The story of a wall
The tongue-in-cheek war for public space between artists and political activists rages on at Hotel Himalaya’s boundary wall at Kupondole
If you’ve travelled on the main road in Kupondole, you’ve probably noticed the colourful wall in front of Hotel Himalaya, right where the perpetual line for petrol begins. Currently adorned with wall paintings and positive messages about community, the wall acts as a massive bulletin board for whoever is willing to paint something on it.
A close inspection reveals layer upon layer of paint, each one with a story. The most recent addition to the wall is a friendly mural of a panda bear, but the use of this wall as an outdoor public art gallery is a fairly new phenomenon. For decades the wall spaces in Kathmandu had been the exclusive domain of political activists. These various groups would use the walls to post handbills and write slogans promoting rallies and ideologies. It was the same for the Kupondole wall for many years.
As the executive manager of the Hotel Himalaya, Rabindra Tandukar, explained, “Back then the walls were painted in the middle of the night, without permission from the hotel. We would then paint over them with a fresh coat of white, only to have new slogans painted in the following weeks.”
This began to shift only in 2011 when one New York-based artist Bruno Levy arrived and began painting a few selected walls in the city. His work inspired a young generation of artists in Kathmandu to reconsider the use of public spaces and to add some colour to the city.
It was but a few months after Levy had finished his art work, one artist, Kailash K Shrestha, gathered a group of friends and fellow artists to paint a wall mural of their own. “We really wanted to communicate some constructive and positive messages,” said Kailash, “because at the time people were so frustrated with the problems surrounding the constitution”. He insisted their work had no personal or political agenda, and that they were only interested in transforming the walls.
The artists originally sought permission from the government to paint around Ratna Park, but finding them uncooperative, they approached Hotel Himalaya, who were happy to help.
Amid political uncertainty and social tension, on the day that was supposed to mark a new constitution, the artists pooled together their resources and took to the wall. “Most people were shouting,” explained Kailash, “But we were shouting through the wall—it was our weapon.” This first street art made quite an impression on the local community and online, and remained up for two months before political propaganda again took over the public wall. This time, however, the font was massive and stretched across the whole wall. It was as if the political sloganeers had been inspired by the artists. Their work now mimicked the scale of the art they were painting over.
The struggle to monopolise public spaces is nothing new. Political scientist Hari Sharma recalled the student protests of 1978, when arguments over who could paint on what walls sometimes even turned violent. “During our pro-democracy demonstrations, there were serious conflicts between student groups over the control of public spaces. In some cases, actual fights would occur.” The current tension, then, is playful in comparison. Kailash and his artists again took to the wall, painting over the fresh slogans with new art. This new work, however, lasted only a week before the sloganeers struck back. As the weeks went by, the street art in Kathmandu began to attract interest and gained momentum. Through projects like Artudio and Kolor Kathmandu, an entire community of artists emerged and they set out to beautify the city with their self-expression and to communicate a positive message to the wider public.
The wall as it currently stands has been free of political slogans since it was rebuilt after the quake, leading some artists to think that the battle between art and politics, on this wall at least, has been won. While the efforts to paint over political propaganda may not have been politically motivated, one cannot deny the political implications. By depoliticising public spaces, the artists are resisting the bombardment of propaganda and encouraging others to do the same. Yet, if street art has a political function, then what distinguishes it from propaganda?
On this matter, Bruno Levy, the man attributed to bringing street art to Kathmandu suggested that the distinction between art and propaganda is not always clear. “Art can be another form of propaganda,” wrote Levy, “But I believe the message of most street artists is less malicious. If it has a strong message, even a political one, it is usually from the individual perspective of the artist. It is a dialogue between the artist and their audience.
continued at
http://kathmandupost.ekantipur.com/news/2015-12-19/the-story-of-a-wall.html
http://bit.ly/1lYlqgH
If you’ve travelled on the main road in Kupondole, you’ve probably noticed the colourful wall in front of Hotel Himalaya, right where the perpetual line for petrol begins. Currently adorned with wall paintings and positive messages about community, the wall acts as a massive bulletin board for whoever is willing to paint something on it.
A close inspection reveals layer upon layer of paint, each one with a story. The most recent addition to the wall is a friendly mural of a panda bear, but the use of this wall as an outdoor public art gallery is a fairly new phenomenon. For decades the wall spaces in Kathmandu had been the exclusive domain of political activists. These various groups would use the walls to post handbills and write slogans promoting rallies and ideologies. It was the same for the Kupondole wall for many years.
As the executive manager of the Hotel Himalaya, Rabindra Tandukar, explained, “Back then the walls were painted in the middle of the night, without permission from the hotel. We would then paint over them with a fresh coat of white, only to have new slogans painted in the following weeks.”
This began to shift only in 2011 when one New York-based artist Bruno Levy arrived and began painting a few selected walls in the city. His work inspired a young generation of artists in Kathmandu to reconsider the use of public spaces and to add some colour to the city.
It was but a few months after Levy had finished his art work, one artist, Kailash K Shrestha, gathered a group of friends and fellow artists to paint a wall mural of their own. “We really wanted to communicate some constructive and positive messages,” said Kailash, “because at the time people were so frustrated with the problems surrounding the constitution”. He insisted their work had no personal or political agenda, and that they were only interested in transforming the walls.
The artists originally sought permission from the government to paint around Ratna Park, but finding them uncooperative, they approached Hotel Himalaya, who were happy to help.
Amid political uncertainty and social tension, on the day that was supposed to mark a new constitution, the artists pooled together their resources and took to the wall. “Most people were shouting,” explained Kailash, “But we were shouting through the wall—it was our weapon.” This first street art made quite an impression on the local community and online, and remained up for two months before political propaganda again took over the public wall. This time, however, the font was massive and stretched across the whole wall. It was as if the political sloganeers had been inspired by the artists. Their work now mimicked the scale of the art they were painting over.
The struggle to monopolise public spaces is nothing new. Political scientist Hari Sharma recalled the student protests of 1978, when arguments over who could paint on what walls sometimes even turned violent. “During our pro-democracy demonstrations, there were serious conflicts between student groups over the control of public spaces. In some cases, actual fights would occur.” The current tension, then, is playful in comparison. Kailash and his artists again took to the wall, painting over the fresh slogans with new art. This new work, however, lasted only a week before the sloganeers struck back. As the weeks went by, the street art in Kathmandu began to attract interest and gained momentum. Through projects like Artudio and Kolor Kathmandu, an entire community of artists emerged and they set out to beautify the city with their self-expression and to communicate a positive message to the wider public.
The wall as it currently stands has been free of political slogans since it was rebuilt after the quake, leading some artists to think that the battle between art and politics, on this wall at least, has been won. While the efforts to paint over political propaganda may not have been politically motivated, one cannot deny the political implications. By depoliticising public spaces, the artists are resisting the bombardment of propaganda and encouraging others to do the same. Yet, if street art has a political function, then what distinguishes it from propaganda?
On this matter, Bruno Levy, the man attributed to bringing street art to Kathmandu suggested that the distinction between art and propaganda is not always clear. “Art can be another form of propaganda,” wrote Levy, “But I believe the message of most street artists is less malicious. If it has a strong message, even a political one, it is usually from the individual perspective of the artist. It is a dialogue between the artist and their audience.
continued at
http://kathmandupost.ekantipur.com/news/2015-12-19/the-story-of-a-wall.html
http://bit.ly/1lYlqgH
posted by Satish Sharma at
13:17
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