Alongside my social media work, at the 10th edition of CVTà Street Fest I had the pleasure of moderating a panel on a topic I often explore in my monthly newsletter: the evolution of street art and how it can remain true to its roots while navigating an increasingly compromised system.
The panel featured two pioneers of street art in Italy: Alice Pasquini, artistic director of CVTà Street Fest, and Elfo, who was among this year’s invited artists.
Together, we explored themes such as the Disneyfication of street art, artistic integrity, gentrification, the impact of social media, and the role of festivals. The conversation was far too compelling to remain confined to the main square of Civitacampomarano—so I’m bringing it here. Enjoy!
Giulia Blocal: Alice and Elfo have very different aesthetics, but their paths share several common points, starting with the fact that they both began painting in the streets many years ago, back when street art was still in its early days in Italy. So I’d like to begin there, to give some historical context to our conversation: what was it like to “paint in the streets” when you first started? What was the graffiti and street art scene like in Italy in the early 2000s? Also: it’s worth noting that we’re talking about two very different local contexts: Alice is from Rome, while Elfo is from Brescia (Northen Italy). From your perspective, what’s the biggest difference between then and now?
Alice Pasquini: Guests first.
Elfo: Hahaha. Yes, guests first. Good evening everyone. I come from the graffiti scene, and honestly, I don’t think the attitude has changed that much. If we’re talking about graffiti writers, one thing that’s definitely different now is the number of surveillance cameras around—that can be a real problem. But other than that, I don’t see huge changes. Maybe the mindset of people getting into street art today is different, but when it comes to graffiti, the attitude feels pretty much the same.
Alice Pasquini: The biggest difference, in my opinion, was the audience. Back then, people had no idea what the hell we were doing. The word street art didn’t even exist yet, and most people just didn’t understand what was going on—even when we were painting in broad daylight. So in a way, it was easier, because everything was still unwritten. And in a sense, that’s always been true since the early days of graffiti—when people started painting trains in the stations. At the beginning, it was easier to sneak in and do stuff because nobody really knew what was happening. They didn’t understand that kind of language. So maybe we were already doing something, but at the time, there wasn’t even a term for it yet. If we want to be clear about the differences: graffiti is horizontal, always. It’s about writing—tags and names—not filling up entire walls. We would have loved to paint big walls, sure, but there were no festivals, no cherry pickers, nothing like that. So the first attempts at developing something more figurative or conceptual in Italy—something beyond just writing your name—probably started in the mid-2000s, if we want to give it a rough date. What we can say is that at some point, a new generation—after the writers from the ’60s and ’70s—began doing something different. Last year here at CVTà Street Fest, we saw Dan Witz—one of the pioneers of street art, born in 1957—climbing up and down the scaffolding.
We come from a few generations after that. Another key difference is that street art moved toward city centers, while graffiti tended to spread out to the suburbs. And maybe street art is easier for the general public to understand. Writers don’t want people outside the scene to decode their messages—it’s meant for a niche. Whereas someone like Banksy opened up street art to a much wider audience, and helped legitimize other techniques too.
Elfo: Sorry, who?
Alice Pasquini: Banksy
Elfo: I’ve never heard of him.
Alice Paquini: Another difference that comes to mind is technique—meaning that the tool is no longer just spray paint. So before street art, we had graffiti, let’s say, and then it turned into stickers, posters, stencils… all these new techniques that aimed more and more toward city centers and much less toward the outskirts.
Elfo: For me, the whole thing with stencils and posters is tied to the fact that surveillance cameras were becoming more widespread. I’ve got a real issue with cameras. When more intense forms of control start showing up, what do you do? You try to spend as little time as possible out on the street while doing your thing. So I think street art was born in that phase—when posters and stencils started spreading. But one thing that’s never changed: people still asking: “What the F*ck are you writing?”
Alice Pasquini: …and especially: Would you do a portrait of my dog on the wall?
Giulia Blocal: For me, the most striking shift is the “Disneyfication” of street art – this tendency to turn it into something sugar-coated, easy to consume, and designed for quick gratification. A kind of street art that doesn’t disturb or question, but simply decorates: murals that are bigger, flashier, and more “Instagrammable,” designed to appeal to everyone, resulting in an aesthetic homogenization.
That’s why, when I saw your first piece here in Civitacampomarano the other day – the “Mary Poppins Go Home” slogan rolled in black paint across the crumbling wall of an abandoned house – I personally read it as a refusal to take part in that system, even if you later told me that wasn’t your original intention. Have you both noticed this emptying of meaning?
Elfo: I said I gladly accepted your interpretation and I respected it. I hadn’t thought of it that way. But I agree.
