I arrived in São Paulo at the opening of the São Paulo Biennial, back in September 2025, when the city’s attention was momentarily drawn inward, toward the pavilion, toward curated spaces, toward a global conversation shaped by institutions and carefully constructed narratives. The energy was palpable. Artists, curators, collectors, students, and visitors moved through the exhibitions with a sense of urgency, aware of the temporary nature of what they were witnessing.
When I returned after the Biennial had closed in early 2026, the atmosphere had shifted. The crowds had dispersed, the works dismantled, and the carefully orchestrated experience had dissolved into memory. What remained, however, was something far more constant, something that had not required an opening, nor acknowledged a closing. Just outside the pavilion walls, and throughout the city, another exhibition persisted.
It is not ticketed, not curated in the traditional sense, and not confined to opening hours. It unfolds across highways, underpasses, towering façades, and the dense urban fabric of São Paulo. It is the city’s graffiti, arguably one of the most vibrant urban art scenes in the world.
While some of the most prestigious galleries I visited, including Galeria Vermelho, Zipper Galleria, Gomide&Co among many others, were already preparing their programs for Art Basel in June, carefully selecting works destined to circulate within the global art market, it was this ever-present, democratic form of artistic expression that stayed with me most powerfully. Graffiti in São Paulo does not wait for an audience; it meets people where they are: in traffic, in transit, in the everyday rhythm of a city that is famously vast and not easily walkable.
São Paulo’s graffiti scene has deep roots in the late 20th century, emerging alongside political and social tensions that shaped Brazil’s urban identity. Initially intertwined with pichação, a distinct tagging style characterized by cryptic, vertical lettering, graffiti developed as both a form of resistance and a declaration of presence. It was, and remains, a way of claiming space in a city marked by inequality. One of the most emblematic sites of this evolution is Beco do Batman, Batman Alley, a labyrinthine alleyway in the Vila Madalena neighborhood that has become an open-air gallery. Unlike the more spontaneous interventions scattered across the city, it operates as a living archive, continuously repainted, revisited, and reimagined by artists from Brazil and around the world. It is both a destination and a process, where creation is visible in real time, reinforcing the idea that graffiti is not static but in constant dialogue with its environment.
Over time, what began as marginal and often criminalized evolved into one of the most respected and visually sophisticated urban art movements in the world. Today, artists such as Os Gêmeos, the twin brothers, have achieved international acclaim. Their dreamlike yellow figures, rooted in Brazilian culture and folklore, appear not only on São Paulo’s walls but in museums and galleries worldwide, including in Boston. Similarly, Eduardo Kobra is known for monumental, hyper-colorful murals that transform entire city blocks into kaleidoscopic narratives. Artists like Nina Pandolfo bring a more intimate, poetic sensibility, introducing feminine figures that carry both delicacy and strength, while the works integrate Indigenous references and social commentary, bridging ancestral narratives with contemporary urban expression. These artists are no longer confined to the margins, they are collected, exhibited, and commissioned globally. Yet their work in the streets retains a vitality that cannot be replicated within institutional walls.
Graffiti in São Paulo has always carried a political charge. Whether addressing social inequality, environmental concerns, or cultural identity, the city’s walls function as an open forum. Unlike gallery spaces, where access can be limited by geography or economics, graffiti is radically inclusive. In a city where disparities are visible and deeply felt, graffiti becomes both a mirror and a voice. It resists the commodification that often defines the art market, even as some of its practitioners move fluidly between street and institution. There is a persistent tension between recognition and authenticity, between permanence and ephemerality.
The question then arises: is the broader art world ready to fully embrace graffiti? There are signs of transformation. At last year’s Art Basel in Switzerland, the façade of the Messe Basel convention center, the very site of one of the art world’s most influential fairs, was transformed by a large-scale intervention by Katharina Grosse. Known for her immersive environments created with industrial spray guns, Grosse does not identify as a graffiti artist, yet her practice unmistakably echoes the language of the street, gestural, expansive, and unapologetically public. Her temporary work disrupted the polished neutrality of the fair, introducing an urban immediacy into a highly controlled environment. Whether this signals a deeper shift or remains a symbolic gesture is still an open question.
While walking in one of the busiest city centers, I encountered a striking mural featuring characters from the animated series Arcane, created by São Paulo-based artist Bruno Mota. Rendered with cinematic precision and scale, the work stands comfortably alongside the city’s most iconic murals while introducing a distinctly contemporary layer of visual culture. Seeing these globally recognized figures reinterpreted within São Paulo’s urban landscape was a reminder of how fluid graffiti culture has become. It absorbs influences from gaming, film, and digital media, translating them into something immediate and site-specific. In this context, the mural is not simply an act of homage, it becomes a dialogue between global pop culture and local identity, expanding the boundaries of what street art can reference and communicate.
What struck me most during my time in São Paulo was not only the scale or quality of the graffiti, but the way it is received. Paulistas do not merely tolerate it, they value it. There is a shared understanding that these works contribute to the city’s identity, softening its density, interrupting its monotony, and offering moments of reflection amid the chaos.
In this sense, graffiti offers something that even the most ambitious biennials and art fairs struggle to achieve — continuity. It is an exhibition without an end date, constantly evolving, layered, and rewritten. As galleries prepare their presentations for international fairs, and institutions continue to shape contemporary discourse, São Paulo’s streets suggest another model, art that is immediate, art that is public, art that belongs to everyone. The works at the Biennial may disperse, their presence becoming memory, but the city’s walls remain active, painted over, reimagined, contested, and reborn. Perhaps that is the true exhibition, one that we do not visit, but inhabit.
(To learn more about the murals of São Paulo, Brazil, visit buenosairesstreetart.com.)