Without graphics we would have no books, no magazines, no workable images on the Internet, no advertising, nor any other form of visual communication that requires letters and images. On the other hand, a world without graffiti might for the most part be a pleasurable experience. Both graphic and graffito (singular of graffiti) have their roots in the Greek 'graphikos' that in Latin became graphicus, in modern Italian 'graffio' leading us to the adoption of the generalized term 'graffiti' for unwanted wall paintings or inscriptions.

Every freight train that passes, every bridge abutment, many house walls in alleyways, even walls in more public places are defaced by graffiti. It is one of the oldest forms of public expression by mostly anonymous writers or "artists" dating back to Ancient Greece and even to cave paintings from 30,000 BC. I put artists in quotation marks because it appears as if all of today's graffiti is the work of the same person regardless of the location: city, country, even continent. Applied with spray cans or markers, these images are sometimes a form of open rebellion, at other times self-indulgent vandalism, and often they are used to mark gang territory.

This unwanted graffiti grates the eye, spoils the appearance of buildings, and is a nuisance to anyone responsible for its removal. Whether it is a building owner, or even the taxpayer when it comes to public buildings, this graffiti carries a cost, financial and emotional, for general society.

Just what drives those who are responsible for this unasked-for defacement is hard to say. And yet, now and then out of all of this vandalism, a new voice comes forward, a new expression worthy of a second look, worthy of preservation.

What is interesting is that the creator has to know when he or she has enough of seeing a piece of work painted over and so is forever lost to view. This is what appears to have happened to Nick Walker, a now 40-year-old British artist, who has progressed from the sidewalk to the art studio, from building wall-graffiti to advertising, to becoming an illustrator, even a film set designer. But most of all, he has evolved into a serious artist with the use of stencils, recreated photo images, spray can in hand and a boundless sense of energy, sly humor and an ability for dead serious social commentary, but also— sadly—a bit of bigotry, and an obsession with violence, and still the street artist's rebellious, inexplissible preference for the Gothic script.

His work has appeared in solo shows and group exhibits from London to New York, Washington to Taipei and places in-between. He has also published a number of books, the latest being the subject that inspired this review. A Sequence of Events is not so much a book as a sequence of bound images that show Walker at his best and worst. These images speak for themselves. There is no text as such in this book with a couple of exception where words are part of the image. The book is also proof that graphics and graffiti, sharing the same etymology, can be effectively combined.

The book's images consist of white, shades of grey, black and the color red. All of it is very simple and straight forward, highly effective, powerful and at times repellent, depending on who will look at it. Women most likely will view Walker's female images akin to misogyny, as a form of objectification through the suggestive, but un-erotic poses. Women may also not like to be viewed as some deadly femme fatal with guns poking out of the hair. Yet, on another page they will most likely enjoy is the beautiful, yet also poison-stinged butterflies.

One smiles at his "Vandal" in a bowler hat carrying a brolly—a pure form of social satire; one is fascinated by his red ants climbing up a brick wall, saddened by the image of a hooded child, is entertained by the pigeon on a lamp post and wants to prick the balloon floating above the building next to it; one may want to own a print of his Chinese sailing junk floating on an unknown river. The key to all of this visceral want is that one has to imagine the pages as larger prints, or paintings, to feel their true power, but the bound pages of the book manages to impart what Walker intended with his art form.

Sequence of Events is a form of goodbye to Walker's most famous images, the Apish Angel and the bowler-hatted Vandal. I can't say I will miss the Apish Angel. It is just a little too close for me to the kind of unaesthetic images created by or for biker gangs by people with little or no graphic design training and a morbid sense for all things ugly and violent. As for Walker, he has said he wants to move on in his creative world. In his studio he has mood boards on which he now experiments with new ideas. As a true artist, he appears ready to take that chance.

Now his fans wait with interest to see what the former street artist will develop into as he grows a little older, perhaps a little less inclined to work on a scaffold or cherry picker at 4:00 a.m. as he has on many occasions in the past. This includes a miss-stepped piece depicting a 23-foot high 'Moona Lisa' in Los Angeles, sprayed on a building wall full of condensation. It resulted in the paint running to the point of distorting the mooning Mona Lisa so much that it received highly angry responses from passers-by. Some thought it was a rude depiction of the Virgin Mary or Jesus, and so Walker realized it had to come down very fast.

Walker's inclusion into the world of the accepted artist can once more be found in his recent London exhibit connected with the launch of the book. When I mentioned to our London correspondent, Jay Quabeck, that I was about to review this book, he revealed that Walker's prints ran around £275 each, and prospective buyers lined up for more than 10 hours to buy them. Prints not connected with this series run much higher and sell equally well. It seems the former street artist is making a living. But, at the same time, as his fame has spread, there are countless imitators of his style and manner of working. A case of imitation being the highest form of flattery, or?