1UP
1UP is one of Berlin’s best-known graffiti crews. Since 2003, the name – short for One United Power – has appeared on rooftops, subway trains, building facades and trains across Berlin, and later around the world.
To us, 1UP is art, subculture and part of Berlin’s history. To others, it’s vandalism. Both are part of the story.
Who is 1UP Berlin?
1UP stands for “One United Power” and is a Berlin graffiti crew that has been active since 2003. The crew became known through large-scale graffiti, painted trains, international actions and an unusually collective way of working.
What does One United Power stand for?
One United Power roughly means “a united force.” Within the crew’s own understanding, community, friendship, action and solidarity matter more than individual names or personal recognition.
How Did People Know 1UP?
Alright, friends,
before we talk about international exhibitions, films or politics, I should probably explain something.
I grew up in Berlin-Friedrichshain near Oberbaum Bridge.
And if you grow up there, you can’t really avoid graffiti – and definitely not 1UP.
For a long time, graffiti in Berlin wasn’t really something I thought about. It was just there.
At the stations along the U1. On high-rises and rooftops along the Ringbahn. On prefab apartment blocks, across the city centre and at subway stations. Later, within sight of the new A100.
There was always something written somewhere. There was always colour somewhere.
And this almost sounds funny today, but honestly, it took me a surprisingly long time to realise that none of it was actually allowed.
Not because someone explained that to me.
But because it never felt like something foreign.
Back then, a lot of people in my class didn’t know 1UP from documentaries or the internet.
They knew it through older siblings, through graffiti shops around Warschauer Straße, through Berlin hip-hop, or simply because you kept seeing the lettering everywhere.
Why Graffiti Was Just Everyday Life for Many Berliners
Especially in the late 2000s, people talked a lot out on the streets.
Who had painted somewhere.
Which crew was active.
Who got caught.
Who had done a new rooftop piece somewhere.
And in my surroundings back then, it sometimes felt like either everyone painted themselves or at least knew someone who was part of a crew.
Shoutout to Philipp and SAL.
Today, it sometimes sounds bigger when you tell it than it probably really was.
Back then, it was just everyday life.
And that’s exactly why 1UP isn’t a great starting point for me if you want to write a classic street art blog.
Because 1UP didn’t start with art.
It started with Berlin.
With a Berlin that in the early 2000s was still noticeably rougher than it is today.
And as a Berliner, I’d say it’s almost mandatory to watch this 1UP documentary as well.
Why Could 1UP Only Have Happened in Berlin?
The short answer: Because Berlin in the early 2000s was a different city.
Not empty. Not lawless.
But with a lot more space in between.
More rooftops, more vacant lots, more buildings nobody immediately turned into something profitable. More corners where nobody was instantly responsible.
And in a city like that, you rarely get just a graffiti crew.
You get a mindset.
1UP was founded in Berlin in September 2003 and started as a small circle that later became a larger collective. The exact number of members was always intentionally left unclear.
Sometimes people talked about around ten members, sometimes many more.
But that was never really the important part:
It wasn’t individual names that were supposed to be visible – just three letters. 1UP.
What’s interesting is that the crew never really defined itself through traditional graffiti rules.
In interviews, they describe something that almost sounds unusual for a scene that often revolves around names, styles and recognition:
You don’t become a member through talent.
Not because someone paints especially beautiful letters.
But through time.
Through trust.
Through travelling.
Through friendship.
Through shared experiences.
The crew describes itself more as a family than an organisation.
Whoever films, keeps watch, opens doors or paints – belongs.
Decisions seem to come more from consensus than hierarchy.
That maybe also explains why 1UP felt different from the image many people have from the outside.
If you’ve never had anything to do with graffiti, you often first think of the individual graffiti writer.
The lonely guy in a hoodie.
The interviews show something else instead:
Group dynamics.
Logistics.
Coordination.
Trust.
Why the Action Mattered More to 1UP Than the Finished Graffiti
And sometimes it was 20 people for an action that was over after ninety seconds.
What’s surprising is how little it was often about the perfect result.
The crew themselves describe situations where a wholetrain ran out of paint, lines weren’t finished or details got forgotten – and the action was still considered successful.
Because for them, the work didn’t only happen on the train.
It started while planning.
While filming.
While keeping watch.
On the way back together.
And maybe that’s exactly where something very Berlin comes in.
Today, a lot of people connect Berlin with clubs, start-ups or cafés.
