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That's what happened to Powers on December 3, just a day before his "Doody Rudy" event was staged in Washington Square. On that bright Sunday afternoon, you could toss a faux turd at the city's maximum leader for a dollar a poop, with all proceeds going to the mayor's favorite AIDS charity, Housing Works. As it turned out, however, the hurlers were outnumbered by reporters and plainclothes cops. Such is life in the new, improved metropolis, where fame is the love child of publicity and the police.
If Powers were merely a bad-boy painter with an eye on Page Six, he might have joined Mary Boone in the pantheon of art martyrs and had his case dismissed (as hers was). Instead, he faces an investigation that could lead to multiple misdemeanor charges, all stemming from his oeuvre as ESPO. You may have seen that tag adorning metal store gates in the art-and-latte zone. When asked what he's up to, Powers explains that he's with a company called Exterior Surface Outreach. His mission is covering up graffiti with a coat of silver paint and then "adding a quart of black to make it say ESPO."
Promo in the name of beautification is a concept any artist in Mary Boone's stable can grasp. But this line doesn't play in the graffiti world, where many consider Powers a media-fed simulation of the Real Thing. Nor has it impressed the Downtown condoscenti. Complaints from a community group objecting to ESPO's "renovation" of an old street mural ("I had nothing to do with that," Powers insists) reportedly alerted the police. But they didn't actually tail him until last July, when Powers published The Art of Getting Over, a personal homage to graffiti. Though the book is more a scrapbook than a true history, it's lively and loaded with jargonthe perfect stocking stuffer for the wigger who has everything. Also the perfect occasion for a police raid.
"Every once in a while, usually while you're waiting in the back of a cop car with the bracelets on, you know the power of your work," Powers notes. It's a sentiment Al Sharpton might share. Still, Sharpton has never been subject to a seizure of his files, his correspondence, and even the contents of his hard drive, as Powers has. The police also made off with paint, brushes, and markers, as well as back issues of his graffiti-driven magazine On the Go and several copies of his current tome. At the station house, Powers claims, they ragged him about mocking cops in printa quality-of-life offense second only to mocking the mayor. "Steve's mistake was to write a book," says his attorney, Ron Kuby. "Anybody who views graffiti as an art form will pop up on Rudy's radar screen."
There's an upside to being a celebrity offender. It can generate more press than a pack of hungry flacks. And Powers is quite the young hustler, taking business calls while holding forth on "urban semiotics" and the art of marketing. "Instead of selling a product, I sell vapors," he says, using a hiphop locution referring to the aura of celebrity. "One of the things we learned with On the Go was how to position ourselves to translate what was happening in the street to elite corporations." Right now, Powers is pursuing a movie based on his book. Streetwise he may be, but at 31, he's also hip to synergy.
It doesn't hurt to have a collaborator as savvy as Joey Skaggs, who's been dubbed "our favorite media hoaxster" by Page Six. At one point in the interview, Skaggs breaks in with a bulging press kit featuring everything you ever wanted to know about his performance art. "Steve was erroneously given credit for 'Doody Rudy,' " Skaggs explains. "He did the painting, but the concept was mine." So was the idea of sending forth a thousand press releases (some of which may well have reached the police).
Of course, there's nothing novel about a street artist with a royal sense of himselfthat's why the crown is such an enduring symbol in graffiti. In fact, it's an oxymoron to say the words tagging and modest in the same breath. But what galls the boys of graff (at least a large faction of them) is that Powers has parlayed his street cred into an art career, like his friends Barry McGee and Phil Frost.
There are wonderful painters, most of them Latino, who have stuck with graff for 25 years, honing it into a vector of liquid color and dynamic line. But they have yet to sell a piece. Other writers found their niche in commercial design after a deeply disillusioning moment in the Soho sun back in the early '80s. But just as Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat got over by mastering the tropes of the white art world, today's galleried vandals know what it takes to score a one-man show.