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absolute freedom crucial to the authenticity of the art form. So, were there any problems of interference from the “art” establishment? Morayef describes an instance where the “establishment” via Wells began to cross boundaries. Illustratively, she says that the Sad Panda piece was a point of concern for Wells as he thought Sad Panda could have done better and suggested that perhaps that particular piece could have been reworked. For Morayef, when Wells entered the conversation it became an issue of the art institution and its imposition of what can and can’t be considered art. While Sad Panda himself responded positively to the idea of reworking his piece, Townhouse did not want to pick up the bill for the additional resources. So, was it successful? Morayef originally chose to do this because it was a “crazy opportunity” that she was given as an amateur who just took pictures of graffiti. The opportunity allowed her to meet other artists and take a private debate more publicly—thus, a personal success, especially in light of the turnout. For many of the newspapers reporting on that night, the exhibition was problematic. Among the many negative critiques, The Daily News headline announced the exhibition as “a pretend display of Egyptian graffiti at a disappointing Townhouse exhibit” and expressed that “the disappointment in this project is evident upon entry, when one’s expecting that — given the legitimacy of the space and therefore the unlimited time, comfort and lack of need for a getaway plan that graffiti artists have to deal with in public spaces — the work would be provocative, raw and outstanding.” When I asked her about this, she shrugged indifferently and explained that these reactions were reactions of the “art critics”. The chatter regardless of positive or negative, is great because the discussion is interesting as there is no right or wrong answer. When it comes to the actual graffiti produced, she had expected something but the artists produced something completely different. She learned that you can’t force anyone to do what you expect or hope you can only stand back and watch the process unfold. The crowning glory for her was that in the end, one person had responded to the entire event by spraying a stencil outside the exhibition space that said “howwa dah ba2a graffiti ya habiby” (that is graffiti, of course, my dear) and Sad Panda tagged his signature Panda on one of the outer walls of the exhibition—veritable proof that graffiti can exist inside. On the part of the artists and audience, the reaction was lukewarm at best. One artist viewed the gallery representation of an art form that belonged in the street to be juvenile and attention seeking. Two of the artists, Adham Bakry and Sad Panda, outright insulted both the idea and the Townhouse Gallery. Morayef points out that the artists participated freely and many of the people who came were well known underground graffiti artists who had originally told her the idea was ridiculous and the Townhouse was crap for doing this, but came anyway. She feels this was a small accomplishment. She thinks people, particularly the artists, came out because the graffiti scene is competitive, but still one with amiable interaction. So likely those who showed up came out to support friends and/or see what was being produced. And returning back to the institutional aspect of it, Morayef points out that a well-established graffiti artist was brought recently from Spain to do graffiti at the Townhouse, and so would this not also be considered graffiti? As long as there is no imposition and it is still raw, then it is graffiti, she adds. In another conversation with two of the artists who participated, the project fulfilled their expectations and more. Hend Kheera explained that the space was amazing, there were no restrictions and all had complete freedom to do what they want. Both felt that the Townhouse may have, in fact, been too hands off and would have appreciated more administrative support from the gallery. For Hend, the project intrigued her because of not only the complete creative freedom she had, but, also the physical freedom to move and paint without harassment. Hany added that the idea of graffiti is not whether it is indoors or outdoors, but it is the art itself. Hend explained: “Graffit is a matter of breaking rules, so why don’t I break the rules of where graffiti should be or is expected to be and do it in a gallery space?” They both felt that they might repeat it again as long as the same degree of freedom is made available. 114
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For what it’s worth, I attended the exhibition with the sure feeling that I would hate it thoroughly. And I did. On an artistic level, the pieces were interesting but clearly the work of art of a generation still trying to find itself. As one artist friend recently pointed out, the exhibition was set up for icons that are nowhere near the experience necessary for this kind of show and have yet to prove that status. Adham Bakry and Sad Panda definitely achieved the shock status and the bitter response to the gallery world, but one that is falsely contrived the moment they agreed to this exhibition—their pieces might have seemed more natural had they been painted outside of the gallery. Some of the artists, for all the bravado and secrecy which they guard closely, came short of offering anything worth a second look. Charles Akl and Amr Gamal made slight modifications to the unoriginal Pulp Fiction piece they had previously painted on an actual street and El Teneen, for the effort he has put into tagging “replica” around what he views as imitative work by Keizer, himself produced a copied image of the ‘barcode zebra’ and unexcitingly, and seemingly out of place, added Qaddafi’s head. Hend Kheera’s bold piece and Hany Khaled’s signature colour piece offered anything close to originality and art. All in all, it was abundantly clear that the artists, for the most part, produced pieces that said mostly nothing about them as artists. More broadly, the exhibition itself was a complete hoax and contradiction in terms. As a prolific German graffiti artist friend of mine mused: “This is no graffiti” as a title is misleading because it doesn’t really remain true to the art form displayed, which is graffiti, and doesn’t give credit to the hard work of the artists that are graffiti artists. The title should have been given to reflect that the gallery was an exhibition of art that began with graffiti but moved to something beyond. Unlike my friend, I’m an avid believer in the essential street aspect for graffiti. Having seen it in different places around the world and followed some of the greats, it’s hard to be convinced that graffiti inside is anything worth seeing. There is something great and utterly unique about passing under a bridge or alleyway or a side street and seeing the pieces of art that someone has left for you to find. The exhibition made this impossible by excluding everyone but the friends of artists and that small number of people who would have heard about it from even smaller circles of communication. Once you enter the gallery world, as admittedly many graffiti artists have done, the art itself changes—it must in some way as you are no longer producing in the street. I don’t like the idea of seeing art, especially street art, inside because of the exclusionary aspect, but I can understand the need for the “high culture” world as represented by galleries to acknowledge street art as a viable form of art. The problem is that this exhibition reflects a larger issue in Egyptian society, one that the Revolution has unfortunately not affected, and that is the issue of accessibility to space. Graffiti historically responded to the counter need to having accessible space for those not heard, not seen and not allowed to join the circles. It was the art form of the oppressed and the segregated. The problem in Egypt is we have a tendency to want to “own” things, we want to take things over and make it “our” contribution to society and, often, it is surrounded by large fanfares and chatter among the inner circles of the elites, the “Westernised”, the “activists”, and other cliques. We appropriate, we segregate, and we display to and within our circles. We do not engage, interact, or invite the outside world. And in that lies a sad whisper of hypocrisy. The beauty of graffiti is not the rawness or the environment, which without a doubt are fundamental to aesthetic quality. No, the beauty of graffiti is in its social aspects—the quiet conversation between the artist and audience. It is a silent conversation that invites everyone to participate, no matter what social or political class, no matter what age or gender. I’ve been on a couple of graffiti runs with some artists and the engagement with the street, the interest that passerbys show and the need to want to see and know what art is all about—a conversation and a bridge between people. When we segregate ourselves, that conversation stops and those bridges are not built.
HEND KHEERA
SAD PANDA reads “Graffiti is in the street, and this is not graffiti you sons of scum/dirt”
HK (HANY KHALED) - piece was unfinished
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