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.
An 2012 kan monn penn lor minare moske Jara dan mo lavil natal Gabés dan lesid Tinizi, zame mo ti panse ki grafiti kapav amenn otan latansion a enn lavil.
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.
Pou koumanse, mo ti pe zis rod enn miray dan lavil la, ek sa minare la ti konstrir an 1994. Ek pandan 18 an, sa kolonn 57m la finn res gri. Kan monn zwenn imam la premie fwa ek monn dir li ki mo anvi fer, linn dir mwa, "Mo remersie bondie ki tonn vini". Ek linn explik mwa depi komie banane li ti pe atann kikenn pu fer kitsoz avek sa. Saki pli etonan avek sa misie la se ki li pann dimann mwa nanye -- ni ki desin ni ki mesaz mo pu ekrir.
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.
Dan tou travay ki mo kre, mo ekrir bann mesaz avek mo prop stil kaligrafiti -- enn melanz kaligrafi ek grafiti. Mo servi bann sitasion ou bann poem. Pou sa minare la, monn panse ki mesaz pli pertinan pu met lor enn moske bizin enn verse depi Koran, alor monn swazir sann la: "O limanite, nou finn kre zot depi enn mal ek enn femel, ek nou finn fer zot enn lepep ek enn tribi pou zot konn zot kamarad." Ti enn mesaz iniversel pou lape, tolerans ek linklizion, enn mesaz ki montre kote positif de Islam ki nou pa trouve dan media.
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.
Monn etone kouma kominote lokal inn reazir a sa lapintir la, kouma sa inn fer zot fier ki sa minare la pe gagn otan latansion depi lapres internasional partou dan lemond. Pou imam la, pa ti zis enn lapintir sa: ti enn zafer pli profon. Li ti pe espere ki minare la pou vinn enn moniman dan lavil ek atir viziter a sa landrwa ki dimounn finn blie dan Tinizi. Lefet ki sa mesaz la iniversel, kontex politik dan Tinizi sa lepok la ek lefet ki mo ti pe ekrir Koran dan enn stil grafiti finn ena boukou pwa. Sa finn rasanble kominote.
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.
Fer dimounn, bann zenerasion fitir, vinn ansam atraver kaligrafi arab, samem mo travay. Ekrir bann mesaz, samem lesans mo travay artistik. Saki komik se ki mem bann dimounn ki konn lir arab bizin konsantre boukou pou kapav desifre saki monn ekrir. Ou pa oblize konpran sinifikasion pou apresie travay la. Mo panse ki lekritir arab tous ou lam avan li tous ou lizie. Ena enn bote ladan ki ou pa bizin tradir. Ninport kisannla kapav apresie lekritir arab: ou, ou, ou, ninport kisannla. Ek kan ou konpran sinifikasion la, ou santi ou plis konekte ankor. Mo fer atansion ki mo ekrir bann mesaz ki ena enn sinifikasion pu landrwa kot pe penn, me sa bann mesaz la bizin osi ena enn dimansion iniversel, pou ki ninport kisannla kapav santi enn koneksion ek li.
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.
Mon finn ne ek grandi Lafrans, a Paris, ek monn aprann lir ek ekrir arab selman kan mo ti ena 18 an. Zordi mo ekrir bann mesaz nek an arab. Enn de bann rezon kifer sa inportan pou mwa se akoz sa bann reaksion ki monn gagne partou depi dan lemond.
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.
Dan Rio de Janeiro, monn tradir enn poem depi portige par Gabriela Tôrres Barbosa ki rann omaz a bann dimounn mizer dan favela, ek monn penn sa lor bann twa lakaz. Kominote lokal ti bien intrige par saki mo ti pe fer, me kouma monn dir zot sinifikasion kaligrafi la, zot remersie mwa akoz zot inn santi zot konekte ar poem la.
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."
An Afrik Disid, dan Cape Town, kominote lokal de Philippi inn donn mwa sel miray beton ki existe dan sa site la. Sete miray enn lekol, ek mo finn ekrir enn sitasion Nelson Mandela ki dir [an arab], "Sa paret inposib ziska ki kikenn fer li." Me lerla enn boug vinn dir mwa, "Sef, kifer ou pa pe ekrir an angle?" Ek monn reponn li, "Ou kestion ti pou ena kit valer si ou ti dimann mwa kifer mo pa pe ekrir an Zoulou."
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."
Dan Paris, enn fwa ti ena enn levennman, ek kikenn laba inn donn mwa so miray pou fer grafiti. Kan linn trouve ki mo pe ekrir an arab, linn telman araze ki linn exize ki nou efas tou. Mo ti ankoler ek tris. Me enn semenn pli tar, organizater levennman la dir mwa revini, ek li dir mwa ki ena enn miray zis anfas sa boug la so lakaz. Alor sa boug la -- (Riye) aster oblize get sa toulezour. Dabor monn pans pou ekrir ["an arab"], ki vedir, "Bien bon pou twa", me -- (Riye) monn desid fer pli malin ek ekrir ["an arab"], ki vedir "Ouver to leker".
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.
Mo bien fier de mo kiltir ek mo pe sey vinn enn so bann lanbasader a traver mo travay artistik. Mo espere ki mo pou kapav kas bann stereotip ki nou tou kone avek bote lekritir arab. Zordi mo nepli ekrir tradiksion bann mesaz la lor miray. Mo pa anvi gat poezi-kaligrafi la. Parski se lar ek ou kapav apresie li san konn so sinifikasion, parey kouma ou kapav apresie lamizik depi lezot pei. Ena dimounn ki trouv sa kouma enn rezeksion ou enn laport ferme, me pou mwa, se plis kouma enn linvitasion a mo langaz, mo kiltir ek mo lar.
Thank you.
Mersi.
(Applause)
(Aplodisman)