The word “graffiti” usually conjures images of people with spray cans illegally making murals or jotting down tags using colorful paints. A lot artistic interventions use other tools and materials, though, subverting expectations and working in (literal and legal) gray areas to create works without leaving a conventional trace. Consider, for instance, the massive deep sea monsters, jungle predators and swamp creatures of Russian illustrator Nikita Golubev that lurk in the grimy shadows on the sides and backs of trucks.

Along similar lines, this series of skulls by artist Orion was made by scrubbing car exhaust from an active tunnel. For those looking to deter street art and artists, subtractive interventions like these can be tricky to pin down. After all, Golubev and Orion are simply cleaning vehicles or public surfaces, albeit very selectively. In many cases, the end result is actually further cleaning — art like this often pushes municipalities to send out teams that then wash off entire areas to make them look consistent again.

This artistic approach draws different reactions depending on the scale and situation. Take snow calligraphy, for instance — few people seem to mind a nice message traced into the hood of their car. Artist Faust notes that virtually “everyone has an affinity for writing in the snow as a child,” so perhaps it’s also something people feel they can relate to on a more experiential level.

Reverse graffiti not only provokes different response—it also spans a variety of materials and methods and can work with greenery as well as it does with snow or grime. Some moss artists work additively, creating mixtures to apply to surfaces and thus encouraging moss to follow particular grown patterns to produce an specific result. Others, however, actively remove moss to create desired words, patterns and illustrations.

Stefaan de Croock falls into the latter category, using power-washing tools to create cityscapes and other whimsical scenes on surfaces previously covered in layers of moss. As with a lot of reverse graffiti projects, his pieces are generally temporary — the moss simply grows back in to fill the voids over time.

SpY’s work in Besancon, France, combines elements of reverse graffiti and tree sculpting. Turning topiary approaches into a mural-making technique, he shaped vines into a circular work of wall art using an elevated work platform, trimming his way toward a perfect circle.

Light art and projection bombing are even more temporary and generally even less invasive than reverse graffiti. Lighting machines aimed at buildings to create patterns or spell out messages can be targeted and disabled if they persist, but ephemeral light painting like the above work by Lichtfaktor are deployed quickly using glowsticks or other portable devices and have to be captured on camera to work, making them brilliantly elusive.

Meanwhile, if light art is about brief visibility, then hydrophobic spray art is about lasting invisibility. Both are made to be seen and not seen in particular ways, but the latter has a key ingredient that determines when a design or artwork is visible: wetness.

When the hydrophobic NeverWet spray came out, it promised to waterproof everything, but some users found they had mixed results in applying it to things like clothing and touchscreens – it discolored shoes and left a sticky film on devices. Then someone thought to create a stencil and tag sidewalks with the stuff and a new type of visible-when-wet graffiti was born. One can, of course, free-spray with it as well, but stencils help make the outcome more controlled and predictable.

The same basic artistic idea has been applied in other contexts by designers, too — selective hydrophobia can be incorporated into brick pavers or concrete sidewalks, for instance, to create patterns that change with the weather. Clever urbanists might consider ways to integrate useful messages or wayfinding elements into such projects, like arrows pointing to nearest sources of shelter in a storm. Similarly, messages that appear on surfaces that change color with temperature could be used to guide people on particularly hot or cold days.

Practical designs aside, artists continue to experiment outside of traditional material palettes with works that raise questions about visibility and invisibility. There is fun to be found at the intersections of these ideas, embodied in projects like this one by 3D artist Milane Ramsi, who combined different approaches into a single installation — a concrete pillar appears to vanish while simultaneously revealing three-dimensional lettering more reminiscent of conventional graffiti.

Additive or subtractive, vandalism has its grey areas, but what about the seemingly more straightforward removal of graffiti? Here again there are shades of gray. Some artists, like Mathieu Tremblin, paint a surface clean then write over graffiti with their own work — in his case: humorously replacing loose tags with digital-style tag clouds. That, clearly, is of a kind with what was underneath; in places where tagging is illegal, replacement tags are too.

