At thirty years old, Barry McGee already has a prolific body of work. He's widely known in San Francisco for his graffiti art. He was formally introduced to the public in 1992, when he was commissioned to paint the facade of the Center For The Arts at Yerba Buena Gardens. After that, people started to recognize his tag, Twist, in muni tunnels and on dilapidated buildings. And, they began to notice his drawings of droopy, sad mugs decorating store fronts along the middle, void section of Market Street.

Nowadays, Barry McGee has been making a name for himself indoors, within the walls of art houses. His recent works consist mostly of detailed paintings of aging characters surrounded by urban vice. These works spurred the prestigious Society for the Encouragement of Contemporary Art to honor him with a current show at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

It's 1:05 p.m. when Barry calls down from his workshop window. As planned, I've been waiting outside his studio: a brick warehouse with no door bell nor any sign whatsoever that this building is home to one of San Francisco's strongest, young artists. The behind-the-scenes process of art is something the average non-artist isn't privy to. So it is amazing for me to be allowed to enter his studio.

In the sun-filled main room, his art is everywhere; it lines the walls (framed, unframed, old stuff, works in progress) and the floor. It's a mess; a testimony to how hard he works. And so I am a little overwhelmed. Whereas at the museum, I was simply awestruck by the vastness of his talent and humored by his "finished" art.

Barry has had numerous distinctive showings and awards, yet he is incredibly modest. He doesn't have a dire need to explain his art work. On the contrary, one truly gets the feeling that he speaks through his art. When I ask Barry about his successes, he prefers to speak of graffiti or hobo train writing (yes, hobos still exist). Hobos use an oil-based chalk to make their simple, sketch-like drawings on trains. He admires the freeness in their work, an attribute he doesn't feel he possesses in his art.

Graffiti, Barry says, is one of the arts that kids are truly interested in. They study it, execute it. Graffiti has everything any other art form has. Yet, ultimately, they have to stop doing it because society does not approve of graffiti as "art." Maybe kids will be inspired by the path Barry is taking. But that's not to say that he has somehow graduated from street art into the adult world of museums and galleries.

In the giant mural at SFMOMA, the random sepia brown objects and characters are floating in red space. It's obvious that Barry doesn't leave street writing behind; the writing is here, literally, on the walls of this sanctioned museum. Thirty feet long, the mural is boldly positioned in front of the third floor staircase; it's hardly a hidden piece. And, because Barry has always been attracted to the temporary aspect of graffiti, the mural was painted directly on the wall. At the end of the exhibit, the museum will simply paint over it.

One senses that Barry will remain true to his roots because graffiti is his passion. He truly believes in the power and value of street art, in terms of self-expression and also as an improvement to urban living. According to Barry, it adds color, interest, and variety to an otherwise bland, concrete cityscape.

Close to two hours have passed discussing Barry's life and work when we wrap it up. Walking home, I find myself with a much greater appreciation for the tags and pieces that make up our cities' muraled walls.