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.
Ko sem leta 2012 slikal na minaret mošeje Jara v domačem kraju Gabés, na jugu Tunizije, si nisem predstavljal, da bo grafit pritegnil toliko pozornosti na mesto.
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.
V domačem kraju sem sprva iskal le zid, minaret pa je bil zgrajen leta 1994. 18 let je teh 57 metrov betona ostalo sivih. Ko sem prvič spoznal imama in mu povedal moj namen, je rekel: "Hvala Bogu, da si le prišel." Rekel je, da že leta čaka nekoga, ki bo nekaj storil na minaretu. Neverjetno pri imamu je bilo, da me ni ničesar vprašal. Niti za skico niti kaj bom napisal.
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.
V vsakem svojem delu napišem sporočilo v obliki kaligrafitov, mešanice med kaligrafijo in grafiti. Uporabim citate ali poezijo. Za minaret se mi je zdelo najbolj ustrezno, da je sporočilo iz Korana. Izbral sem verz: »O, ljudje! Ustvarili smo vas iz moškega in ženske, razdelili smo vas v plemena in pod-plemena, da se boste lahko poznali med seboj." Univerzalen poziv k miru, toleranci in sprejemanju, s strani, ki je v medijih navadno prikazana v slabi luči.
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.
Osupel sem nad odzivi lokalne skupnosti nad sliko, in kako so bili ponosni, da je minaret deležen takšne pozornosti medijev z vseh koncev sveta. Pri imamu ni šlo le za sliko, bilo je globlje. Upal je, da bo minaret postal spomenik za mesto in privabljal ljudi na ta pozabljen tunizijski kraj. Univerzalnost sporočila, takratni politični kontekst v Tuniziji, in dejstvo, da sem pisal Koran z grafiti, niso bili nepomembni. Ponovno je združilo skupnost.
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.
Združevanje ljudi, bodočih generacij skozi arabsko kaligrafijo, to počnem. Pisanje sporočil je bistvo mojih umetnin. Smešno je, da se morajo tudi arabsko govoreči ljudje zelo potruditi, da preberejo, kar pišem. Ni potrebno poznati pomena, da začutiš delo. Menim, da se arabska pisava prej dotakne duše kot pa oči. V njej je lepota, ki je ni potrebno prevajati. Arabska pisava nagovarja vsakogar. Vas, vas, vas, vsakogar. In ko razumeš pomen, se počutiš povezanega z njo. Vedno pišem sporočila, ki ustrezajo kraju, kjer slikam. A hkrati imajo univerzalno dimenzijo, tako da se lahko vsak poistoveti z njimi.
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.
Rojen in vzgojen sem v Franciji, v Parizu, pisanja in branja arabščine sem se začel učiti pri 18-ih. Danes pišem sporočila le v arabščini, najpomembnejši razlogi za to so vsi odzivi, ki sem jih doživel po celem svetu.
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.
V Riu de Janeiru sem prevedel portugalsko pesem Gabriele Tôrres Barbosa, ki daje poklon revnim ljudem iz favel, in jo narisal na streho. Lokalna skupnost je pokazala velik interes za moje početje, a takoj, ko sem jim povedal pomen kaligrafije, so se mi zahvalili, saj so se počutili povezane z delom.
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."
V Južni Afriki, v Cape Townu, so mi v okrožju Philippi ponudili edini betonski zid v slumu. Bila je del šole in nanj sem napisal citat Nelsona Mandele, ki pravi: "[arabsko]," kar pomeni: "Vse je videti nemogoče, dokler ni opravljeno." Potem me je nek moški vprašal: "Zakaj ne pišeš v angleščini?" Pa mu odgovorim: "Vzel bi te resno, če bi me vprašal, zakaj ne pišem v Zulu."
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."
Na nekem dogodku v Parizu mi je nekdo dal zid za poslikavo. Ko je videl, da pišem v arabščini, se je zelo razjezil in naročil odstranitev grafita. Bil sem jezen in razočaran. En teden zatem me je organizator dogodka povabil nazaj. Rekel je, da obstaja zid, ki je točno pred hišo tistega moškega. Ta moški ... (smeh) je bil prisiljen gledati to vsak dan. Sprva sem želel napisati: "[arabsko]," kar pomeni: "Tu imaš." a... (smeh) Odločil sem se, da bom pametnejši in napisal: "[arabsko]," kar pomeni: "Odpri 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.
Ponosen sem na svojo kulturo in želim biti skozi svoje umetnine njen ambasador. Želim podreti stereotipe, ki jih vsi poznamo, z lepoto arabske pisave. Prevoda sporočila danes ne pišem več na zid. Nočem uničiti poezije kaligrafije, ker je umetnost in jo lahko ceniš, ne da poznaš pomen, tako kot lahko uživaš v glasbi iz drugih dežel. Nekateri to vidijo kot zavrnitev ali zaprta vrata, a zame je to povabilo k svojemu jeziku, k svoji kulturi in k svoji umetnosti.
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Aplavz)