musicians in a jam session or actors on a theatre stage.
While parkour’s success story starts with television, online video platforms such as YouTube have become essential to the practice’s growth. The democratisation of content creation has allowed creatives from (almost) all backgrounds to capture, edit and present their ideas to the world, opening a quasi-limitless source of inspiration and exchange. Indeed, I would argue that the British Broadcasting Company would never have contacted a Palestinian parkour crew without the advent of social media — let alone that a Luxembourgish-born student would be writing about them in an art academy in the Netherlands.
Similar to skateboarding, parkour urges its followers to direct, shoot, edit, market and publish their acrobatic achievements, sharing them with the world. By doing so, the prestigious game of leapfrog is moved onto a new digitised global stage. Whether it is through spontaneous outbursts of athletic prowess or through elaborate montages of clips that were collected over months, these videos serve as essays in this craft’s discourse.
However, a video of parkour can only come to close to sharing the emotional state it provokes when experienced first-hand. By filming their movements and setting that performance in stone, crews experiment with storytelling and narrative. The art expands out of a momentary experience — the present — and instead leaves a permanent impression of itself. Combined with music and creative editing, a collection of tricks becomes a critical dance across fences, restricted areas and desolate architecture.
A contemporary example would be the Amsterdam-based parkour collective “fé amsterdam”, which released a video in August of this year. It is a collection of short episodes made by different members of the community, each with their own tone, visual style and pace. Despite the panoply displayed in the video, the piece keeps a clear message in its pungent, all-caps title: “AMSTERDAM IS DEAD”.³³
Though recognised globally, parkour’s humble nature traps it in the sidelines of societal discourse. In the context of protest, its “niche” status manifests a similar fate as Wong Kar-wai’s Chungking Express: While parkour shows immense potential for personal and interpersonal growth, it goes unnoticed by many. Although the effects on its surroundings are minimal, some authorities feel threatened by the Art of Movement — or a movement of art. Amidst the fortified public space and bolstered ownership, traceurs are smeared as trespassers, and a potential rebellious act is restricted to a marginalised hobby.
Graffiti
The last work I will analyse bypasses the risk of being buried out of sight by blatantly breaking the law during its creation. Even when postered as criminal and destructive, graffiti forces its position onto the political stage. As much as authorities might despise the practice, its public existence makes it unavoidable to the wider audience. The brash, in-your-face nature makes for an eye-catching carrier for the creator’s message.
The word graffiti is derived from the Italian “graffio”, or “little scratch”, and means “an inscription or drawing made on a public surface (as a wall or rock)”.³⁴ For over 30,000 years, humanity has been scribbling on walls, immortalising messages from the Wunnumurra Gorge in Australia to the Chauvet Cave in southern France. The graffiti we know today, which uses acrylic pens, brushes and spray paint, rose to popularity in New York in the late 1960s before spreading to the UK, Germany and beyond.³⁵ However, as neo-liberal society settled in and the owner class increased their authority, graffiti quickly became criminalised and dismissed. A former New York City councillor famously told “the graffiti vandals out there” that their “freedom of expression ends where my property begins!” (via BBC News, 28 April 2006)³⁶.
In a recent episode of David Olivier’s German left-wing podcast “Klassentreffen”, Hamburg-based criminologist and anthropologist Friederike Häuser discusses graffiti’s political and legal implications. In some places, like in St. Pauli, a major centre of Hamburg’s nightlife, the “Schmierereien”, or “smears”, as they are adversely called, have come to be accepted as more than mere signs of decay and have been reinterpreted as a creative scene, matching a tolerated, even desired lifestyle.³⁷
As one prominent writer, Sano, describes it in a 2019 graffiti documentary “Bombing with Sano.”:
“I understand people like – doing music or being celebrities that people look up to – because I don’t know – money or whatever. But like – I’m just doing graffiti. I never asked for someone to look up to me but people do and it’s fucking weird.” (Sano, 12mins45s)³⁸
However, graffiti’s acceptance only reaches so far; at the end of the day, companies and municipalities have the last say on what art they leave on display, what is covered up quickly and what work to commission in the future. Slowly but surely, businesses and institutions have caught up to graffiti’s playbook, using the art form’s own rules and methods against itself. In a world powered by money, those in charge carefully hedge their bets, promoting conformist “urban art” on selected walls and investing in graffiti-proofing the rest of the city.³⁹ Property developers are fed subsidies for “anti-graffiti” technologies, effectively receiving free “green” walls and glossy chemicals for their next high-rise office block, while established artists will bow to a check despite painting kitsch wall art, because “selling out” is not as frightening as living on the streets. After all, pecunia non olet.