But a big part of this city was built over decades through appropriation.
Open spaces.
Temporary use.
Squatted houses.
Doing things yourself.
Not waiting.
1UP themselves name old Kreuzberg, open spaces, multiculturalism and even Ton Steine Scherben as influences behind that way of thinking.
That doesn’t mean everyone has to agree with that mindset.
But without this city, 1UP probably never would have happened.
And without 1UP, the history of Berlin graffiti would look different today.
Why Is 1UP Everywhere in Berlin?
The short answer: Because visibility was never accidental.
1UP never tried to paint in hidden places.
Quite the opposite.
Rooftops.
Trains.
Building facades.
High points.
Places you see every day without actively looking for them.
A lot of their work took the form of so-called throw-ups – fast, large-scale lettering – often combined with rollers, fire extinguishers or other techniques used to cover as much surface as possible in a short amount of time.
Silver often played a special role: strong coverage, strong reflection, high visibility.
When you look at photos of 1UP today, some actions almost feel like finished media productions.
But that’s exactly part of the story.
1UP understood early on that graffiti would eventually stop ending at the wall.
Films.
Documentation.
Distribution.
In 2011, they released their film One United Power, documenting actions across different countries, and it was later even shown in cinemas.
Years later came exhibitions, books and international collaborations.
And still, the city always remained visible.
Not as a backdrop.
But as the origin.
Why Berliners Often See 1UP Differently Than Visitors
I still remember my time at Kunsthaus Tacheles pretty well.
I must have been around 14 or 15. We used to go there a lot.
Not because there was a programme.
Not because some event had been announced.
But simply because you could just go there.
Walk around.
Spend time.
Watch people.
Today that almost sounds made up, but back then it was a pretty normal afternoon.
And at the same time, not normal at all.
Tacheles was full of the strangest people.
Artists.
Tourists.
Homeless people.
Dealers.
People where you never really knew whether they worked there, lived there or had simply been sitting there for three days.
And still, you surprisingly often had good conversations there.
That’s where I saw my first live 1UP bombing.
Not as some big spectacle.
Not with people holding up their phones.
More just in passing.
Like a lot of things happened in Berlin back then.
And that’s also where I bought my first 1UP photocopies.
Large murals.
Black and white.
Pretty simple.
And later, my first graffiti DVD.
Today that almost feels absurd.
Back then, to me, it was simply a souvenir from a world that felt completely open and completely closed at the same time and left a huge impression on me growing up.
Maybe that’s also one reason why a lot of Berliners look at 1UP differently from many visitors.
Tourists often see the finished image.
The spot.
The rooftop edge.
The photo.
A lot of Berliners remember what came before.
The conversations.
The rumours.
The walks along the U1.
The friends with paint stains on their shoes.
And at some point you realise:
These three letters have been everywhere for years.
And you never really thought about why.
How Did Berlin Graffiti Suddenly Become Global Culture?
The short answer: Because 1UP never only painted walls in Berlin – they understood early on that graffiti could also be movement, documentation and a shared experience.
When people think of Berlin graffiti, they quickly think of the Ringbahn, RAW-Gelände, the U-Bahn, North Side Gallery, East Side Gallery or rooftop spots.
But at some point, 1UP stopped appearing only in Berlin.
Athens.
Paris.
Istanbul.
Thailand.
Cuba.
Australia.
Indonesia.
Belgium.
Puerto Rico.
New York.
Milan.
Tokyo.
And probably many more places than ever became publicly known.
What’s interesting is that travelling with 1UP was never described like classic street art tours.
In interviews, members repeatedly talk about how travelling was often a mix of holiday, a week of action and time spent together.
Sometimes with 20 people.
Not hotels.
Not sightseeing.
But paint, buckets, new places and the attempt not to be a spectator somewhere on the other side of the world.
Why 1UP Exported More Than Berlin Graffiti
The crew describe it themselves in a pretty beautiful way:
Not walking through a city like a passive tourist.
But becoming part of the street.
Maybe that also explains why 1UP was perceived differently internationally than many classic graffiti crews.
They didn’t just export lettering.
They exported a Berlin idea.
Being out together.
Taking risks together.
Reading the city differently.
Becoming visible.
And at some point, Berlin graffiti suddenly became something that appeared in exhibitions, photo books and cinemas.
In 2011, the film One United Power was released, documenting actions in different countries and premiering at Babylon.