Then there is the saga of the infamous Banksy and the so-called Gray Ghost, an anti-street artist who leaves signature splotches of gray in the wake of his graffiti removals. Some argue the Ghost’s work vandalizes art — others say it is itself art. Legally, like Banksy’s illegal murals, both artists work in a similar space, though in Banksy’s case building owners often go to great lengths to preserve his art, in part for its monetary value.

Exceptions aside, municipal laws are usually clear on painted public art and the goal is generally total graffiti erasure, though it doesn’t always work out that way. This kind of official cleanup usually draws binary responses, viewed by some as a welcome fix and by others as an act of defacement. One award-winning film, however, argues for a third point of view: graffiti removal as the ultimate next step in the progression of modern art. Despite its semi-satirical intent, The Subconscious Art of Graffiti Removal raises provocative questions about what constitutes street artwork in the gray areas of additive and subtractive graffiti.

In bustling cities packed with other people, it can be nice to stand out at times, but it can also be a relief to fade quietly into the background for a bit. Creative wallflowers looking for a bit of both draw on all sorts of inspiration to create urban camouflage that ranges from virtually invisible to fashionably outstanding.

Take Menja Stevenson, a German artist transfixed by public transit textiles. Often overlooked or outright disliked by others, she found that he patterns applied to train and bus seats are quite intensively and cleverly designed.

Transit fabrics have a job to do, standing up to wear and tear while mitigating the visible impact of dirt, stains, spilled drinks and other challenging conditions. So Stevenson contacted transportation agencies to secure fabric samples, then started making outfits based on these generally unloved textiles.

Ironically, though, this kind of camouflage actually makes the wearer stand out, whether they are sitting in a pattern-matching seat (a juxtaposition which can look rather surreal) or simply striding down the street (clad in what are relatively unusual patterns).

Photographer Joseph Ford combined forces with knitter Nina Dodd to take a similar idea a step further, crafting apparel to match a variety of urban backdrops related to transportation and otherwise. For their project, they borrowed colors and patterns from tiles, bricks, even a graffiti mural.

The resulting camouflage is still very context-specific, but taken to other locations the the results actually start to blend in — seen on the street, it would generally be hard to guess that these subjects were wearing designs lifted from public places.

Of course, visual and material patterns aren’t the only repeating elements in cities that one could use as a basis for concealment. Physical objects like soda machines and waste bins also proliferate, adding an opportunity for immersive camouflage that can works in three dimensions.

Designer Aya Tsukioka took her disguises to the next level when she created a set of suits and backpacks aimed at mimicking the size, form and details of everyday urban objects. Since the specifics of such designs vary from city to city, they may not match their setting anywhere else, but these outfits are right at home in Tokyo.

If machine suits represent the maximalist end of the camouflage spectrum, emulating complex patterns and larger objects, these black-and-white wearable architectures designed by Snarkitecture are definitely more on the minimalist side.

Copied from rectangular, hexagonal and marbled surfaces around New York City, one would be hard-pressed to guess that architectural surfaces inspired these shirts, hoodies and hats.

Not to be outdone, other New Yorkers have taken urban camouflage beyond textiles and into the realm of body paint, enabling levels of detail and precise blending that are as context-dependent as they are mesmerizing.

Artist Trina Merry takes personalized trompe l’oeil to the third dimension, first in the Big Apple and then beyond. For her photos, she places figures in front of architectural icons and everyday cityscapes, painting people to match bricks, concrete, steel, graffiti, trees, wavy water or whatever is needed to complete the illusion.

No story mentioning body-painted urban camouflage artists would be complete without Liu Bolin, whose work borders on uncanny at times, looking more like the product of Photoshop than photography. His pictures may be fun and entertaining, but they are not without serious and controversial dimensions. In this past, he has had run-ins with the Chinese government — at one point, police even shut down his studio for including state buildings, uniforms and other official design elements.

“Living in the red hot China,” says Bolin, “I feel that I am not in control of my own life. However, I have an indescribable burning desire inside of me. Art is a weapon that helps us untangle the chaos in our lives. I hope that my artworks can calm people down during this period of constant change, but at the same time, inspire people to re-evaluate our environment and reconsider the problems arising in our society.”