Though respect for old-school legends slowly dwindles, taggers are as resilient as ever, perpetuating the game of “cat and mouse”⁴⁰ between municipalities and the marginalised. Private investors get to construct the city according to capitalistic logic in order to maximise consumption and profit, while some of society’s poorest members are prosecuted for writing their alias in a so-called “public” space. Authorities play into graffiti’s dark and mystical aura, baselessly marking black hoodies and bandanas as dangerous. In turn, graffiti artists lean into the role they’ve been assigned, fighting the class division by confirming and highlighting it.⁴¹
For some, graffiti is about acceptance. Like most art, it reacts to its surroundings, reflecting the thoughts, fears and hopes of its birthplace. Writing and tagging give a voice to the silenced and can be a tool to be seen in a society that has gone blind.
The art form’s illegality has become part of it, and in a time where protecting capital is more important than protecting individual creative endeavours, it seems within reason to bend the rules a little.
But what about the “unpolitical” artists? What about the people who just want to draw, aficionados of l’art pour l’art, who seek only enjoyment in the bright colours and quick, expressive style? After all,
“Sometimes it can look good – depending on who did the tag. If someone would paint my fucking walls at home – If they are white and someone is gonna fucking do tags in black all over them, I would rather prefer like someone with a good handstyle doing it – instead of a toy*.” (Sano, 12mins02s)
*novice, inexperienced graffiti writer. (via Urban Dictionary)
There is a difference to be made between the political and the politically motivated.⁴² As mentioned before, the imposed criminal connotation solidifies graffers as antagonists or anti-heroes, depending on who you ask. The way they are described is the way they will be interpreted. Although an individual’s work might not be intended to “point a mirror at society”, the anonymous and indistinguishable style⁴³ makes graffiti — as a medium — inescapably political. Even amongst political graffiti artists, this “micro vs. macro”⁴⁴ shift of perspective is important: the art can be a personal attempt to set a sign or leave a mark, as well as a communal struggle to reclaim the city. At the end of the day, you don’t have to understand the intention fully. If a wall is sprayed, repainted, re-sprayed et cetera, the message is clear.
It is worth noting that graffiti is not just an individual practice. Given their nomadic obligations and aspirations, graffers eventually cross paths, forming crews and networks, helping each other to save on material and travel costs⁴⁵ as well as sharing and experimenting with new knowledge.
“Without graffiti, I would never have travelled, I would never have spoken English. Graffiti changed my future.” (anonymous graffer, 6mins25s)⁴⁶
One crew that stands out amongst the scribbles is 1UP, short for “One United Power”. Originally based in Berlin, their works have spread across Europe and distant corners of the globe. By documenting and sharing their high-profile graffiti missions online, they have gained notoriety on the (literal)global stage, attempting to surpass each piece with the next.
For an exhilarating ten minutes, the brigades assemble on rooftops, near train tracks or in high-visibility public areas to let a meticulous plan unfold. A couple of leaders oversee the job and coordinate the waves that will follow. While the first artists close the starting outlines of the infamous 3-letter graf, another team has already begun applying a first coat of fill colour. A second group armed with full cans and body cams shortly follows to ensure that the colour has fully reached every nook and cranny. Camera and drone operators document the scene, narrated by commands and motivation from the coordinators. Finally, the artists trace a clean outline and shading details before the crew’s departure is announced. They will then follow a prepared route to leave the area, inadvertently parkouring along train tracks and roofs, to — sometimes — abseil down to their escape vehicle.⁴⁷
Unexpectedly, commuters waiting for the tram become the audience of an artistic performance. The video shared on the internet provides a glimpse into the ephemeral experience. However, despite a hyped scene with cinematic music and sweeping drone shots, the documentation cannot hold up to witnessing the real thing.