Later came exhibitions – including at Urban Spree – as well as the international exhibition One Week with 1UP together with street art photographer Martha Cooper and an accompanying book.
And still, what’s interesting is how surprisingly little the crew talks about career.
More about travelling.
About people.
About time spent together.
About the next destination.
Maybe that’s exactly why, at some point, three letters became more than Berlin graffiti.
Is 1UP Art or Vandalism?
The short answer: For some, 1UP is part of Berlin’s urban culture. For others, it’s illegal vandalism. And for more than 20 years, the story of the crew has existed somewhere between those two positions.
This is probably the question you can’t fully resolve when it comes to 1UP.
And maybe you shouldn’t.
Because no matter how you feel about graffiti – 1UP doesn’t exist without that conflict.
Most of the crew’s well-known actions happened without permission.
Trains, subway trains, facades, rooftops and other surfaces were painted against the wishes of the owners.
As a result, there were investigations, criminal complaints and public debates over the years.
At the same time, the crew remained anonymous and difficult to pin down.
And this is where it becomes interesting.
Because 1UP themselves reject the idea of destruction.
In interviews, members describe their work more as an intervention in public space.
The logic behind it:
A wall isn’t destroyed – it’s changed.
Costs only arise when it gets cleaned.
At the same time, advertising in public space is described as another force shaping the city – just legal and paid for.
You don’t have to agree with that.
But you should understand that an entire way of thinking grows from it.
Not: “We make pictures.”
But: “Who owns the city?”
And that isn’t a new Berlin question.
If you look at Berlin’s history, it keeps coming back.
In squatted houses.
In clubs.
In temporary use.
In open spaces.
In the question of who gets to be visible.
1UP didn’t invent that discussion.
But they carried it out with paint.
I notice myself that I find this question difficult.
Not because I don’t have an answer.
But because I grew up with something different.
For a long time, as a Berliner, graffiti never felt unusual to me.
Not automatically like art.
But not automatically like destruction either.
Why 1UP Never Fully Wanted to Become Part of the Art World
It was simply part of the city.
Like BVG seats.
Like Spätis.
Like construction sites.
Like that one fire wall that somehow never stayed empty for years.
Only much later do you realise that other cities look completely different.
And that visitors sometimes stop in front of things you yourself walked past for years.
What’s also interesting is that 1UP themselves never seemed particularly interested in fully moving into the art world.
Yes – there were films.
Exhibitions.
Books.
Collaborations.
Sales.
But even there, a lot of it feels surprisingly pragmatic.
In interviews, members speak pretty openly about how income from exhibitions partly funded travel, lawyers or fines.
Not as some big business model – more as a way to stay independent.
And maybe that also explains why 1UP still feels different from many street art projects today.
It didn’t come from the desire to sell art.
It came from the desire to be visible.
And at some point, for some people, it became art anyway.
For others, it still hasn’t.
What Many People Don’t Know About 1UP
The short answer: There’s far more planning, organisation and everyday routine behind the images than most people assume.
From the outside, many actions look spontaneous.
The sources paint a different picture.
Masks.
Gloves.
Preparation.
Division of roles.
Sometimes lookouts.
Sometimes people only there to film.
Sometimes people only there to secure escape routes.
The crew don’t describe their actions as kamikaze.
More as calculated risk.
What matters isn’t that someone becomes a hero.
What matters is that everyone comes back.
I also found the Covid period interesting.
While for many people the city became quiet, members describe almost the opposite when looking back.
Less traffic.
More parked trains.
Less security.
More opportunities.
Looking back, they described that period almost like an endless summer.
Making plans spontaneously.
Being out every day.
They said they rarely painted as many subway trains as they did during that time.
There Are People Behind 1UP Graffiti
And then there’s this other layer from the Tagesspiegel profile.
That was almost the strongest part for me.
Not because of the action.
But because of one observation:
That at some point, some people start reading the city differently.
Not buildings.
Not landmarks.
But rooftops.
Fences.
Lines.
Escape routes.
And at some point, Berlin itself becomes the stage.
Later, the same source also describes doubt.
First job.
Office.
Normal working hours.
And the honest question:
If I had to decide again today – would I become a graffiti writer again?
The answer was surprisingly short:
“No.”
Maybe that’s the most honest part of the whole story in the end.
That behind one of Berlin’s best-known graffiti crews, there aren’t any superheroes.
Just people getting older.
Is 1UP Political?
The short answer: Yes – at least in recent years, much more visibly than before. But graffiti remained their tool, not just their style.
