Radical Love and Protest
Art Without Permission: Art is Trash and Me Lata Bring Radical Love and Protest to the Streets of Barcelona
In a time when much of the art world is locked behind gallery doors and academic institutions, two voices continue to rise from the urban wild—raw, poetic, and defiantly uninvited. The street artist Art is Trash, also known as Francisco de Pájaro, and the enigmatic duo behind Me Lata are proof that true art often grows in the margins, away from convention, money, and curated approval.
Art Born of Frustration: The Story of Art is Trash
It all started with a pile of trash. Years ago, Francisco de Pájaro—disillusioned, unemployed, and angry at a parasitic labor system—found himself facing a heap of garbage bags on the streets of Barcelona. On a whim, he transformed them into creatures. “Art is Trash” was born not out of ambition, but out of emotional necessity.
Today, his ephemeral trash sculptures have graced cities like London, New York, Berlin, and Valencia, turning public detritus into sarcastic, soulful characters. Think Banksy meets Arte Povera, or Basquiat animated inside a comic strip. Old mattresses, doors, boxes, and bags become wide-eyed beings—street monsters caught in moments of joy, fear, or protest. These figures speak, loudly and clearly, without saying a word.
Francisco’s first graffiti wasn’t even on a wall—it was on a discarded piece of furniture, painted on a whim during a video shoot. That day, the artist discovered a new way of seeing the streets—not as passive concrete but as a living gallery filled with possibilities.
Though he had painted in bars and on advertising walls in his earlier career, Francisco didn’t fully embrace street art until the age of 39. He came to Barcelona from London, drawn to what he believed was a cosmopolitan city with a welcoming artistic underground. And for a few years, it was. But by 2006, Catalan policy had shifted: street art was outlawed, performers were criminalized, and urban creativity faced mounting hostility.
Instead of backing down, Francisco fought back—with art. Outraged by police repression, censorship, corruption, and real estate speculation, he began placing disturbing sculptures in the windows of traditional art galleries. His message? “If the system wants pretty art, I’ll give it something disgusting.”
The street became his protest zone. Over the years, Art is Trash has been fined and arrested multiple times—not for damaging property, but for decorating waste. For giving garbage a soul.
And yet, his defiance is what makes his art resonate so deeply. As Francisco says, “Street art makes the authorities nervous. The system wants something permanent so it can benefit from it. But urban art is free, anarchic, and created for everyone—not for profit.”
He sees his work as punk in spirit, created without institutions or gatekeepers. And it’s precisely this freedom that makes it dangerous to those in power.
Me Lata: Love Letters in a Tin Can
If Art is Trash is the rebel in the gutter, Me Lata is the romantic with a spray can and a mission: to spread love through the streets—illegally, anonymously, and beautifully.
Me Lata is a creative duo, a pair of real-life lovers who, instead of tagging walls with their names, declare their affection in poetic street messages painted on tin cans. Spray paint cans, soda cans, food tins—any metal surface becomes a tiny billboard of tenderness. Their words are inspired by songs, poetry, and folk sayings, and their work speaks with both intimacy and impact.
“So damn incredible to love you.”
“For the love of art. For the love of you.”
“T’estimo.”
They call themselves “two ENAMORADOS” (in all caps), not artists, not graffiti writers. Their actions are illegal and fleeting, carried out with precision and stealth, like samurais in the night. They emerged, like their slogans, spontaneously—meeting in Barcelona’s El Raval and deciding to create something “original” together. Three years later, they’ve written over 500 messages across Barcelona, Badalona, and Mallorca.
They live “normal” lives during the day—working average jobs to survive capitalism—and then sneak out after dark to create their art. It’s an act of devotion, both to each other and to the world. As they describe it, it’s an addictive ritual. Once you start spreading love, how can you ever stop?
“Love messages in times of war.”
“Peace from a warrior’s heart.”
“Love first. Love real.”
“To love is a verb—it means action.”
Their next manifesto-in-a-can? “One for all and all for one.”
Street Art for the People—Not for the System
What connects Art is Trash and Me Lata is not just their medium—the street—but their spirit of resistance, poetry, and liberation. They stand in opposition to the institutional art world, to the sterile gallery, to the auction house. Their art is not for sale—it’s for anyone who walks by and sees it before it’s gone.
Both artists speak to a larger cultural truth: art is everywhere, and it belongs to everyone. Not just to those who can afford a ticket or a canvas. And in a world increasingly driven by algorithms, capital, and gatekeepers, these two remind us that the most human art might just be painted on a trash bag—or written on a can.
As Francisco de Pájaro puts it best:
“Art is art anywhere. Just because it’s in a museum doesn’t mean it’s worth more than if it’s in a garbage bag.”
