Murals: Insipid, Not Inspiring

By Joseph P. Blake

I did something the other day I don't normally do - I stopped to look at one of the many murals that decorate the walls of Philadelphia. I'm not a big fan of murals, at least not the kind usually found in communities bordering on full-scale gentrification, such as Mantua and parts of North Philadelphia. This day, however, my attention was drawn to one painted on the side of a house next to a vacant lot on 16th Street near Montgomery, right across the street from Temple's athletic field. It features images that are almost otherworldly in their presentation and somewhat spooky and unnerving in design.

Dominant is a man blowing a whiff of smoke from his mouth that floats off and blends into another interesting scene of children playing. I thought the colors were nice, but it had no impact on me other than to say, "Hmmm. That's interesting." For me, that meant it was, unfortunately, like so many other murals in economically compromised neighborhoods: It was a snapshot of a moment, thought, or perception unconnected to anything in the neighborhood or anyone living there. There was no greater "thing" being hinted at, and certainly no reason to be moved in any way, which is what I think any good public art usually does. I've seen wall art (I think the word mural in Philly has evolved into something less than worthy of its meaning) on buildings from Mexico City to the suburbs of Rome, Paris and London. All are major cities with areas that look eerily familiar in some cases to Mantua and sections of North Philadelphia.

There, the art is usually of a political or deeply historical nature and expresses a view that is born of passion and defiance and pays tribute to heroes both local and ideological.The closest I've seen to something like that in my hometown is the wall art in Chinatown that features a hand representing the community stopping the bulldozers from razing their neighborhood to make way for a ballpark/convention center/parking lot/whatever.

That feeling of community and defiance comes through loud and clear and is an inspiration to view. And that, in essence, is what troubles me about these feel-good murals in areas under stress from poverty, violence, and now, gentrification.
Instead of showing passion, compassion, and a spirit of self-determination and permanence, these murals have no more impact than a smiley face on a T-shirt.
It is no different than painting homey scenes over the boarded-up windows of abandoned buildings, which actually was done on North Broad Street near Lehigh Avenue. I know people will say, "Well, the community asked for this," or that the community "was consulted before this mural was painted." My response to that - if that's true in all cases - is that then there is a deeper disconnect between reality and perception than I had imagined. Also, few, if any, of the artists who do the actual paintings come from the community they are interpreting on the wall.

Perhaps I'm being harsh. Perhaps these murals are serving some purpose I'm too cynical to notice. Perhaps they're providing inspiration, education, or even community service for someone in need. But from where I stand, gazing at vacant lots, as real estate speculators with New Jersey and Delaware tags drive slowly through and presage impending increases in taxes that will force the same people represented in the mural to move - well, I'd be more impressed if there were a hand somewhere in there stopping a bulldozer, or something else showing self-determination, entrepreneurship, or political enlightenment.

So when Prince Charles and his bride Camilla take a tour of the murals during their upcoming visit here, I wonder what will cross their minds and if any of those thoughts will have anything at all to do with the people the murals are supposed to represent.

Joseph P. Blake, a former Inquirer editor, is a freelance writer