In 2012, when I painted the minaret of Jara Mosque in my hometown of Gabés, in the south of Tunisia, I never thought that graffiti would bring so much attention to a city.
U 2012., kada sam oslikao minaret na džamiji Jara u mom rodnom gradu Gabes, na jugu Tunisa, nisam mislio da će taj grafit privući toliko pozornosti na grad.
At the beginning, I was just looking for a wall in my hometown, and it happened that the minaret was built in '94. And for 18 years, those 57 meters of concrete stayed grey. When I met the imam for the first time, and I told him what I wanted to do, he was like, "Thank God you finally came," and he told me that for years he was waiting for somebody to do something on it. The most amazing thing about this imam is that he didn't ask me anything -- neither a sketch, or what I was going to write.
U početku sam tražio bilo kakav zid u mom rodnom gradu, a dogodilo se da je minaret sagrađen 94'-te. I 18 godina tih 57 metara betona ostalo je sivo. Kada sam se prvi puta susreo s imamom, i rekao mu što želim napraviti, reagirao je s "Hvala Bogu, napokon si došao", i rekao mi kako već godinama čeka da netko napravi nešto na zidu. Najnevjerojatnija stvar s tim imamom bila je da me nije tražio ništa niti skicu, niti tekst kojeg sam mislio napisati.
In every work that I create, I write messages with my style of calligraffiti -- a mix of calligraphy and graffiti. I use quotes or poetry. For the minaret, I thought that the most relevant message to be put on a mosque should come from the Quran, so I picked this verse: "Oh humankind, we have created you from a male and a female, and made you people and tribe, so you may know each other." It was a universal call for peace, tolerance, and acceptance coming from the side that we don't usually portray in a good way in the media.
U svaku sliku koju napravim, upisujem poruke sa svojim stilom kaligrafita -- mješavinom kaligrafije i grafita. Koristim izreke ili poeziju. Za minaret, mislio sam da najvažnija poruka koja će biti napisana na džamiji treba biti iz Kurana, pa sam izabrao ovaj stih: "O čovječji rode, stvorili smo te od muškoga i ženskoga, i napravili te ljudima i plemenima kako bi ste se upoznali." Bio je to univerzalan poziv na mir, toleranciju i prihvaćanje izrečen od strane koju se inače u u medijima ne prikazuje kao dobru.
I was amazed to see how the local community reacted to the painting, and how it made them proud to see the minaret getting so much attention from international press all around the world. For the imam, it was not just the painting; it was really deeper than that. He hoped that this minaret would become a monument for the city, and attract people to this forgotten place of Tunisia. The universality of the message, the political context of Tunisia at this time, and the fact that I was writing Quran in a graffiti way were not insignificant. It reunited the community.
Bio sam zadivljen reakcijom lokalne zajednice na sliku, i kako su bili ponosni što minaret privlači toliku pozornost međunarodnih novina iz svih dijelova svijeta. Za imama to nije bila samo slika; bilo je nešto dublje od toga. Nadao se da će minaret postati gradski spomenik, i da će privući ljude u ovaj zaboravljeni dio Tunisa. Univerzalnost poruke, politički kontekst Tunisa u tom vremenu, i činjenica da sam prepisivao Kuran grafitima nisu bili beznačajni. Ponovno su ujedinili zajednicu.
Bringing people, future generations, together through Arabic calligraphy is what I do. Writing messages is the essence of my artwork. What is funny, actually, is that even Arabic-speaking people really need to focus a lot to decipher what I'm writing. You don't need to know the meaning to feel the piece. I think that Arabic script touches your soul before it reaches your eyes. There is a beauty in it that you don't need to translate. Arabic script speaks to anyone, I believe; to you, to you, to you, to anybody, and then when you get the meaning, you feel connected to it. I always make sure to write messages that are relevant to the place where I'm painting, but messages that have a universal dimension, so anybody around the world can connect to it.
Povezivanje ljudi, budućih generacija kroz arapsko pismo je ono što ja radim. Pisanje poruka je srž moje umjetnosti. Smiješno je da se čak i ljudi koji razumiju arapski moraju jako usredotočiti kako bi odgonetnuli što sam napisao. Ne morate znati značenje kako biste osjetili djelo. Mislim da arapsko pismo dirne vašu dušu prije nego li dođe do vaših očiju. U njemu postoji ljepota koju ne trebate prevoditi. Arapsko pismo govori svima, vjerujem; i tebi, i tebi, i tebi, svima, i onda kada saznate značenje, povežete se s njim. Uvijek se pobrinem napisati poruke koje su važne za mjesto u kojem slikam, ali poruke koje imaju univerzalnu dimenziju, tako da se svi mogu povezati s njom.
