Painting with an audience: FAQ’s

Art for All, Mural & Sculpture Event, Seville, Spain

“Oye, hija!”
Not ever in my life have I been addressed as “daughter”, not even by my own parents, but in Spain it seems to be the proper title for a paint-spattered, “world famous”, international, female mural painter, because I heard it at least thirty times a day.

I was very happy to be assigned one of the few walls on ground level (considering my frantic fear of heights) and did not envy my fellow painters at all who were working at 18m walls. But it did have its drawback: a constant audience. Not that I’m not used to that: it took me a while, but in Honduras I’ve learned to work while being surrounded by people with a complete different concept of personal space. It can happen that I’m painting while complete strangers are fingering my curls. Sometimes I have to ask people to move aside a little, so I can actually move my paintbrush over the surface. But in Honduras people are not very vocal or expressive. They’ll tell you they like your work (“Qué bonito”), and that’s about it.

Not so in Spain. Or, as I don’t pretend to know Spain, at least not so in the neighbourhood of Polígono San Pablo in Seville, Spain.
From the moment I’d bring out paint and brushes in the morning, a waterfall of comments started rolling over me, slowing down during siesta time (2-5pm) to become just as fierce again in the early evening hours. The most frequently asked question was:

What are you doing?

Once (a little bored after answering the same question for the umpteenth time), I answered in the following matter:

Currently, I’m in the process of blending three different tones of burned sienna into a special optical effect that will allow me to obtain an illusion of shadow on the ancient Maya glyph that represents the cardinal point of the East.

All I got back was a blank look. I had way more success with the following answer:

I’m painting.

Although totally nondescript and superfluous, it seemed to satisfy most onlookers.

The second most frequently asked question undoubtedly was:

Who’s paying for this?

Even though the people of San Pablo really seemed to appreciate our work, they were a bit worried that it was being financed with their tax money. When we assured them this was not the case at all, they seemed to like the murals all the better. Especially after the rumour went around that we are some of “the best muralists in the world”, some of us charging no less that $400,000 for a mural!

I think # 3 on the FAQ list was the kind of questions whether I could paint someone a portrait of his granddaughter or dog / the living room wall / bar stool / bathroom etc. The answer was no, of course. Sorry, but no time. (And they probably wouldn’t be able to afford it anyway, with the current rate of $400,000 per art work!).

Another biggie was, not surprisingly:

What does it mean…?

Again, I soon found out that short and simple answers were the most appreciated. I got in trouble a few times when I explained that the centre part of my mural represents the Maya past with the exception of the modern Maya guy sowing maize, thus representing the present. The audience did not agree. That cowboy did not belong in my mural and he didn’t look at all like a modern Maya man. When I explained that where I live (Copán, Honduras), the Maya men actually do look very much like him, I was told several times that no, he was no Maya Indian. Well, who am I to argue…

For the rest it wasn’t so much questions that were being asked, but comments that were made, as well as stories, anecdotes, monologues, reviews and recommendations. I heard many a life story (“My grandmother used to be a painter too, but then she got diabetes and…”), complete mural reviews, always ending with: “…but I like yours best!” (I bet they said that to all the artists!) and art criticism (“I love Inca art!”).

Funnily enough, no one ever bothered to ask me whether I had time to answer their questions or even if I'd speak Spanish in the first place!

And so I chatted my way through my mural Sometimes I pretended to be deaf or not able to understand Spanish. However, this didn’t stop people from talking to me at all. As a matter of fact, I observed quite a few people talking to themselves anyway and it also seemed completely normal for two, usually elder, women on their way shopping to stop in the middle of the pavement (generally in front of my mural) and just talk. The two of them. At the same time, I mean. So no, I don’t feel too guilty about sometimes shutting myself off. But as much as it was distractive, it was also a lot of fun to work in a residential area and to hear from its habitants. After all, they’ll have to live with what I and my fellow artists painted them, so I’m glad they seem to like it. A lot, actually, I think, from what I’ve heard. (All the time).
As one woman put it:

This neighbourhood used to be a piece of sh*t. Now I’m proud to live here!

It’s quite an honour to have contributed to that!
Carin Steen
On Art for All, Seville, Sept 27- Oct 10, 2010