Artists co-opted into political battle
To be an artist in San Francisco in 2023 demands an unrelenting sense of local pride. Messy Beck, an illustrator and muralist, is one such person.
“San Francisco is such an incredible place, and it draws such amazing people with its openness,” she told me.
But, over the years, the San Francisco native has seen firsthand how the city has become less accessible to artists like her, who piece together a living through temporary gigs, applying for grants and very occasionally selling work. Amid sky-high rents and dwindling art spaces, her commitment to the city is what keeps her here.
So, when she got a call in August from the arts nonprofit Paint the Void to work on a project meant to celebrate San Francisco civic pride, it felt right to her. The $9,000 pay also helped.
During the early years of the pandemic, Beck worked with Paint the Void to beautify the facades of boarded-up storefronts. Those efforts garnered her $300 each.
She trusted Paint the Void, which bills itself as an advocate for artists, so she took the job at face value. The initial email sent to Beck by the nonprofit mentioned that it was working with “several partners,” only naming the noted public relations agency Ground Floor and its then-opaque “It All Starts Here” campaign. Launched in October to coincide with the city hosting the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation summit in November, the campaign billed itself as a $4 million attempt to rehab San Francisco’s flagging international reputation — a worthy enough goal for Beck.
But as Beck continued to learn more about the project, its scope changed several times, shifting from 11 painting events in each of the city’s districts to one extravaganza at the Crossing at East Cut. Then, to Beck’s surprise, when Paint the Void publicly announced the event, the promotional images, including photos of each artist, were splashed with logos for a group called Together SF.
Beck isn’t terminally online; only after being prompted by a friend did she dig into Together SF. She found out that the political nonprofit was founded and financed by venture capitalist Michael Moritz, a controversial figure in the middle of the effort to blame the city’s ills on a runaway Board of Supervisors and a disempowered mayor.
KT “Seibot” Seibert was also involved in the project and similarly had no idea that Together SF was involved until someone else tipped them off. They were familiar with the group: Earlier this year, Together SF approached them about participating in an “art project” to support the controversial “That’s Fentalife!” campaign. The $300,000 ad campaign has been criticized for mocking the city’s drug crisis with snarky wheat-pasted signs across the Tenderloin and South of Market.
Seibert, who works in the Tenderloin, said thanks, but no thanks.
“My whole life is helping vulnerable populations in the Tenderloin and in the San Francisco art community,” they told me. The thought of a group spending money on such a sensationalist campaign while people in the city were struggling to stay housed — and even alive — was appalling.
To their dismay, the mural project had them working with Together SF anyway. “It All Starts Here” was supposed to be about showcasing the good in San Francisco, so having the Fentalife people involved was rich.
In communications with the artists and the Chronicle, Paint the Void and Ground Floor’s Alex Tourk maintained that Together SF was only involved to the extent of helping solicit volunteers for the event.
“Paint the Void is not politically motivated,” co-founder Meredith Winner explained in an email to me. But “sometimes we ourselves do not have a clear picture regarding some of our project partners’ incentives … We relay the information that we have at hand and also give artists full creative freedom.”
Together SF CEO Kanishka Cheng told me via email that the group “shared the event with our community and offered the opportunity for people to sign up as volunteers to paint the mural,” though that marginal role doesn’t explain why its logo was all over multiple promotions, which also named the group as a co-host.
The problem, according to the artists I spoke to, was that Paint the Void wasn’t fully transparent upfront about these political partnerships. Strangely, artists were told that their murals didn’t have to be completed. They were welcome to finish them after the event — or not.
So, who or what was this art for if wasn’t meant to be finished and displayed for the public?
On the day of the mural event in October, the promotional deck that had previously named Together SF as an organizer was edited to include another political power player, Advance SF, which recently revamped itself from a business lobbying group to a nonprofit led by executives tied to the San Francisco Giants, Bank of America and several commercial real estate developers.
By the time of the event, Beck had already spent most of the money she’d been given for the project. Breaking the contract would put the possibilities of future work in jeopardy.
Seibert put it bluntly: “The money really saved me.”
So Beck complied with the assignment. But unlike the campaign itself, she was exceedingly clear about her politics. The night before the event, she sent Paint the Void her design pitch — four words painted in huge, bubbly lettering: ethical billionaires don’t exist.
A month later, Seibot and Beck still don’t know what will happen to their work. The murals they thought were intended to show civic pride and beautify communities are currently in storage, though Together SF and the “It All Starts Here” campaign did promote the less controversial murals on social media.
It’s likely that as far as the political organizations are concerned, the artwork had already served its purpose.