The Magnet Mafia Sticks to Street Art

Helgeson's e-mail to the contrary, Detective George Gray of the Denver Police Department's Graffiti Unit says he'd never heard of the Magnet Mafia before being contacted by Westword. His unit is focused on taking down major graffiti crews and tagger gangs, not arresting people who make art on magnets. "Since there is obviously no damage, you'd pretty much say, 'Hey, take that down,'" he explains. "As far as my position, I don't see that as being illegal, or my job to enforce — except for the trespassing thing, if they had to cross onto private property to do it."

Over at the Crime Prevention and Control Commission, the city agency charged with managing anti-graffiti policy, they're more familiar with the work of the Magnet Mafia. "Yeah, they've been seen around town," says spokewoman Neddra Niblet. "They've been taken down." But city ordinances define graffiti as markings posted on property without consent by means of "painting, spray painting, drawing, etching, carving, scratching or any similar method." There's no mention of magnets.

"I'm kind of struggling with exactly where the magnets fall," says Denver Department of Public Works spokeswoman Ann Williams after Niblet refers further questions to that agency. Public Works often deals with fliers and advertisements for concerts or businesses that are hung without permission, Williams says, adding that she needs to ask around for the policy regarding magnets.

Another Public Works spokeswoman soon calls with that information. "Unless it's an advertisement or it interferes with a traffic sign, we're not going to take enforcement steps," Revekka Balancier says. "The law says the unlawful poster will be liable for the cost of removal, and in this case, there is no cost of removal, so we would most likely leave it be."

But the Downtown Denver Partnership holds to its darker view of the Magnet Mafia. "They're very organized," says operations manager Don Pesek. "They put their little number on the back of their magnet, and they have their little website, and they're very proud of defacing public property." While Pesek acknowledges that magnets do far less physical damage than standard graffiti, he insists that magnet removal comes at a cost. "Particularly when someone has to get up on a ladder or get the bucket truck to remove a magnet that's way up high," he says. "And it's still visual pollution. I mean, when you're driving down and you see this scribbling, it's still, I feel, offensive to the community."

Apparently, no one explained to the Partnership that last fall's offensive magnet influx was part of Denver Arts Week. Jayne Buck, vice president of tourism for the Denver Metro Convention & Visitors Bureau, organized the seven-day arts celebration; to help promote the project, her office coordinated with Rodney Wallace, a "real innovative" artist and Magnet Mafia member. "His idea was art infestation," Buck remembers, "and he wanted to put art in public places or just at random and make sure that Denver was seen filled with art."

The visitors' bureau, which is funded largely from the lodger's tax collected by the city ($12.5 million last year), spent a total of $98,351 marketing Denver Arts Week (using the unfortunate slogan "Be a Tourist in Your Own Town," as though art weren't a part of everyday life). Much of the money went to billboards promoting the Denver Art Museum's Louvre exhibit, Buck says; she estimates the project got another $344,412 from in-kind donations through such media sponsors as CBS4 and the Denver Newspaper Agency. "The goal was that we wouldn't expend tons of advertising dollars, that we would use grassroots and PR efforts, with minimal investment in the first year, knowing that this would be something that the arts community would benefit from," she adds.

That meant that individual artists and arts organizations were left to do much of their own marketing. Wallace organized what he calls a "massive throwdown" by artists, who started placing magnets of their work at Union Station and worked their way up the 16th Street Mall. "I used the magnets as a serious marketing tool," he explains.

Wallace thinks it's ironic that artists were slapped for participating in a city-subsidized project, but it doesn't surprise him. "The city in general has disconnects all over the place," he says. "They know that cultural tourism is a huge business. They want to fill up the hotels and tourism spots. But we know that to be a Denver artist don't mean shit unless Denver art means something."

And the Partnership is still confused. "I don't understand how this can be considered art," Pesek says. "Maybe the drawing on the magnets might be considered art, so put it in a forum where art can be appreciated — not up high on a light pole."

It's like throwing a pizza," Harrison says. "Then you feel it stick up top and it's really satisfying."

The Denver Skatepark is dark and empty — except for Matt and Harrison flipping magnets up to the underside of the metal gazebo. It's a place where they think the magnets have a chance to be seen before the "purple shirts" — the crews wearing purple polos who clean downtown — take them down and throw them away.