Alexandra Talty Contributor

fobes.com

Street art is ubiquitous in Beirut. Walk the city for a few days and one can see everything from small stencils promoting local DJs to larger murals that took artists days to complete. It appears in the all likely places, on highways and under bridges, but also on unused walls or next to buildings. Not even the stairs are safe, as one local group, the Dihzahyners, have shown with their now-famous stair “Paint Ups,” where they coat the otherwise plain staircases that litter the hilly city with beautiful colors and designs.

While all Beirutis are not necessarily out with their spray cans, street art is in the fabric of the cityscape, which is why, earlier this month, when the Lebanese government announced a new campaign regulating graffiti, many were worried that the until-now laissez-faire legality of street art was threatened.

In an attempt to alleviate sectarian tensions, the government announced on February 5 that political flags, banners and posters would be removed from Lebanese cities. Grafitti artists were caught in the cross hairs of this recent decision, as many speculated that the government was attempting to take down their art as well. Street art has flourished in Lebanon as it falls in a legal grey area and is, for the most part, allowed.

 

 

“The one meaningful thing from this law is that they will take down the flags and pictures of the politicians,” says Ali Rafei, a street artists from Tripoli who is currently living in Beirut. A communications professional, Rafei has been active on the scene since 2010. “I don’t think that the new law makes things very different for graffiti artists. It is no different than what governments usually do.”

“Worldwide, street artists take permission when they are doing large pieces,” says Omar Kabbani, one half of the duo behind Ashekman, an Arabic street art crew. The Ashekman twins’ work was one of the most publicized results of the new campaign, as their piece, “To Be Free or not to Be” was a painted over by the Beirut municipality. The piece was three monkeys representing, “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.” Ironically, the piece was commissioned by March Lebanon, an anti-censorship NGO.

However, the Ashekman twins insist that the painting over of their mural was an accident. They later met with the Beirut Governor Ziad Chebib and were offered $2,000 from the government to repaint another mural that focused on similar themes.

 

 

“Now they will think ten times before they [paint over graffiti]. We created this invisible force that tells them, ‘If you paint this, you will get in trouble,’” says Mohamed Kabbani, with a laugh.

He adds, “I think it is the first time in the whole world [that a government has apologized for painting over a graffiti piece]. They even paid us to do a new piece!”

In addition to meeting with Ashekman, the Governor of Beirut met with another street artist Yazan Halwani on Future TV to discuss the future of street art in Lebanon and how the new campaign applies to murals.

“[The campaign] could be catalyst for creativity, for wittiness. It is limiting, so it pushes you to put the right message, at the right time, with the right people,” says Rafei. “When I first heard about it, I smiled, thinking of the new pieces I could do.”

“There is the enjoyment of actually drawing the people around you and then interacting with them. It is mainly a mode of expression,” says Rafei, whose inspirations include Swoon, a graffiti artists in New York City who carves stencils into woodcuts, which can then be painted and posted onto walls. “[There is also] the enjoyment of people appreciating your work or not appreciating it. The whole thing is a game.”

Rafei’s next project will focus on bringing together his varied styles – portraiture, calligraffiti – into one piece. He plans to use figures and write on them in calligraffiti, “because your experiences can stick with you.” As to when and where the public can expect to see this project, Rafei remained vague.