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.
2012. godine, kada sam oslikao minaret džamije Džara u mom rodnom Gabesu, na jugu Tunisa, nisam ni pomislio da će grafiti doneti toliko pažnje gradu.
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, samo sam tražio zid u mom rodnom gradu, i desilo se da je minaret izgrađen 1994. godine. I tokom 18 godina, tih 57 metara betona ostalo je sivo. Kada sam sreo imama prvi put i kazao mu šta hoću da uradim, rekao je: "Hvala Bogu da si konačno došao", i rekao mi je da je godinama čekao nekoga da nešto uradi na njoj. Najzanimljivija stvar u vezi sa ovim imamom je da me ništa nije pitao - nije tražio skicu, niti je pitao šta ću da napišem.
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.
Stvarajući svako delo, pišem poruke svojim stilom kaligrafita - mešavina kaligrafije i grafita. Koristim citate ili poeziju. Za minaret sam smatrao da bi najvažnija poruka koju treba staviti na džamiju bila iz Kurana, i tako sam odabrao ove stihove: „O čovečanstvo, stvorili smo te od muškarca i žene, i napravili ljude i plemena, tako da možete da poznajete jedni druge.” Bio je to univerzalni poziv na mir, toleranciju i prihvatanje od strane koju u medijima obično ne prikazujemo na dobar način.
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 zapanjen kada sam video kako je lokalna zajednica reagovala na sliku, i kako su bili ponosni videvši da minaret dobija toliko pažnje od međunarodne štampe širom sveta. Za imama, to nije bila samo slika; bilo je nešto dublje od toga. Nadao se da će ovaj minaret postati spomenik grada i privući ljude u ovo zaboravljeno mesto u Tunisu. Univerzalnost poruke, politički kontekst u Tunisu u to vreme, i činjenica da sam napisao stihove Kurana u stilu grafita nisu bili bez značaja. To je iznova ujedinilo 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.
Spajanje ljudi, budućih generacija, kroz arapsku kaligrafiju je ono što ja radim. Pisanje poruka je suština mog rada. Smešno je da čak i ljudi koji govore arapski jezik moraju zaista mnogo da se fokusiraju da bi dešifrovali ono što pišem. Ne morate da znate značenje da biste osetili delo. Mislim da arapsko pismo dotakne dušu pre nego što stigne do očiju. U njemu postoji lepota koju ne treba prevoditi. Arapsko pismo se obraća svakome, verujem; vama, vama, vama, svakome, i onda kada shvatite značenje, osećate se povezano sa njime. Uvek se postaram da napišem poruke koje su relevantne za mesto gde slikam, ali poruke koje imaju univerzalnu dimenziju, tako da se svako u svetu može povezati sa 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, i počeo da učim da pišem i čitam arapski kada sam imao 18 godina. Danas pišem poruke samo na arapskom. Jedan od razloga zbog čega mi je ovo tako važno je zbog svih reakcija koje sam doživeo širom sveta.
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 Žaneiru, preveo sam portugalsku pesmu od autora Gabriela Toresa Barbose, koji je odao počast siromašnim ljudima iz favele, i zatim sam je naslikao na krovu. Lokalnu zajednicu je zaista zaintrigiralo ono što sam radio, ali čim sam im objasnio značenje te kaligrafije, zahvalili su mi se, kao da su se osetili povezano sa 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."
U Južnoj Africi, u Kejptaunu, lokalna zajednica Filipi ponudila mi je samo zabačeni betonski zid. To je bila škola, i na njoj sam napisao citat Nelsona Mandele, koji kaže: „[Govori arapski]”, što znači: „Deluje nemoguće sve dok se ne uradi.” Onda mi je prišao neki tip i rekao: „Čoveče, zašto ne pišeš na engleskom?” a ja sam mu odgovorio: „Smatrao bih tvoje interesovanje legitimnim da si me pitao zašto ne pišem na zulu jeziku.”
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 je u Parizu bio neki događaj i neko je dao svoj zid da se oslika. I kada je video da slikam na arapskom, pobesneo je - u stvari, histerisao je, tražio je da se zid obriše. Bio sam ljut i razočaran. Nedelju dana kasnije, organizator događaja je zatražio da se vratim, i rekao mi je da postoji zid baš ispred kuće tog tipa. I, taj tip - (Smeh) bio je primoran da ga gleda svakog dana. Prvo sam hteo da napišem: „[Govori arapski]”, što znači „Evo ti za inat”, ali - (Smeh) odlučio sam da postupim pametnije i napisao: „[Govori arapski]”, 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.
Zaista sam ponosan na svoju kulturu, i pokušavam da budem njen ambasador kroz moja umetnička dela. I nadam se da mogu da razbijem stereotipe koji su svima nama poznati, lepotom arapskog pisma. Danas više ne pišem prevod poruke na zidu. Ne želim da se pokvari poezija kaligrafije, jer to je umetnost i možete je ceniti ne znajući značenje, kao što možete uživati u bilo kojoj muzici iz drugih zemalja. Neki ljudi vide to kao odbijanje ili kao zatvorena vrata, ali za mene je to više poziv - mom jeziku, mojoj kulturi i mojoj umetnosti.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)