How a Casual Stroll in the City of Ramallah Inspired a Novel About Graffiti
“Graffiti is ugly” I used to think. I would walk by it and shake my head in dismay. Anti-social. Shows disregard for community. All those scrawled spray-painted and incoherent messages on public walls made me feel an inkling of anger. “What makes anybody think they can scribble just anywhere?”
We all have heard of the “broken window” theory, which argues that if a petty crime like graffiti is visibly ignored, suggesting general neglect, it would inspire more serious offences. I certainly agreed with that mode of thinking. “If you are a true artist, then work hard and have your creative output placed in an art gallery. Otherwise keep it to yourself.” My view did a total U-turn about 15 years ago, during a visit to the city of Ramallah in Palestine.
Since the city doesn’t have a functioning municipality, graffiti covers everything. Layers of graffiti on top of more graffiti. Anywhere the human hand can reach is scribbled with something. Religious next to the sacrilegious. Political next to a silly hand drawing of mickey mouse. Intricate and artistic next to the vulgar and ugly. You can’t escape it. You can’t look away.
The graffiti insists on assaulting your eyesight no matter what you do. As I walked down the busy streets, among merchants extoling the virtues of their wares, and honking cars battling donkeys for right of way, a notion hit me over the head like a falling piano. It occurred to me that a tourist walking down the streets of Ramallah, doesn’t need to wonder: “What is on the minds of the people living in this place? What do they think? What do they feel?”
The writing is on the walls. You just need to look. Open your eyes. Open your mind. It is as if I had walked into a 3D Jean-Michel Basquiat painting. Only this one wasn’t created by a single artist. But rather was the result of the communal genius of a whole bunch of them. Since then I had been paying attention to graffiti everywhere I travelled, noticing value I didn’t before. Seeing the voice of the marginalized. A crack through a brick wall.
When you are a tourist, as I have been on many occasions, it is so hard to break away from the tourist bubble. You visit monuments and deal with professional who cater to others just like you. Things are designed to give you a postcard experience. Graffiti offers a jarring insight outside of the planned and manicured ordinary experience. The only way to truly know a place is to live there for several years. A good novel can bridge that gap and allow you to reside somewhere you never been. But if you find yourself in the embarrassing situation of a tourist.
Your camera ready to snap the most trivial of sights. Hat and sunglasses on. Map in hand. Look for graffiti. It can give you an insight into the soul of the place. What I find most fascinating about any piece of graffiti are the layers it accumulates over time. The way in which different artists embellish each other’s work and engage in a dialogue. When counsels neglect to erase one of them, they get tagged and then somebody paints with colorful squiggle over it. And then, eventually, people would do nice paintings over it.
The natural evolution of graffiti is that it will just turn out looking interesting no matter the ugliness that went into the process. Unlike a painting in a gallery where you feel self conscious if you accidental breathed on it. The communal aspect of graffiti makes it into a living breathing thing. One that invites you in. Touch me! Paint over me! Destroy me! Make me better! Or photograph me if you must. Anybody can have a say. Everybody becomes an artist no matter the level of skill or ability.
I worked as a computer programmer for 20 years. I was always aware of the world of hacking. There are those who do it for financial gains, but others who simply desire the the thrill of beating the system. One day, an idea erupted inside by head. Since everything had gone digital, it would be so cool if somebody would start graffiti-ing the internet. This idea thrilled me to no end.
I spent many nights dreaming about the endless possibilities. It seemed so cool, I couldn’t believe nobody had done it yet. Since both graffiti and hacking are illegal, I was too afraid to bring my idea into reality. I am not brave enough to risk going to jail. Being a mother of three makes that option totally irresponsible. I guess I am not cool enough.
So, I came up with the next best thing. I invented a fictional character tenacious enough to go where I only dare tread in my imagination. And that is how my novel Graffiti Hack was born. I frequently ponder my casual stroll in the city of Ramallah thankful for the gift it has provided. Inspiration comes in the most unexpected ways. I hope I can keep my eyes and heart open to let the next one in.
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Elen Ghulam worked as a computer programmer for 20 years. Telling stories to silicon chips proved to be easy, and so she graduated to
amusing humans. She is an Iraqi-Canadian living in Vancouver, BC. You can follow her adventures at www.ihath.com
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Category: Contemporary Women Writers, On Writing
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