Cloaked in the darkness of twilight, two stencil pirates walk nonchalantly across the deserted parking lot toward their shadowed canvas: a slab of upright concrete. The coast is clear. One continues to stand guard while the other pulls out a stencil cut from a pizza box and holds it at arm’s length against the wall. Arming himself with a can of blue spray paint, he holds down the nozzle and waves his arm across the template. As he carefully pulls the stiff board away, Colonel Sanders stares back at him, grimacing.

Across campus, multiple images of Colonel Sanders, as well as other stenciled art, mark spaces in public view. Painted spiders crawl along Jayhawk Boulevard, meandering between buildings and into women’s restrooms. Sidewalks near Haworth Hall echo the message “1 More Dead” beneath a mass grave of bodies, bloodied with spattered red paint. In front of the Art and Design Building, Sanders’ silhouette still marks the entrance, but the paint has been removed — evidence that not everyone accepts these images as legitimate art.

Stenciling is one of the oldest forms of art, dating to about 2000 B.C., says Josh MacPhee, author of Stencil Pirates: A Global Survey of Street Stenciling and a street stencil artist himself. People made prints in caves by chewing pigmented berries and spitting the color out around their hands. Artists now use stenciling as a form of self-expression.

“Today, artists are putting art on the street to contest the privatization of public spaces, and universities are removing it without asking the public their opinion on the matter. Instead of wasting time and energy removing graffiti and street stencils, the money could be better spent going towards your education,” MacPhee says.

One of the Colonel Sanders creators, a 21-year-old Lawrence resident, defends his exhibition as a contribution to the public.

“There’s stencil art all over Lawrence. In adding my own, I’m just doing my part to beautify the city,” he says.

Because street art is not profitable, he says he is driven by the exposure of his art to the world.

“How many people actually go into galleries? By forcing my art into part of the urban environment, people don’t have to go out of their way to see it. It’s right out there for everyone,” he says.

The Colonel Sanders duo and other stencil street artists paint covertly because this medium is illegal. According to Lawrence ordinance 6782, “Any person who writes, prints, marks, sprays, scratches, scrawls, paints, draws, etches or other affixes graffiti upon any property, publicly owned or privately owned, without the consent of the property owner shall be guilty of a municipal offense.” The maximum punishment upon conviction includes a $1,000 fine and a six-month imprisonment.

“I try to be respectful of private property, and I won’t paint on expensive buildings. I try to be sensitive to the surroundings, so I’m not going to go stencil on Grandpa Joe’s family farm,” the 21-year-old artist says.

Some stencil artists put their work in galleries to avoid criminal activity.

Local artist Dave Loewenstein is recognized for his vibrant murals, such as The Hobbs Mural Project on 11th and Delaware streets, but he has developed an affinity for stencil art. Loewenstein recently had an exhibition of stencil art, entitled SNAFU, Situation Normal All Fucked Up. The paper stencils were displayed at The Olive Gallery, 15 E. Eighth Street.

A popular piece in the show, “October Surprise,” featured George W. Bush and Dick Cheney making a big revelation before the November election, unmasking themselves to show morbid skulls beneath.

Stencils appeal to Loewenstein because of the ease of producing multiples of the same image to present his own messages to the public.

“We’re so bombarded with political messages from those in power and advertisers, but where’s the voice of the rest of us? I’m not saying that artists are the voice of the rest of us, but we’re at least someone,” Loewenstein says.

The message behind stencil street art is more difficult to decipher because the viewer can’t contact the artist. The Colonel Sanders image that greets you in numerous places on campus is underlined with the message “Father Figure.” It could be a comment on current politics, the fast food industry or family relations, but the artist is not letting on to any specifics.

“I try not to be overtly political or too over the top in the message. I’m subtle. I basically want to ignite people and their thoughts. I’m not supposed to tell you the whole story. It’s like a mystery or a fun game for people to try and figure it out,” he says.