Alice Pasquini: All avant-gardes have followed a long path and eventually become part of the system. Then it’s up to the next generations to move things forward. Let’s say we’ve contributed our small part to something that began many, many years ago. If we think about the first tags on walls in the late ’60s, and compare that to today’s street art festivals all over the world—with municipalities commissioning massive murals—we’re very far from what, in my opinion, was the most spontaneous and interesting side of this art form.
Elfo: When it comes to this idea of evolution—if we’re talking about avant-gardes, which were usually niche and not global—I’ve come to think of street art as an artistic discipline, not an avant-garde movement. Like sculpture or painting. Street art has been around for decades now, and it should be considered decade by decade—‘70s to ‘80s, ‘80s to ‘90s, and so on. It’s becoming quite the encyclopedia. So just in terms of how long it’s lasted, it no longer fits the definition of an avant-garde, in my opinion.
Alice Pasquini: But I talk about avant-garde because every avant-garde is tied—maybe—to a technical shift. Spray paint was a technical invention that gave a whole new generation of painters, of teenagers, the ability to paint more freely, on a larger scale, and wherever they wanted. Muralism, on the other hand, is something we already know—it’s part of history. It has often served power, including dictatorships.
Giulia Blocal: In fact, one could argue that illegality—painting in the streets without permission or commissioners—was precisely what guaranteed the authenticity of the work. Unlike many of your peers, you both still keep that spontaneous, unauthorized side alive in your practice today. How important is it for you to preserve that element, especially considering that your artistic careers now also include, quite naturally, festival invitations, studio work, and exhibitions in galleries or museums?
Elfo: It’s not just important to me—it’s essential. One of the positive outcomes of the legal side of street art is that the quality has improved. When you have more time and peace of mind, the works not only cover entire façades but are often technically better, too. That said, it’s also possible to achieve that quality if you prefer to work illegally. I’ll use myself as an example: I started painting in abandoned factories precisely because of the calm and quiet, which gave me the space to try and improve.
Alice Pasquini: It’s all very beautiful—and that’s exactly the problem, in my opinion. In the beginning, there was a spontaneity that raised questions. And from a painterly, technical point of view, it was a challenge: the ability to create something meaningful and visually strong in fifteen minutes, tops. That kind of urgency leads to a spontaneity that you simply can’t replicate in a studio or in front of a wall you can return to after a night at the hotel. It’s a completely different thing. Nowadays, there are so many artists coming out of art schools who already have murals and festival invitations in mind. That moment of rupture—the break with the norm—is no longer there.
Giulia Blocal: …which, indeed, is why and how you began…
Alice Pasquini: Yes, the reason was that I felt it was something new—something that brought people together, that created a sense of connection, that made me feel alive. After spending so much time painting on an easel with a model—because of the academic mindset of my professor—I needed something different.
Giulia Blocal: Another key factor in this transformation is, without a doubt, the role of social media – especially Instagram. Today, when an artist creates a piece in public space, they are addressing two audiences: the people who pass by and see it in person, and a much larger audience that discovers it through photos and videos designed to circulate online. We now see works painted on rooftops only visible by drone, pieces hidden in remote scenic spots, or interventions conceived to “work” online rather than in real life – like the anamorphic trend.
Yesterday, Elfo, you told me you believe that without Instagram, street art would’ve already died out. Can you share that theory with everyone in the audience? And maybe Alice can weigh in as well?
Elfo: Obviously, the impact of social media has changed everyone’s life. Artistically speaking, I think it’s been more of a positive than a negative thing. For many artists, being able to show their work has been a good thing. In my case, for example, I was doing installations out in the countryside, inside abandoned factories—so who was going to see them? A farmer, a hunter, maybe a squirrel… I don’t know. So the internet became a way to reach more people. Nowadays, like with every social platform, I open Instagram and think: whatever. And now we’re left wondering: what will become of street art, now that so much of it is created with virality in mind? Artists are chasing the viral potential of their work. That’s going to lead to some kind of evolution. There hasn’t been a real revolution in street art in years—but maybe, finally, through the internet and this constant push for virality, something new will happen. What exactly, I don’t know yet.