If you only know 1UP through large silver lettering, trains or rooftops, you’re missing part of the story.
Because at some point, messages started appearing alongside the name.
Not always.
Not exclusively.
But visible enough that even within the scene, people talked about it.
Political references existed earlier too – including actions against the G8.
Later, their political positioning became much more public.
Back then, 1UP released a video for the campaign Leave No One Behind.
It showed large-scale actions in public space – including the same slogan.
The message was directed against racism, social injustice and political developments that the crew themselves described as dangerous.
At the same time, it aimed to draw attention to the situation of refugees.
Shortly afterwards, more political actions followed.
Names of victims of right-wing violence.
Later, a train carrying George Floyd’s last words:
“I can’t breathe”.
What’s interesting isn’t only the message.
But the reaction.
Because the crew themselves say that the response wasn’t only positive.
There was pushback too.
Partly from people who liked their graffiti – but not their political position.
At first, that seems contradictory.
But maybe it shows something bigger than graffiti.
That visibility is often celebrated until it suddenly becomes clear what someone stands for.
And this is where something became clear to me that I’d never really thought about before:
1UP never defined itself through style alone.
Political Graffiti Is Still Graffiti
In many interviews, similar ideas keep appearing again and again.
Friendship.
Solidarity.
Community.
Family.
Travelling.
Collective.
Maybe that also explains why political statements eventually don’t feel like a break.
But more like a continuation.
Not:
First graffiti.
Then politics.
But:
First public intervention.
Then different messages.
And at the same time, the question remains open whether everyone has to like that.
Of course not.
Political graffiti is still graffiti.
Political statements in public space are still interventions.
And still, it would be historically inaccurate to act as if Berlin graffiti never had political layers.
The city had those long before 1UP.
Building facades.
Squatted houses.
Slogans.
Walls.
Borders.
Berlin was never completely neutral.
Maybe that’s why 1UP feels so typically Berlin to many people.
Not because everyone agrees with the messages.
But because for decades the city has been used to opinions not existing only on posters.
Could Something Like 1UP Still Exist Today?
The short answer: Probably yes – but probably not in the same way.
1UP started in 2003.
A Berlin before TikTok.
Before constant phone cameras.
Before content.
Before many of today’s ownership structures.
Before the version of Berlin that often gets sold today.
Of course, there were already rules, reports, surveillance and conflicts back then.
But in many places, the city still had more gaps.
More vacant lots.
More open spaces.
More rooftops nobody photographed.
More places where things simply happened.
1UP themselves describe in interviews how Berlin has changed.
More commercialisation.
More ownership logic.
More cleaned surfaces.
More spaces that are managed instead of used.
At the same time, they criticise that advertising in public space is often accepted as normal, while graffiti is generally treated as a disturbance.
Their view of the graffiti scene itself is interesting too.
They see the risk that graffiti becomes more commercialised and that, in the long run, Berlin loses something that once defined the city.
And while writing this, I notice myself wondering whether I would even grow up the same way today.
Has Berlin Changed – or Just the Way We Look at It?
Would I still ride along the U1 today and see the same names everywhere?
Would I still disappear into Tacheles with friends?
Would I still buy photocopies of murals somewhere?
Or would I save an Instagram post instead and keep walking?
Maybe we all romanticise our youth a little.
But I think something else really has changed:
Back then, I often felt like things in Berlin simply happened.
Today, I more often feel like things get announced.
And that’s exactly why I find 1UP interesting as a story.
Not because I think everything about it is good.
Not because I chase every piece of graffiti.
Not because I think rules don’t matter.
But because those three letters show something that so many Berlin blogs leave out completely:
Cities aren’t created only through architecture.
Not only through investment.
Not only through landmarks.
But also through people who want to be visible.
Some with permission.
Others without.
Whether you call that art or not is something everyone has to decide for themselves.
But to claim that 1UP has nothing to do with Berlin’s history probably wouldn’t do the city justice.
And maybe in the end, that’s the difference between a tourist’s view and a Berliner’s view.
A lot of visitors see graffiti.
A lot of Berliners suddenly see a period of time.
Berlin isn’t a sight. Berlin is a city.
See you in the honest Berlin – or here in the next blog.
Take care 🖤
MANY OF THE IMAGES IN THIS ARTICLE ARE EXAMPLE IMAGES AND DO NOT ORIGINATE FROM THE ARTISTS MENTIONED.
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