Graffiti pioneer Futura 2000 gets career retrospective at Bronx Museum

A new retrospective at The Bronx Museum features decades of work by a New York City artist who found himself amid a cultural revolution.

Futura 2000 was a pioneer of graffiti culture in the ’70s and ’80s, when young people in The Bronx and Brooklyn started “writing,” using the subway trains as a canvas for their work.

Futura is well known for the unique style of hitting one train, covering the entire car with solid colors for a piece he called “Break.” An archival photo of the train in operation is displayed in this exhibition.

Since those early years, Futura has continued to work. He’s designed for major brands like Nike and Uniqlo and collaborated with artists including the late Virgil Abloh.

“Futura 2000: Breaking Out” is the artist’s first show in a major New York institution. It’s on view now at The Bronx Museum through March 30.

Futura 2000 joined WNYC’s Alison Stewart on a recent episode of “All of It” to discuss the ephemeral nature of public art, graffiti as a means of self-expression and why young artists should get off their devices. An edited version of their conversation is below.

Alison Stewart: Where did you grow up?

Futura: I’m from 103rd and Broadway, which had a subway stop. I grew up as an only child with a Black mother and a white father, so if you want to consider what that must have been like for them – very difficult – and as a result, just had a very interesting upbringing. And in ’70, I saw graffiti, the pioneers. I’m certainly 1.0, but there was a foundation before I arrived.

When did you first get interested in art?

Futura: Art came later. I was interested in writing graffiti because I saw it as a means of self-expression.

That sounds like art.

Futura: Yes, it totally does. We didn’t have a car. My dad worked very hard, and so I used public transport my whole life. I still do.

I don’t know if you said that, but metaphorically, graffiti, as it applied itself to trains in the city, was the vehicle of our expression, and that whole car you speak of – the Break Train that I painted in 1980 – it was my love letter to graffiti because I was leaving that school. I called it the subway school.

It’s really remarkable that it was photographed by Miss Martha Cooper, who is a GOAT along with Henry Chalfant. There’s a list of photo documentarians who’ve done our movement an incredible service by simply photographing back then and documenting.

You mentioned that you were sort of 1.0 in the graffiti revolution. Who did you look up to?

Futura: As a “toy,” which is a beginning graffiti writer with no name to speak of, I was looking at, most obviously, Taki 183, a crew from Uptown, Writers Corner 188 in the Fort Washington area. SNAKE 1, STITCH 1, Cat 87, and then ultimately, in the early ’70s, the UGA [United Graffiti Artists] was the first organized movement with Phase 2, Stay High, RIFF 170. That was run by a gentleman named Hugo Martinez. That was my first insight into who was who.

And although I was not known, I was old enough and smart enough to understand where to be, to be around them, and I feel I learned a lot.

Sadly, I have a story. In 1973, literally 51 years ago this week, with a friend of mine named Mark, we were painting in Manhattan, and a fire broke out, and he was badly burned. We were illegally painting graffiti in what’s called the One Tunnel on the one line between 137 and 145th street, and there was a fire. Subsequent to that incident, I joined the military in February of 1974.

You joined the Navy, yes?

Futura: I did. Yes. What’s remarkable about my story, Alison, is that this shouldn’t be the case. I shouldn’t be having an opening at The Bronx Museum. I shouldn’t be a celebrated artist, or any label you wish to identify me as, because I had done a departure based on that fire to where I was trying to evolve, and, “My God, this is terrible. My boy almost died.” Perhaps not so severe, but he was badly burned, and years later, wore the scars.

In 1978, when I got out of my four-year enlistment, I came back to New York only to discover what had happened with graffiti: It had evolved. Now you have all the really great painters of that story – the Lees, the Dondis, the Seens, the Blades – everyone who just destroyed, in a beautiful way, the subway system and did remarkable work. And that blew my mind when I came back.

How did it change how you felt about graffiti?

Futura: I still admired it. But I was also like, “Oh, no, I’m not a graffiti writer anymore.” I had a car. I’d just come out of the military. I had all this worldly experience. I’d been to all these countries as a result of my enlistment or during my service.

I came back to the block. My boys didn’t even get off the block, so there was a gap between me and my people, and I was like, “Wow, this ain’t it.” Went to Georgia, had a short-lived moment in Savannah. Was all over the place trying to readjust to civilian society after a four-year military stint.

You didn’t come out of jail, but it is a kind of “have-to-come back-into-society” moment, and I just couldn’t do it initially. Ran away. ’79, I come back.

Mark, my friend who had burned, his graffiti name was Ali. Muhammad Ali was his inspiration, and he’s like, “I’m getting the band back together again.” We were squatting in a storefront on 107th and Columbus, and we rekindled what was a crew called Soul Artists, the SA, and that was our crew, and we recruited Zephyr.

You were talking about all the people that you were working with, and you said Fab 5 Freddy?

