From escapism to passion, Cabaio Spirito's street art journey began amidst Argentina's economic crisis. Late nights after restaurant shifts, Cabaio and his friend Nico discover stenciling; they transform streets into canvases. At first, its perceived as vandalism. But in a Palermo basement show, an epiphany: can a hobby be art? Can it reach down and stir something deeper? As Buenos Aires embraces muralism, Cabaio's work is evolving too—absorbing the city's energy, reveling in its conducive conditions. A revolution, Cabaio reflects, needn't be grandiose; art revolutionized his own life—from sadness to joy, waiter to artist. Now, teaching stenciling in El Barrio Mugica, Cabaio witnesses art's rippling power—a tool for perspective, for myth-breaking, for envisioning better worlds.
Cabaio Spirito is a street artist from Buenos Aires, Argentina. He began painting in the streets following the Argentine economic crisis of 2001 as part of the stencil collective Vomito Attack, a politically motivated group who used stencil art to unleash political commentary and anti-consumerist messages throughout Buenos Aires. Departing from Vomito Attack in 2005, he adopted the name Cabaio Stencil and began creating independently. Known for his immensely colorful collage-style murals, Cabaio Spirito uses hand-carved stencils to create the images, textures, shapes, symbols, and typography that are superimposed in his highly intimate, yet socially engaged murals. To date, Cabaio Spirito has exhibited in galleries around the world from Argentina and Brazil to the United States and Indonesia.”​
Anya Miller  is a student at the University of Pennsylvania studying Sociology and Design. More importantly, she is a student of life—on a radical journey of learning and unlearning, each and everyday. As a human and as a scholar, Anya is passionate about the intersection of art and activism; public art and spatial production; ethnographic research, podcasting, and photography; social justice curation; and intersectionality. She hopes to continue gathering knowledge from the animate and inanimate environment that surrounds her in hopes of, one day, utilizing her energetic passion for humanity to leave this world a better place than she found it.

English Translated Script

Ep. 1: Cabaio (Script)

AM 
What began as a creative way to escape from the realities of Argentina’s economic crisis in 2001 quickly became a passion for Cabaio Spirito. 
Welcome to Season 2 of Reckoning and Repair: The Art of Resistance in Argentina. In this season, we explore the stories and legacy of art activists from Bueno Aires and beyond. This is your host, Anya Miller, a lifelong scholar, activist, and admirer of art. I invite you to be present as we dive in.
A street artist, born and raised in Buenos Aires, Cabaio Spirito’s murals have taken the world by storm as he has exhibited works across Argentina, Brazil, the United States, and Indonesia.

CS
20 years ago, I worked in a restaurant at night. I had a coworker, Nicolás, and we always went to his house after work to have a beer or something. It was hard for us to go to sleep after working until two in the morning; we had too much energy, even though it was well past time to rest.
And one day, Nico showed me Banksy and that he was going out to do stenciling around his city. I said to him, “I would love that!” So, we started to make stencils using pieces of metal and a utility knife. And instead of going to his house, we began to go out together to paint at night. 
 
AM
Known for his immensely colorful collage-style murals, Cabaio Spirito has bravely endeavored to use street art as a tool to reimagine the use of public space and to reappropriate its resources—to both literally and figuratively make his mark on the world. In our conversation, we discuss Cabaio Spirito’s journey to becoming an artist, how the street art scene in Buenos Aires has shifted over the past few decades, and we end with an interesting dialogue on the power of art as a changemaker.


CS
Back then, there wasn’t much street art in Buenos Aires or at least much less than now. Back then, the public saw it as strange or as vandalism, and sometimes, they did not react very well to it. 
But for us, it was for fun more than anything else. It wasn't like art. It was really just to mess around—to make a change, to do something different in my life, not in the world in general. Just to have something different in my own life. I wanted to put an end to the feeling that I was defined by my job at the restaurant. It all started as fun, and today I live by that.

AM 
I really admire how your art practice emerged as a form of play. Hearing you speak made me wonder about when that shifted for you and how you eventually came to see the work that you were doing as “art”. 

CS
Pretty early on—in 2002, I think it was—we had a show in Palermo in a basement. And there, I told Nico that I didn’t quite understand the point of having a show because,     again, we were just two friends having fun with stencils at the time. And well, talking there with Nicolás, I began to see things—like really see things—for the first time. We had never really talked about the fact that what we were doing was in fact artistic, at least not with each other; but there, in that moment, I began to decipher that this stenciling thing we were doing could be—and should be—called art, and I also realized that day that I loved doing it. I was passionate about something. 
And that's when I started to realize that maybe I was an artist and that the public saw the work that I was creating as “art.” Something that I saw as a hobby rather than as something more serious… Well, it was serious too! I took it seriously, that is. When I went out to paint, I wanted to paint well. I didn’t just do it to do it. If I did it, I wanted to do it right, and so that night in Palermo, I recognized that I was creating art. I had become an artist.

AM 
I find his moment of reckoning to be so beautiful because not only did you begin to see yourself as an artist, but you mention that others did too. Was this shift in perspectives towards street art a trend that was happening more broadly across Buenos Aires at the time, as well?