Though superficially, the characters “1UP” written in a vibrant font do not seem political, and most people will probably think of Mario before Marxwhen seeing the work, it doesn’t need to convey its message purely through an image. The act itself, the coordination and community involved with the organisation and execution, holds the piece’s core message: “One United Power”.
What next?
The three mediums discussed—Wong Kar-wai’s Chungking Express, parkour, and graffiti—are intimately connected in their ability to harness individual expression and collective rebellion, despite their distinct executions.
All three practices find their roots in urban environments, drawing from their surroundings to confront societal norms while transforming obstacles into opportunities for creativity. Each practice uses the cityscape as both canvas and stage, harnessing its contradictions to challenge the status quo and redefine the limits of artistic and political expression.
Chungking Express captures the fragmented, Hong Kong’s chaotic identity, mirroring the city’s impermanence through intimate, introspective storytelling. Similarly, parkour embraces the city as a playground, reimagining its rigid architecture into fluid paths of movement that defy conventional boundaries. Graffiti, meanwhile, physically inscribes the struggles and aspirations of marginalized communities onto urban walls, asserting their presence in spaces often monopolized by institutions.
Collaboration is another unifying theme. In Chungking Express, Wong Kar-wai’s guerrilla-style filmmaking relies on the fluid partnership between director and cinematographer, with Christopher Doyle’s hand-held shots reflecting the city’s pulse of the city. Parkour teams, like the Yamakasi or PK Gaza crew, work together to push physical and creative boundaries while fostering community resilience. Graffiti collectives, such as Berlin’s 1UP, demonstrate not just artistic skill but the power of coordination and shared purpose, creating works that are both visually striking and symbolically coherent.
Their political dimensions are undeniable. Though Chungking Express may not overtly preach activism, its critique of consumerism and urban alienation resonates as a quiet rebellion against societal homogenization. Parkour directly contests the constraints of urban planning and authority by reimagining oppressive environments as spaces of freedom. Graffiti’s political potency is perhaps the most explicit; its very existence defies property laws, reclaiming public space as a site for individual and communal expression.
Finally, all three forms provoke discomfort. Whether through Wong’s unconventional narrative techniques, the disruptive fluidity of parkour, or graffiti’s brazen subversion of urban order, these mediums force their audiences to reckon with alternative perspectives. They challenge norms, disrupt routines, and inspire viewers to question the structures that shape their lives.
By analysing the intersections of the three mediums, I hope to highlight the critical potential of art outside institutional boundaries. The following “Guide to Non-Institutional Protest” will present and explain short prompts to empower activists to navigate and redefine their environment. The aim is not to provide a “one-size-fits-all” solution, nor is it to impose a strict set of rules for what activists should or shouldn’t do. Instead, this experimental manual should serve as a map for navigating against the current, a promptlist for the activist.
Without further ado, here are my suggestions to revitalise the art of protest outside of institutions:
An Experimental Guide
1. You can’t escape politics.
Whether you act with political intention or not does not shield your work from being political. Adverse media attention and skewed rhetoric put creative expression on the political stage when politicians and entrepreneurs feel threatened — after all, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” (Hungerford, Molly Bawn, 1878). You can choose to lean into a societal role that is imposed on you and use it to your advantage, or you can forfeit your vote and agreewith the current state of the world by being complacent.
However, your political voice should not be suffocating. Although real-world themes can be draining, it is important to embrace the lighter sides of life. Humour can go a long way to avoid fear-mongering. The serious and pensive are no less important than the silly and naive.
In this guise, filmmakers, traceurs and graffers alike have political influence once their work enters the public sphere. The audience extends or completely reconstructs a narrative that it perceives in a piece, leaving the hands of its creator. Though the work’s tone might not be heavy, the light-heartedness within still carries vivid, emotional expression.
2. Be realistic about what you can achieve.
Swimming against the mainstream has and will always be hard, unforgiving work. Your resistance will encounter resistance and continuously challenge your limits. Following the philosophy of parkour, be ready to fall flat and pick yourself back up again, facing obstacles or manoeuvring around them to, eventually, overcome them.