Futura: Yes, Fab was there, I mentioned Dondi, Zephyr, Eric Haze, of course, and then Jean-Michel [Basquiat].

What changed your mind to make you think, “Oh, I want to do this again?”

Futura: I can’t really answer that, Alison. I don’t know. Once again, I could tell you it’s a destiny play because I was simply following other people, Fab specifically.

Fred was a real bridge for us in terms of uptown meets downtown, and Fred and I would form a fantastic relationship. We had a studio together on the Lower East Side and went on tours together, and we just did a bunch of stuff. He’s very instrumental in my story. The vibe was we weren’t going to be illegal. We were going to explore this creativity we had in a more positive fashion, and all of a sudden, all these East Village galleries started popping up, and one specifically called the Fun Gallery.

We just lost Miss Patti Astor, who was the leader of all that, but that whole scene in the early ’80s was pretty incredible with the rise of, obviously, Keith [Haring] and Jean, more specifically even than the subway folks. Because I think we were there, but we were now in the art world, and we didn’t really have the academic wherewithal to hang there. You know what I mean? People were comparing me to Kandinsky, which I don’t take as a diss now. I’m like, “Wow, thank you. That’s quite a compliment,” and I kind of said the same thing then, but I was like, “Who dat? I don’t know.”

It’s not really applicable to make references to an artist about someone he or she may be copying when they, in fact, don’t even know who we’re talking about. [laughter] That’s when I realized that, “Wow, the art world, it’s all about identity, identifying, and also shouting out that inspiration.” See, if I would have just played dumb and been like, “Oh, wow, thank you. Yes, he’s been very influential.”

You see what I mean? I didn’t know the parlance, and so I got played, basically. I really did. And by 1984, I have a child, my firstborn, my son Timothy. He and his sister’s my best work. I’ve said that, obviously.

Of course, it’s true, but just that at that moment, the art world wasn’t there for me, and I got to support a child, and so for a few years, I was one of the first adventurous bike messengers in New York City.

How do you deal with, especially the early days, the impermanence of art?

Futura: I love it.

Because the subway cars get cleaned up.

Futura: Yes, and you know what? That’s life. Work in the public sphere, it’s ephemeral, it’s transient, it’s all these things.

Public art is much more accepted in culture these days. There are museums, there are galleries for graffiti artists. How do you think the acceptance of the art form has affected the nature of it?

Futura: Thank you for asking that, because I didn’t finish the point about public art and the ephemera thing. At the museum, I painted a wall as an installation, and that’s intended to show people, “Hey, this isn’t permanent.”

Someone can come and buy the property. Anyone can paint over it. It’s sad, sometimes a beautiful mural is created by some fantastic artists imported from South America or Europe or whatever, and some kid from down the block, a local crew, will just come and tag right over. You see what I mean?

There’s nothing really to control out there other than to understand nothing is permanent. To me, it lets the young people know, like, “Hey, at a certain point, you need to start over and recreate and keep creating.”

I love that public art is temporary, and I think the reception of people today, 40 years later, is amazing because they’re coming in the door with their kids. There’s a workshop for them to doodle and draw and be engaged with the art.

I think they’re not offended by it, but back in the day, people were aggressed by it because it represented a negative element of the culture, whether it was the music, the fashion, the look, the color.

That’s all accepted now, and people embrace it, and I think from a New Yorker’s point of view, we realize, like, “We did start hip hop culture. We did start this urban street art movement, and we need to take ownership for that.”

The fact that Bronx is honoring me in this way is a testament to that – in fact, that they stand behind our creativity and our history. Right now, I guess I’m the poster boy for it, and that’s great. It serves me well, but I hope, in turn, will open doors for other individuals as well.

If there’s a young artist who’s listening today and is like, “Well, I can’t get on the trains, I shouldn’t be painting,” what would you suggest they do to touch their creativity? What should they do?

Futura: Get off your device, for one. Get your hands on some materials. Start working with your hands, whatever the case may be, but for young people trying to get into the game, one of the things I said is, “Well, good luck.” Role model, okay. Great father, yes, but just to say: I’m not someone who you’re ever going to be able to replicate. I’m not a cookie-cutter.

However, I would love to help young people pursue their creativity and aspirations, and I can draw you a map exactly of the terrain that you’re in and what’s going on.

I’ll highlight all this and that and brands, galleries, all this stuff, and this is a very detailed map, but I will not give you directions because it’s not my job.

I’ll provide everything you need, maybe resources or something, but you need to go figure it out because being a copycat of– One thing I see a lot, and it’s sad to say, but how many young artists are just so into Basquiat’s work that it’s redundancy. It’s sad because he’s someone to be admired, not copied.

So figure out who you are?

Futura: Yes. Take from Jean, take from any artist in history, those elements you find interesting, and explore them, but do something with them. You know what I mean?

“Futura 2000: Breaking Out” is now on view at The Bronx Museum through March 30.