CS
When I started painting, I was always told, “You are a vandal,” and today, I am doing almost the same exact thing— but now I am told, “You are an artist.” So, I think the perceptions of the people changed: to acceptance. And then, brands and galleries began to soak up all that new energy, and they began to cash in on it. I think that the people began to truly see street art for what it is; it became more and more common, and more people began to get involved.

There has always been muralism, but now there has been an explosion in the last 10 years. There's just more people, more access, more support. It flew open like a fan and also the reception of it all—on all sides. Now you see new places to paint — breweries and other businesses and buildings—everywhere. Muralism has exploded on the streets here in Buenos Aires.

AM 
Walking through Buenos Aires, it is hard to imagine that it was ever a place without street art. It is just so fundamental to the fabric of the city today. Keeping this shift in mind, can you discuss how your work has transformed Buenos Aires, and how, in turn, Buenos Aires has transformed your art?

CS
Truthfully Buenos Aires has transformed my works more than my works have transformed Buenos Aires. I don’t believe for one second that my works have transformed anything. I mean, a mural can transform at most a block with something big that is almost impossible to miss, but the majority of people—the 99 percent—don’t see murals everyday. It is seen by the 1 percent that crosses paths with it there. So, no, my works don’t transform Buenos Aires; maybe a street block, maybe a person here and there, but all of Buenos Aires? No.

And, Buenos Aires certainly--well, obviously—shapes my works because many of the murals are based on images taken from Buenos Aires and its cityscapes. And I’m a guy from Buenos Aires who absorbs all of its energy and spirit. That’s how this city affects me.
 
And then, it has some good qualities that are attractive to street artists, like me. For example, Buenos Aires, for the most part, offers a lot of peace of mind for painting.  I mean, the weather is really good, right? There are so many places in the world where it is impossible to paint because of snow and other weather conditions, but not here.

The police are very permissive here too. That gives you even more peace of mind, frees you from some of the worries that street artists elsewhere face. I’ve been to New York, I’ve painted there. And, what I realized is that New York has much more graffiti—vandalism, as they put it—than murals; way, way more. They don’t allow for creativity in the same way; they have an anti-vandal squad, the police are cracking down in a way that has never been true of my art practice in Buenos Aires. There is a different kind of adrenaline rush here; you can paint what you want, and nothing happens at the hands of the police.

Each place influences the artist. Each place has its thing, its own rules. What can you do? What can’t you do? When? And socially too, what has been deemed acceptable? In this way, the street art culture in Buenos Aires has undoubtedly transformed my art.

AM 
In thinking about how Buenos Aires and how art, more broadly, have transformed your life, it made me consider how art can, in turn, transform the world. Do you view art as a source of revolution?

CS
Well, art can be a revolution, but on a small scale only. For example, it has been a complete revolution in my life. Starting to make stencils and going out and creating has changed my life. When I was working as a waiter every day and every night, I was just consumed with sadness; the working conditions were poor, I was poor, and I had no future—nothing to look forward to in that place. It was a waste of time, a waste of life. Nowadays, I’m almost always happy because I’m almost always painting; it makes me feel so content, so at peace. To me, that’s a revolution.
 
It might not be something so big or all-encompassing, but art can and does create waves in this world. It certainly has in my world.

AM 
I really like the idea of an internal revolution and how you conceptualized the pursuit of happiness as a revolutionary, in itself. I wonder now:  can art transcend the personal to create social change?

CS
I don’t know if ‘change’ is the best word, but I’d prefer to think of it as a tool, maybe? For example, I am currently teaching a workshop in El Barrio Mugica, a very humble neighborhood in Buenos Aires.

AM 
El Barrio Mugica, formerly known as Villa 31, is one of the most infamous slums in Buenos AIres, Argentina. Although the neighborhood is bounded by Retiro, one of Buenos Aires’ most affluent areas, the reality of life in El Barrio is bleak for its 40,000 residents with no official sewage system, running water, or connection to the city’s power grid. 

CS
My goal is that they can learn this art of stenciling, and that they can use it as another tool like writing or reading. Through this, they develop new perspectives; they feel empowered, and it affects me too to do something good for others—to help them see the potential for change. It makes you see and believe in yourself. That's what happened to me through this experience. 

Reflecting on these workshops has brought me a little closer to what art is. Everyone can use it for whatever: for their business, to put up posters in the barrio, anything. But it can also be used to break myths and barriers—to challenge the idea that art is only for certain people that have all of these resources and training. You can make art no matter who you are.

So you asked about whether art can create a social change, I think in some ways yes. It can change a little here and a little there, and before you know it, art has really started to become a tool for envisioning a better world. That’s my hope at least.

AM 
It is such a great reminder that big change starts small, and it starts from within. I really appreciate you for sharing your journey as an artist today and for reflecting on the immense power that art can hold.

Thank you for listening to Reckoning and Repair, a Center for Experimental Ethnography podcast. You can learn more and listen to extras at rnrphilly.com. 

Cabaio Spirito: Audio Credits (in the order in which they appear)