Alice Pasquini: We’re a transitional generation—caught between a world without social media and one shaped by it. Social media gave an entire generation of artists the chance to promote themselves. But not only that.. their works were also shared by passersby, by people from the neighborhood, who would take pictures and, in a way, make those artworks their own by posting them on their MySpace page. That changed everything. Other artists before us didn’t have the chance to build an economy for themselves—an independent space outside the institutional art world. One of the positive things about street art, no matter how mainstream it becomes, is that it will always be free and accessible to everyone. And it will always be hard to sell. But it has created a market outside the official art market—an alternative path, different from the one institutional art has always followed. The prices will never be the same, of course, but this different path has already led to the rise of festivals, dedicated auctions, and more. That’s one way to look at it—from a market perspective. As for quality, I don’t know. Because for me, what still matters most is the emotional moment of the encounter—for the passerby, for the local resident. A photo never gives you the same feeling as that unexpected moment of discovery. Everyone’s out there looking for your piece—it’s hard to find, and whoever finds it is happy.
Giulia Blocal: And now… I’d love to open it up to questions from the audience.
Question 1: I’d like to go back to something that was said earlier, because it also ties into the recent discussion around GECO, especially now that he’s released his documentary.
- Read also: “Graffiti Ethos: GECO and The Art of Disobedience“
I think street art is, in a way, a violent art form—a bit fascist, if you’ll allow me the term. Because it forces the public to see something they didn’t choose to see. Personally, I’m passionate about art, and I have developed a certain taste. Most people still have to develop that taste. And most people don’t want to see that stuff—it even bothers them. So I wonder, and this opens up a broader question about street art as a whole: Is street art nothing more than the game of compulsive kids who need to claim an identity they wouldn’t otherwise have? Or is it, as you said, part of a century-long evolution of art? I ask myself this—and I ask you, as artists—honestly: Do you see yourselves as compulsive, megalomaniac kids? Or do you believe what you do actually makes the world a better place? Are you philanthropists or misfits?
Alice Pasquini: Both things. First of all, I agree with you when it comes to large-scale murals—I’m not a fan of big formats. I prefer small pieces that aren’t overwhelming or aggressive—because advertising already is.
Elfo: I think a bit of egocentrism has always pushed us forward. I’d even say we’re a bit childish, too. About the whole fascism thing—we can talk about that. Let’s say you’re driving through your city, in Rome, on your way to work, and suddenly you see a bright, colorful graffiti piece. That breaks the monotony of your day. So to me, that’s something positive—whether you like it or not is another matter. But saying it forces you to look at it? I don’t buy that. Because on the other side, you might have the Tiber River.
Giulia Blocal: Or an advertisement.
Elfo: Exactly, or an ad. So yeah, I totally agree there’s some egocentrism behind it—but between the two of us, who’s more egocentric, me or you?
Question 1-bis: I just wanted to talk about whether or not it’s democratic. I don’t even want to get into the content, because to me, 95% of it is just bad. When I say fascist, I mean it’s anti-democratic. And when you say “but there’s advertising”—what does that mean. That it’s slightly less bad, so it’s okay? No. It’s not that this is fine just because that is worse. In Rome, there are neighborhoods that have been completely changed by ugly murals, 40 meters high. Thousands of people wake up every morning and have to look at something terrible. That’s deeply unfair. I mean, why should artists who haven’t earned their place in a museum get to mess up the streets of our cities?
- Read also: “Whose Walls Are They, Anyway?“
Alice Pasquini: First of all, I have earned my place in a museum. Second, I don’t like large-scale murals either. I painted my first large-scale mural here in Civitacampomarano only now, after ten years of doing small interventions—and only because people asked for it.
And anyway, we’ll never be able to satisfy everyone’s taste. The real issue here is curatorial: if street art is no longer spontaneous—if artists are no longer painting what they want, where they want, when they want, but instead are being paid by institutions, municipalities, festivals, or companies—then we’re in a different landscape. Milan is full of murals made by artists that are actually just advertising. At this point, street art has entered the mainstream. Look around, here in Civitacampomarano, there are loads of people who came to see the walls. Some pieces they’ll like, others they won’t—but that’s the nature of it. To me, it’s now much closer to muralism, and the streets have become a lot less interesting—because they’re less full of spontaneous interventions. When we started, things were much more magical, at least in my view.
Elfo: In the end, I could just stay home and watch Netflix in peace. Jokes aside, street art doesn’t feel like a forced experience to me. I don’t see it as something that pressures people to look at it. And as for not being in a museum—who cares? A lot of artists only make it into museums after they’re dead.
Alice Pasquini: I am in a museum, but I’m much prouder of the small pieces I painted without asking anyone’s permission that have lasted for 15 years. Because I know that when I look at a big wall I painted 15 years ago, I think: technically, it wasn’t done well—I had 15 years less experience. So even for me, artistically, it’s better that some of those big walls disappear. But the small pieces that survive, despite everything—that, to me, is a democratic choice. Because anyone could remove them if they wanted to, right?