Context is of course the key to camouflage, which is part of what makes it such a powerful tool for artists seeking to speak to certain times, places and conditions — like the mass-produced repetition of stuff for sale in big retail stores, illustrated above. From body paint based on decorative wallpapers to ghillie suits designed to blend into supermarket sales bins, there can be more to an urban disguise than meets the eye.

Most cities have so much in common that a generic “map of every city” can seem similarly familiar to people living in London, Paris, New York or another metropolis entirely. General types of neighborhoods aren’t the only things different cities share, though — much less obvious but pervasive are sets of codes, symbols and markings that can communicate meaning across different times and urban spaces.

Even though (or perhaps because) people drive over and walk by them every day, it is easy to overlook the rich, colorful and cryptic utility markings spray-painted onto streets and sidewalks. Like graffiti tags or hobo codes, this language of scribbled text, dots, lines and arrows may seem indecipherable at first, but lives depend on engineers, city workers and utility companies understanding what they mean.

Utility markings tell excavators working on subsurface projects where to dig and (more importantly) where not to dig. A vocabulary of symbols (with its associated grammar of colors) helps diggers steer clear of dangerous power, sewer and water lines as well as other pipes and cables.

Like any language, utility codes have evolved what one could call regional “accents” of a sort — linguistic conventions that vary from one state or country to the next. Standardization, though, is important in helping keep people safe, which is why there are often local or national rules governing what different colors and symbols represent.

Long before cities came around to the idea of utility markings, train-hopping nomads were working out similarly symbol-based systems of communication. As these travelers roamed America looking for work, particularly during the Great Depression, they learned to leave messages for one another — so-called “hobo codes.” These relatively simple symbols could help fellow travelers find good places to camp and kind people who might give them meals, for instance.

At the time, being nomadic was a mixed bag — some travelers were known as bums or tramps, disparaged for drinking or idling rather than working. The term hobo, though, was more specifically applied to those actively seeking work and willing to take on jobs others didn’t want to do — hobos were met with various degrees of caution and generosity. Many were illiterate, however, so coded symbols with intuitive meanings helped them convey messages through etched or chalked markings. The relatively discreet size and abstract shapes made these marks easy for people not in the know to overlook.

Some symbols represented fairly specific suggestions about how to behave and what to avoid. A cross, for instance, could indicate that talking about religion might help a person get free food from a particular resident. Other markings might caution hobos about heightened crackdowns on vagrants and beggars by local police. While train-jumping culture has changed, some modern travelers have attempted to digitize the idea of hobo symbols through QR codes.

Mural and graffiti art sit somewhere between officially sanctioned and illicit urban communication, depending on the location and surface being tagged. These interventions, too, have evolved a lot over the years. Definitions and genres have sprung up along the way, helpful for tracking and analyzing but also understanding different works — there are pieces, tags, stickers (or: slaps), throw-ups, stencils, heavens, blockbusters, wildstyles and more.

A piece, for instance (short for “masterpiece”) and is usually a complex and multicolored affair difficult to do illegally given the time they take to make. A blockbuster can go either way, often made using rollers and designed to cover up a surface — sometimes one that has already been tagged. A heaven, however, is generally illegal, defined by the difficulty of putting a work up high on something like the back (or front) of a highway sign or the surface of a billboard advertisement — not generally places where one can get official approval to paint.

Some typologies are pretty self-explanatory, like bubble letters or fat caps, the latter of which are usually done with wide spray tips, making them both easy to deploy and easy to read (in turn rendering them useful for get-in-and-out-quickly situations). Shadow letters can also take a bit more work, but help a tag pop off a surface, giving it a somewhat more weighty and three-dimensional appearance. Indirectly, the forms and shapes of letters and symbols tell the observer something about the artist’s intent and constraints. Graffiti can even be broken down into characters, alphabets and fonts, which an informed onlooker can use to better understand a given work.

Some artists and art fans have gone to great lengths to classify different types of graffiti, but such a task is destined to be forever incomplete — graffiti is personal and location-specific, not based on any shared font or type. But some, like artist Evan Roth, try anyway to collect, identify and compare examples of letters, creating order out of the seeming chaos of conflicting tags. He also took his project full circle by pasting up alphabets along the city blocks in which they were originally found, encouraging people to look at tags in a new light, offering temporary glimpses into the linguistic ties that bind them loosely together. With any street communication, legal or illegal, there will always be some give and take between fluid creativity and efforts to categorize, standardize and simply understand.

