From Protest to Practice: The World of Recycled Propaganda
Written by Helene
Published on June 23rd, 2025
In an age defined by polarization, cultural anxiety, and digital overload, one artist has built a creative sanctuary in the heart of Las Vegas. Known professionally as Recycled Propaganda, Izaac Zevalking has earned a reputation for bold, graphic interpretations of global history and current affairs. His work straddles the line between protest and poetry, challenging expectations of what art should be in a world that often prefers it polite, palatable, and profitable. Grounded in catharsis, confrontation, and community, Zevalking’s art embodies visual resilience—transforming outrage into art and discomfort into dialogue.
Recycled Propaganda’s aesthetic is instantly recognizable: gritty, eye-catching, and thought-provoking. With a background in graphic design and a perspective shaped by life on both sides of the Atlantic, Zevalking delivers layered social commentary across mediums—from large-scale murals to packs of subversive stickers. “I try and focus on issues that piss me off the most,” he explains, describing his creative process as intuitive and emotionally driven. While his messages may appear political, they’re more often rooted in cultural observation than ideological persuasion. “I try to illustrate what I see in the world rather than inject my own opinions,” he says. “People look at an image and assume I’m taking a side, but I’m just showing you what’s happening.”
“I try and focus on issues that piss me off the most,” he explains
For Zevalking, the purpose of art isn’t clarity—it’s catharsis. His works act as a release valve for frustration, confusion, and anger. “The most valuable part of being an artist is having a positive and creative outlet for social anxiety,” he shares. “It’s keeping me sane.” That drive toward expression as survival intensified during the early days of COVID-19. “COVID galvanized it for me,” he reflects. “I would’ve been in a bad place if I didn’t have a way to express my dissatisfaction.” As the city shut down, he responded by painting 14 murals on boarded-up storefronts in just three weeks—turning the silence of lockdown into a form of visual resistance.
Ambiguity plays a central role in his work. Zevalking embraces the idea that a single image can evoke vastly different interpretations. “Stuff doesn’t mean just one thing to everybody. It means something different to everyone—and when those meanings are complete opposites, that’s even more of a mindfuck,” he laughs. His compositions are meticulously designed, yet they invite discomfort and personal reflection. “The longer I do this, the more I’m drawn to work that’s edgy and pisses people off. It means you’ve struck the right nerve.”
Raised between the UK and the U.S., Zevalking credits his bicontinental upbringing with shaping his critical, open worldview. Born into a creative family that encouraged independent thinking, he was taught early on to approach life with imagination. “Living between two countries makes you appreciate the nuance of perception,” he explains. “You realize that visual culture is universal—that’s why I don’t use much text in my work. It should be understandable without knowing English.”
Though his formal art education and early career were rooted in England, it was in the United States that Zevalking began to see art as a viable path. “In England, art is something you do—not necessarily something you pursue,” he says. “In America, there’s this injected entrepreneurial energy. You don’t question the value of it—you just do it.” That mindset helped him transition from side gigs to a full-time art career. A breakthrough came when he sold half his work at his first show in Las Vegas’ Arts Factory. “That night I thought, ‘Shit… maybe this is something to lean into,’” he recalls. From then on, he said yes to every opportunity—festivals, live painting gigs, pop-ups—building both resilience and a loyal local following.
Eventually, an opportunity arose to open a gallery—an idea he initially resisted. But the chance to control his own space, and share it with others, was too compelling to ignore. “If you can’t get gallery shows, open the gallery,” he shrugs. That space became Recycled Propaganda: a working studio and gallery in Las Vegas’ blossoming Arts District.
“If you can’t get gallery shows, open the gallery,” he shrugs. That space became Recycled Propaganda: a working studio and gallery in Las Vegas’ blossoming Arts District.
Since opening, the gallery has evolved into a creative center, hosting exhibitions, screenings, workshops, and pop-ups. “We do new art exhibitions every two months… it’s a hub of creativity,” Zevalking says. With over 30 local artists represented and a steady rotation of visiting talent, the gallery has grown far beyond its original purpose. “I didn’t fully understand how impactful opening your space to others could be,” he admits. “You build an ecosystem, and it feeds back into your own practice.”
That openness defines his curatorial approach. “When people come in, I say: do what you want. Paint the walls, paint the floor, paint the ceiling. Most people aren’t used to hearing that,” he says. “We’re used to being told no. But that’s exactly what kills creativity.”
While many street artists are eventually absorbed by the mainstream and commodified by the art market, Zevalking remains skeptical of that trajectory. “Banksy didn’t paint that piece so someone could knock it down and sell it,” he says. “It becomes about these few legends, and people think they’re the only ones doing this kind of work. It erases everyone else.” In contrast, he views his work as part of a living, participatory culture. “We live the lifestyle. We’re not just putting it in frames in white rooms—we’re out in the alleys, in the streets, in the community,” he says. “That’s where it belongs.”
In a city where graffiti was once vilified to an absurd degree—“Oscar Goodman literally said that we should dissuade graffiti by cutting their thumbs off,” Zevalking recalls—public art has transformed from an act of defiance into a form of civic dialogue. What was once seen as defacement is now recognized as a tool for education and engagement. “People still think it’s gang-related,” he says. “But the more they see it bringing value, the more they begin to understand its role.” To Zevalking, street art is no longer just a symbol of protest—it’s a medium for reshaping public consciousness and reclaiming shared space.
For Recycled Propaganda, though, the goal isn’t acceptance—it’s awareness. In times of uncertainty, art has the power to provoke, to challenge, and to inspire.
For Recycled Propaganda, though, the goal isn’t acceptance—it’s awareness. In times of uncertainty, art has the power to provoke, to challenge, and to inspire. “The bad times sometimes produce greatness… if you’re in touch with your creative spirit,” he reflects. For him, the greatest failure isn’t backlash—it’s silence. “The worst thing isn’t making something people hate. The worst thing is not making anything at all.”
Helene is a writer and artist based in New York City. Having earned her MFA in photography from Rochester Institute of Technology, Helene brings a visual perspective to storytelling. With both her artwork and writing, Helene seeks to provoke thought and inspire dialogue. She currently writes for UP Magazine.