As you improve and gain footing, explore new horizons and progressively up the ante for yourself.
Be persistent, even stubborn. Push forward and consider disobeying the establishment you are fighting. Being resilient in the ensuing game of “cat and mouse” is essential to the survival of graffiti, for example.
A similar logic can be applied to acts of protest: While progress may be slow, the eventual goal of justice will be achieved. As Martin Luther King Jr. famously put it:
“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” (Our God is Marching On, 1965)⁴⁸
3. Know your tools.
Challenging yourself will require you to master the tools at your disposal. A graffer balances typography and escape routes while a cinematographer bends light and shadow to their will. Even with the body alone, free runners have a holistic approach to their physical stunts.
Tools can range from traditional mediums to much more metaphorical ideas. It is important to find influence in the world around us and integrate it into practice. An initially disjointed collection of sources and references flow into the melting pot considered your “practice”. Embrace unusual combinations and pay homage to works you enjoy.
Once you feel at ease with your medium, dare to push what is accepted, before pushing what is possible. Knowing your tools well will allow you to modify them to your liking, and a meticulous approach can provide security when exploring uncharted territory. For example, if you can control how machine-perfect or human-made your work looks or feels, you can experiment with subtly breaking the fourth wall to convey a deeper meaning — painting with shades that weren’t included in the paint-by-numbers starter kit.
An overview of the tools at your disposal will also help you judge when to make room for compromise. At times, it can be worth being lenient with the opposition to establish channels of communication and encourage discussion instead of mutual ignorance.
4. Make friends.
Community is essential among creatives, activists, filmmakers, free runners and graffers. To any human, it is important to find peers who share mutual admiration and respect. In most cases, they will fuel each others’ ambition, overachieving their individual capabilities.
It is not only about making allies, but about forging meaningful bonds that are independent from the cause they are currently fighting.
A community thrives off of mutual acceptance and recognition, in turn, a practice that aims to surpass the lifetime of its creators should be open to shifts in tone and style. By avoiding top-down decision-making when it comes to creative decisions and instead trusting and listening to each person’s input, a practice can flourish and become a multiple of its parts. As long as the parties can agree on a core message, anyone is invited to blend their ideas into the art, according to their skills and interests.
Cinema struggles to let go of its starry past. However, graffiti and parkour achieve local and global coordination without traditional hierarchy. Inspiring each other iteratively, practitioners allow their medium to adapt to its environment and gain resilience. The conventions aren’t decided upon, they grow into place gradually.
This solidarity and trust means that members of the communities can easily coordinate and collaborate. They can assemble locally and craft intricate, daring plans. Knowing each other’s strengths and acknowledging each other’s weaknesses is key to dividing hierarchies according to a project’s requirements.
Emulating a sense of family, a tight community needs to take care of its younger, aspiring members. The experienced should pass on their knowledge to the curious if they want it to be of any use in the long run of humanity. In the end, children make up 30% of the global population³⁹, so they may as well be looked after.
5. Put on a show.
Following the air of protest, an eye-catching visual style is an important tool when trying to be seen in an oversaturated, commercialised environment. A certain shock factor or novelty can go a long way to lure an audience in. Subverting expectations, surprising people, and even shocking them leaves a clearer mark in their minds and is more likely to convince them to engage more deeply with an experience. A dash of theatrical suspense and tension can help when dealing with the unusual, uneasy and uncomfortable.
It is important to avoid empty thrills and baseless spectacle. The drama should serve the narrative and not just be sprinkled atop a work for the mere sake of it. Sticking to the point requires focus, as too many half-baked ideas combined can lead to hollow work that only scrapes the surface of what was intended. With an unclear core message, the work could still be promoted as “political”, but — falling flat in its delivery — it would only benefit the acquisitioner’s propagandist narrative, painting them as an ally of an arbitrary cause.