The whole world is watching Hong Kong, where a battle is playing out in the streets between authorities and citizens protesting China’s encroachment on their independence. It started in June in response to a proposed amendment of an extradition bill that would make it easier for Hong Kong citizens to be sent to mainland China, and has escalated as authorities refuse to make concessions. Now, police in riot gear are marching into crowds of masked protestors with tear gas and water cannons.

Protesters escaping PolyU by rope from a footbridge to nearby volunteer motorcyclists from HongKong

In an effort to retain control of Hong Kong Polytechnic University (and the rest of the city), the protesters began crafting gear of their own: improvised catapults, slingshots and barricades. They’re also using encrypted messaging apps to coordinate daring escapes from police, like descending by rope from a footbridge to be picked up by riders on motorcycles below.

On r/HongKong, Redditors are posting some of these inventions alongside updates from within the semi-autonomous city. Many of them are incredibly simple yet effective, like gluing bricks to the streets or driving nails through sections of garden hose.

Students from the University of Hong Kong building brick walls to defend themselves from the police. from HongKong

Who will win? from HongKong

In some cases, bamboo poles are zip-tied to the bricks to create barriers that could damage the undersides of vehicles that attempt to drive over them. It would appear that the police used armored trucks to break through the barricades, clearing the path for other vehicles, but it seems like it could be an effective way to shut down traffic in other protest scenarios.

A Hong Kong style barricade set up in Central today. from HongKong

Using little more than bamboo poles and helmets, some protesters set up homemade catapults:

The students of the Chinese University of Hong Kong successfully created a giant slingshot using only bamboo sticks and helmets. The campus has been under siege by the police for 3 days by now. from HongKong

Citizens in the streets are also demonstrating novel ways to fight tear gas with thermoses and leaf blowers.

The new way of Hong Kong protesters deal with the tear gas from HongKong

Man used a blower to deal with tear gas in Mongkok tonight from HongKong

Observers are also reporting the use of drones to deliver supplies to those trapped inside Hong Kong Polytechnic University. Thus far, thousands of people have been arrested, some being transported by train to unknown destinations (which some fear to be mainland China.)

The protesters are also leaving messages to each other and the world using graffiti:

We are not rioters. We are gamblers, gambling our futures for a better Hong Kong. from HongKong

Don’t know if this has already been posted here but this shows the extremity of things. from HongKong

Check out more of the Hong Kong protesters’ creations at Interesting Engineering.

Top image via u/VaelinAISo

The casting call is coming from inside the house, and these real-life horror movie houses achieved infamy as on-location sets for some memorable film shoots.

Amityville Horror House

The so-called Amityville Horror House can be found at 108 (formerly 112) Ocean Avenue in Amityville, NY. Producers of the 1979 film sought permission to shoot on location at the actual house where Ronald DeFeo Jr shot and killed 6 members of his family in 1974, but were denied. Instead, a house in Toms River, NJ was altered to resemble the three-story Dutch Colonial home, right down to the distinctive “pumpkin eyes” attic windows. Ironically, the house on Ocean Avenue itself has been altered and no longer sports the quarter-round windows. (images via austinpomer and Encouraging Quotes)

Poltergeist House

This house at 4267 Roxbury St. in Simi Valley, CA is where the 1982 horror film Poltergeist was filmed. Unlike the movie home, this house did NOT implode into some sort of supernatural black hole. The photo above was taken 35 years after filming completed and not a whole lot has changed other than the extensive brickwork in the front yard. One would hope the masonry wasn’t sourced from any abandoned cemeteries. (image via Jack Stephens)

Silence of the Lambs House

Also known as Buffalo Bill’s house, this rambling three-story Victorian home in the Village of Layton, Fayette County, PA featured prominently in the 1991 shock horror thriller The Silence of the Lambs. The home was put on the market by its owners in 2016 but, to quote Trib Live, the sale was going “torturously slowly”. Not for the obvious reason, mind you, but likely due to the 4-bedroom house only having one bathroom. Now THAT’s what we call horrible! (image via Paul McCarthy)

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