I was born and raised in France, in Paris, and I started learning how to write and read Arabic when I was 18. Today I only write messages in Arabic. One of the reasons this is so important to me, is because of all the reaction that I've experienced all around the world.
Rođen sam i odrastao u Francuskoj, u Parizu, a počeo sam učiti kako pisati i čitati arapski kada sam imao 18. Danas poruke pišem samo na arapskom. Jedan od razloga zašto mi je to toliko važno su reakcije koje sam doživio po svijetu.
In Rio de Janeiro, I translated this Portuguese poem from Gabriela Tôrres Barbosa, who was giving an homage to the poor people of the favela, and then I painted it on the rooftop. The local community were really intrigued by what I was doing, but as soon as I gave them the meaning of the calligraphy, they thanked me, as they felt connected to the piece.
U Rio de Janeiru, preveo sam portugalsku pjesmu Gabriela Torresa Barbose, koji je odavao počast siromašnima u favelama, i oslikao njome krov. Lokalna zajednica bila je jako zainteresirana za to što sam radio, ali čim sam im rekao značenje napisanog, zahvalili su mi jer su se osjećali povezano s djelom.
In South Africa, in Cape Town, the local community of Philippi offered me the only concrete wall of the slum. It was a school, and I wrote on it a quote from Nelson Mandela, saying, "[in Arabic]," which means, "It seems impossible until it's done." Then this guy came to me and said, "Man, why you don't write in English?" and I replied to him, "I would consider your concern legit if you asked me why I didn't write in Zulu."
U Južnoj Africi, u Cape Townu, lokalna zajednica Philippi, ponudila mi je jedini betonski zid u slamu. Bila je to škola, i na nju sam napisao citat Nelsona Mandele, koji kaže, "(na arapskom)", što znači, "Čini se nemogućim dok se ne napravi." Prišao mi je jedan čovjek i pitao, "Čovječe, zašto ne pišeš na engleskom?" i odgovorio sam mu, "Smatrao bi tvoju zabrinutost opravdanom da si me pitao zašto ne pišem Zulu jezikom."
In Paris, once, there was this event, and someone gave his wall to be painted. And when he saw I was painting in Arabic, he got so mad -- actually, hysterical -- and he asked for the wall to be erased. I was mad and disappointed. But a week later, the organizer of the event asked me to come back, and he told me that there was a wall right in front of this guy's house. So, this guy -- (Laughter) like, was forced to see it every day. At the beginning, I was going to write, "[In Arabic]," which means, "In your face," but -- (Laughter) I decided to be smarter and I wrote, "[In Arabic]," which means, "Open your heart."
Jednom u Parizu bilo je to događanje, i netko je dao da mu se oslika zid. I kada je vidio da oslikavam na arapskom, toliko se naljutio, zapravo histerično, i tražio je da prekreče zid. Bio sam ljut i razočaran. Ali tjedan kasnije, organizator me pozvao da se vratim, i rekao mi da postoji zid odmah ispred kuće onog čovjeka. Tako da, taj čovjek -- (Smijeh) on je prisiljen gledati ga svaki dan. Na početku htio sam napisati, "(na arapskom)", što znači ''Evo ti ga", ali -- (Smijeh) Odlučio sam biti pametniji, i napisao sam "(na arapskom)", što znači "Otvori svoje srce."
I'm really proud of my culture, and I'm trying to be an ambassador of it through my artwork. And I hope that I can break the stereotypes we all know, with the beauty of Arabic script. Today, I don't write the translation of the message anymore on the wall. I don't want the poetry of the calligraphy to be broken, as it's art and you can appreciate it without knowing the meaning, as you can enjoy any music from other countries. Some people see that as a rejection or a closed door, but for me, it's more an invitation -- to my language, to my culture, and to my art.
Jako sam ponosan na svoju kulturu, i pokušavam biti njezin glasnik kroz svoju umjetnost. I nadam se da mogu slomiti stereotipe koje svi znamo, ljepotom arapskog pisma. Danas više ne pišem prijevode poruka na zid. Ne želim pokvariti poeziju kaligrafije, obzirom da je to umjetnost koju možete cijeniti neznajući značenje isto kao što uživate u glazbi iz drugih zemalja. Neki to vide kao odbijanje, ili zatvorena vrata, ali za mene, to je više pozivnica -- u moj jezik, u moju kulturu, u moju umjetnost.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)