Repetition can be a good tool to reiterate a message and retain an audience’s focus. In Chungking Express, Kar-Wai uses the expiration date on products as a leitmotif. By mentioning the concept multiple times, changing and building on it, the director can emphasise different points from one metaphor as a point of departure. The repetition signals key moments to the audience and refreshes their attention. Similarly, taggers stick to a carefully chosen pseudonym, usually consisting of 3 to 5 letters that are fun to write, and iteratively repeat this motif.
It is important to have witnesses of your work. Be it through planned showings — like screenings or plays — or by the coincidence of people passing by, you have to ensure that your work is seen, that your voice is heard. Otherwise, you’re back to square one, forfeiting your vote.
Where can you amplify your voice? Where is it needed? Where will it be ignored, and how can you change that? If a work’s creation can convey as much meaning as its outcome, consider where this performative act could take place and who should witness you.
Parkour and graffiti have chosen the urban environment as their stage and add permanence and greater reach to their work by posting it on YouTube.
6. Don’t gatekeep.
It is essential to offer your unique, “in-the-know” expertise to a broader audience. Sharing content online or simply talking about it to peers from different circles can greatly benefit both parties — especially if they were separated or simply didn’t know each other. There is no point in hoarding knowledge when exchange can only lead to deeper understanding and curiosity for one another. New perspectives and contrasting opinions create insightful discussions and foster a practice’s healthy development, hindering it from otherwise going stale, regurgitating and redigesting itself in an endless loop.
We should aim for an Ouroboros of cyclic renewal, not one of self-consumption.
Conclusion
Do whatever you want, but for the love of a higher power, do something meaningful.
Citations and sources:
[1] Harb, Ali. “‘We warned you,’ Arab Americans in Michigan tell Kamala Harris” Aljazeera, 6 Nov. 2024, https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2024/11/6/we-warned-you-arab-americans-in-michigantell-kamala-harris. Accessed 8 Nov. 2024.
[2] BDS Movement. ”SAY NO TO PINKWASHING” BDS Movement, https://bdsmovement.net/pinkwashing. Accessed 8 Nov. 2024.
[3] “Seeing Palestine, Not Seeing Palestinians: Gaza in the British Pathé Lens” Collecteurs, excerpt from the book Gaza on Screen, by Nadia Yaqub, Duke University Press, 2023, https://www.collecteurs.com/article/seeing-palestine-not-seeing-palestinians. Accessed 8 Nov. 2024.
[4] “Wong Kar Wai” IMDb, https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0939182/. Accessed 8 Nov. 2024.
[5] Huang, Tsung-yi. “Hong Kong Blue: Flâneurie with the Camera’s Eye in a Phantasmagoric Global City.” Journal of Narrative Theory, vol. 30, no. 3, 2000, pp. 385–402. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/30225747. Accessed 8 Nov. 2024.
[6] “Parkour.” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parkour. Accessed on 8 Nov. 2024.
[7] PK Gaza. “Hope knows No Bounds | Film — فيلم†| PK Gaza”, Youtube, PK Gaza, 20 Nov. 2017, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMdn-6KVo8M&ab_channel=PKGaza. Duration 25mins06s. Accessed 11 Oct. 2024.
[8] TagsAndThrows. “Bombing With Sano (Graffiti Documentary).” YouTube, 30 May 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucnXWdOzU4k. Duration 14mins55s. Accessed 4 Oct. 2024.
[9] Wong, Kar-Wai, director. Chungking Express. Cinematography by Christopher Doyle, Jet Tone Production, 1994. Duration 1h37mins. Accessed 27 Oct. 2024.
[10] Payne, Robert M. “Ways of seeing wild: the cinema of Wong Kar-Wai”, Jump Cut, https://www.ejumpcut.org/archive/jc44.2001/payne%20for%20site/wongkarwai1.html. Accessed 8 Nov. 2024.
[11] Ibid.
[12] Ibid.
[13] Ibid.
[14] Ibid.
[15] Williams, Kate. “Wong Kar-Wai & Christopher Doyle Talk ‘Chungking Express’” Moving Pictures, BBC, 1996. Youtube, uploaded by FilmsExtras, 15 Oct. 2014, https://youtu.be/oy60XQ4U048?si=diTgBI3B10Kn-dyK. Accessed 8 Nov. 2024.
