NYC Artist Justin Bua on UFC and the Politics of Art

Name an American pop culture legend and Justin Bua has probably painted them: Biggie Smalls, Bruce Lee, Muhammad Ali, Ronda Rousey. His work is distinct and unmissable—stretchy, almost gelatin-like characters contrasted against hard and gritty urban streets. Two of his most successful paintings—the DJ and the Piano Man II—are so widely known and distributed that you've probably already seen them on the web, or inside a bootleg art store.

But Bua is not a soft-handed painter. Born in New York City in the late sixties, Bua's childhood and teenage years were spent in Upper West-Side Manhattan, at a time when the city was considered to be a Wild West of sorts for creatives and hustlers. There was crime, drugs, and violence. His subjects, both the famous and forgotten, are reflective of that—hip-hop artists, DJs, sex workers, and fighters.

That last category is especially important, as some of Bua's paintings of major UFC fights became renowned for their depiction of some of the most visually-memorable moments in MMA history. While in Toronto last week for an art show, Bua and I sat down at a local MMA gym and chatted about his life as he sketched two sparring fighters.

VICE: What's up man, how are you?
Justin Bua: Dude, I'm the best ever. I mean, I'm drawing some of the most incredible athletes in the world right now. It's stunning.

How many times have you done this before—sketched fighters?
Well, I used to do a lot of stuff for the UFC—painted Ronda Rousey, Anderson Silva. Some of the greatest fighters in the world. Muhammad Ali signed my piece! Bruce Lee, [too]!

The painting of that Anderson Silva kick—it's incredible. When and how do you decide to isolate a moment that you're going to sketch?
I think that the most important thing for me is—like that Anderson Silva kick with Vitor Belfort—it's that moment that completely changed the game. It was that moment that he completely found the matrix. Hands got dropped, perfectly down the middle, timing was perfect. Just like telling a joke, that's what good fighting is, it's about that timing. That's what makes a great artist—rhythm and timing, when to put down the stroke.

But these moments, like that Silva kick, are instantaneous. How do you remember the scene you're seeing and sketch it true to form?
Honestly, the Silva painting was completely spontaneous. I drew it alla prima—and that was perfect, because to me, the kick was alla prima. It was direct. I love getting those super intense moments, whether it's a kick or a knee, but in some cases, you want to capture the regality or beauty of it. Like, when I painted Ronda Rousey, she's just in celebration of triumph—holding her two belts.

What about this fight in front of us now. What are you trying to draw?These girls here are like these dynamic warriors, and I'm just trying to get the essence and spirit. There's a thing with drawing where you just want to capture the spirit of the pose. I'm seeing here that dynamic, Muay Thai energy. [One fighter lands a strong left jab to the other.] You see that? See, she's moving around so much, what is the total sum of that? It may be [a single pose.] Stylistically, you got to really study what's going on. Unless it's a photograph, there's just too much movement.

When did you start getting into the UFC?
I was a very early adopter of it. I was getting into it in the nineties. I used to rent [videos] all the time from [the video store.]

What was the first fight you drew?
I believe it was the Ronda Rousey-Miesha Tate armbar. She was famous for the armbar, and I just had to paint Ronda doing the armbar. [laughs] You knew it was coming, but you just had to get it anyway.

You started off with your art immersed in street culture. How did drawing fighting differ from that?
When I first started doing hip-hop imagery, people were like, "What are you doing? No one's going to buy that." Same thing with fighting, it was the same energy. Artists had portrayed fighting in the past, but no one was really portraying MMA in the spirit of contemporary art. That's what I really wanted to capture.

I heard of a story where you apparently posed as a reporter to meet one of the UFC founders.
If that's a story you heard, it's probably true. I've always pretended to get into secret places under aliases, because you have to. I want access. I'm kind of a documentarian of sorts. If I want access to certain places, I'll lie.

Do you feel like your best work has come from being a fly on the wall?
Absolutely. I've hung out in the most insane places ever: holding cells, jails, cyphers, underground pool halls, the craziest strip clubs in the world. For me, it's all about access, and I'm not a stranger to it. In New York City, I grew up next to a [housing project,] some of my best friends were prostitutes. I was a wild, latchkey kid. I was used to lawlessness—I grew up in a lawless time. Not everybody had electricity, but we could plug [our devices] into a lamppost and bootleg [material.] That's what I'm used to.

Let's shift gears a bit. Street culture has become very mainstream as of late. How much has it changed since you started?
Street culture has definitely gone mainstream, but what hasn't is street art. Street art is still about co-opting public space, taking back the environment, and [demarcation] on environment to make it unique and individual. I think it's timeless, and I think street art is the people's art. I think of myself as a person by the people, for the people, and of the people. When you paint [street art,] you're not getting paid. You're just doing it because you have to—that's really interesting.

Off that point, street art has always been political. How do you feel about Trump's election?
Well, this election, we didn't have much of a choice. I cast my vote for Hillary. I thought she was a strong, smart woman. I thought it would be amazing to have a female as president. But now there's a lot of people commiserating and complaining [about the result]? Trump's the president now, we gotta stop complaining and see what happens. Maybe something positive will come of this.

Some people have suggested art once-again will go political under Trump.
I think so. I think there's going to be a lot of anger coming out this and people are going to want to create from that. I just feel like Trump wants to be loved. If building a wall is really popular, he'll do that. But the majority of people don't want that. Overturning Roe V. Wade? The majority of the people don't want that.

This election art, despite all the protest from artists and celebrities, didn't seem to have much of an effect. YG's "Fuck Donald Trump (FDT)" was in an echo chamber. Bryan Cranston's plea against Trump was in an echochamber. Did art fail this election?
Absolutely. I say this all the time, but the reason that Obama got elected was because all of the street art that was out there. The iconic image that Shepard Fairey did of Obama became way more potent and popular than anything, including Obama's own likeness.

We saw what America could be through that interpretation of him, and that's why we voted for him. Because it said "HOPE," and we totally connected to that image. People weren't doing art on Hillary—they just weren't. Obama was personable, he was likable. That painting became the most omnipresent image of a politician ever. When Hillary went, people were thinking, "What's going on?"

On Instagram, just hours after the election results, you posted a video of you sketching "WE'RE FUCKED." Do you still feel that way?
I mean, I was upset that Hillary didn't win, but it's just strange to think that this guy who has no experience is [becoming] president. It's like if I show up and I've never painted before, but I'm supposed to deliver a big painting. Trump is going to be shook—that meeting with Obama [made that clear.] It's an intense job. America, we're big bullies in the world, and it's going to be very scary with Trump has the head bully.

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