Until recently, he made money at a square job. He was recently laid off, which has allowed him to pursue his art career full time. Despite the recognition and the gallery representation, the money is not pouring in, but the promise is there.
Phoenix collector Treg Bradley already has picked up some of the collaborations with Hector Ruiz, and gallerist Bentley Calverley says she's pricing the work at anywhere from $3,800 to $38,000, but that will be for canvases offered in November. She's allowing Ruiz and DOSE to operate out of the Bentley Projects as they pump out the art.
Jamie Peachey
Jamie Peachey
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Meanwhile, DOSE has to deal with people talking smack about him on the streets.
"Some other graffiti artists think I'm selling out," he says. "I want to tell them, 'Hey, you're not paying my bills, so why would I care about what you think.' I don't pay attention to all the hate and criticism. I think it's fucking stupid."
By all rights, DOSE should have nothing to prove. He started writing when he was 11, inspired by graffiti he saw on the freeways in Los Angeles. Though he had been into sports until then, sports didn't provide the same adrenaline rush as graffiti. He began by writing ASTEK, his version of Aztec. Around age 13 or 14, he switched it up to DOSE because his cousin's dad used to write graffiti under that name.
He continued writing as DOSE after he moved to Phoenix, despite his father's finding out and laying into him about it. At first, his pops didn't know why all the spray paint was disappearing from his garage. When he found out what his son was up to, he was pissed.
"He hated it," DOSE says. "He talked shit to me constantly about it. 'Fucking tagger, why don't you write on your fucking face, and walk around like a dumbass, instead of writing on other people's stuff?' That's kinda how I learned that you don't disrespect other people's property. They work hard for their shit."
Indeed, DOSE is old school in the sense that he adheres to the unwritten rules governing graffiti. You don't hit homes, churches, or mom-and-pop shops. Public property, abandoned buildings, and big-name commercial businesses are fair game, though. He claims to have never written on a church or someone's home. But he acknowledges that younger, still-stupid writers known as "toys" do just that. And he doesn't like it any better than the next guy.
"If I see graffiti in my neighborhood, I buff it," he says. "I don't want graffiti on my house. I don't want it in my neighborhood. It drops the property value. But on a main street, with fucking 10 million Circle Ks and 10 million billboards? Why not?"
Over the years, he's run with a number of graffiti crews — teams of writers who watch each other's backs. The most recent was TAF, or They All Fear. DOSE has a rep on the street for not taking any crap, and he looks like he can handle himself. Slim and muscular, he stands ramrod-straight most of the time, as if he's daring you to try. Maybe it's a holdover from his time in the military. Or just the by-product of being a Latino who grew up on mean streets.
His style is heavily inspired by West Coast Mexican cholo culture, though he's flipped it and reworked it to make it his own. There's nothing pretty or subtle about his work. It's strong, in your face, and full of straight lines with jagged turns. Nor is there anything about it that's been sissified for the gallery or the museum. That's why it's astonishing that the local art world has taken to it.
"No one from Scottsdale is gonna walk in the train yard with us," DOSE says. "So why not bring the train yard with me and drop it in [somewhere] else."
Though few in Phoenix have attempted it, crossing from the graffiti world to the fine-art universe is not exactly a new idea in places like New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, or Paris.
In Gotham in the 1980s, fine-art superstars Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat became famous doing street art. And the trend only grew more popular with time, the rise of hip-hop culture (of which graffiti is a crucial element), and a plethora of success stories of street artists skirting the law and making big money.
Examples include poster-artist Shepard Fairey, driven by his "Obey Giant" campaign. Fairey's fame seemed to reach a pinnacle with his famous Hope poster of President Barack Obama, which Obama acknowledges helped him win the White House. However, success hasn't kept Fairey from getting collared, as he was on the eve of a major show of his work at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston when that city's finest arrested Fairey for past work he'd done there. The incident involving several charges of vandalism only increased Fairey's fame and street cred.
London stencil-artist Banksy is another who continues to create illegal street art, even though auction houses such as Sotheby's and Bonhams have sold his work, sometimes for hundreds of thousands of British pounds. Banksy is known for his sardonic wall etchings of Queen Victoria flashing her knickers and of masked Molotov cocktail throwers. He once hung on the walls of the Louvre, without the museum's permission, an image of the Mona Lisa with a yellow smiley face on her mug. Angelina Jolie and Christina Aguilera are among his collectors.