[16] Huang, p.392.
[17] Huang, p.390–1.
[18] Huang, p.394.
[19] Huang, p.391/2.
[20] Tarantino, Quentin. “Quentin Tarantino on “Chungking Express”.” Chungking Express, bonus feature, Rolling Thunder, 1994. Youtube, uploaded by filmSCHOOLarchive, 8 May 2013, https://youtu.be/RoHg-RvcwzEsi=gBpaQnj5Kal9CmWx. Accessed 26 Oct. 2024.
[21] Huang, p.393.
[22] “What is Parkour?” World Freerunning Parkour Federation, https://wfpf.com/parkour/. Accessed 15 Nov. 2024.
[23] “Parkour History”. Parkour Generations, 22 August 2014. Archived from the original on 8 December 2015, https://web.archive.org/web/20151208123338/http://parkourgenerations.com/parkour-history/. Accessed 15 Nov. 2024.
[24] Ibid.
[25] Ibid.
[26] Ibid.
[27] Ibid.
[28] Ibid.
[29] WFPF.
[30] “Extraordinary Rituals.” Series 1, Episode 3, BBC, 2018. YouTube, uploaded by BBC, 6 Sept. 2018, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMOYRHorngc. Accessed 28 Nov. 2024.
[31] Parkour Generations.
[32] Extraordinary Rituals, 5min58s.
[33] fé amsterdam. “AMSTERDAM IS DEAD”, Youtube, 3 Aug. 2024, https://youtu.be/lJX3DUlSj4M?si=MyICC4R8y3EIlAqL. Accessed 21 Sep. 2024.
[34] “Graffito.” Merriam-Webster, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/graffito. Accessed 27. Nov. 2024.
[35] “The History of Graffiti.” 90 Degrees Art, https://90degrees.graffitiartistsforhire.com.au/news/thehistory-of-graffiti/. Accessed 27 Nov. 2024.
[36] BBC News. “Graffiti: Free speech or vandalism?“, BBC News, 28 Apr. 2006, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4946378.stm. Accessed 27 November 2024.
[37] David, Olivier and Häuser, Friederike. “Klassentreffen — Graffiti: Vandalismus, Kunst oder linke Gegenkultur? Mit Friederike Häuser.” nd-aktuell.de, 17 Sept. 2024, www.nd-aktuell.de/artikel/1185314.klassentreffen-graffiti-vandalismus-kunst-oder-linke-gegenkultur-mit-friederike-hauser.html. Accessed 23 Nov. 2024.
[38] TagsAndThrows. “Bombing With Sano (Graffiti Documentary).” YouTube, 30 May 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucnXWdOzU4k. Duration 14:55. Accessed 4 Oct. 2024.
[39] Häuser, 32mins17s.
[40] Häuser, 15mins50s.
[41] Häuser, 27mins55s.
[42] Häuser, 19mins00s.
[43] Häuser, 7mins38s.
[44] Häuser, 18mins00s.
[45] Häuser, 12mins10s.
[46] AGGRO.TV. “1UP IN NAPOLI — “THIS IS NOT ART ANYMORE“ — PART TWO” Youtube, 19 Jun. 2020. https://youtu.be/usZW3lcLd9I?si=xkZ6QSseTj_iRE9F. Accessed 4 Oct. 2024.
[47] AGGRO.TV. “1UP — 2 WHOLECAR — ROOF ESCAPE — BERLIN” Youtube, 24 Dec 2021. https://youtu.be/Q_Sxq5LPtPM?si=Rfr-sRpr_D2Glvld. Accessed 4 Oct. 2024.
[48] King, Martin Luther, Jr. “Our God is Marching On (How Long, Not Long).” Speech delivered at the Alabama State Capitol, Montgomery, Alabama, 25 Mar. 1965. Accessed on 1 Dec. 2024 via https://speakola.com/ideas/martin-luther-king-jr-how-long-not-long-1965.
[49] United Nations. “World Population Prospects: The 2024 Revision”, United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division, 2024. Custom data acquired via website. https://population.un.org/wpp/. Accessed on 02 Dec. 2024.
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