Since I’ve been giving tours of Wynwood, an area of town heralded as an “outdoor museum” filled with murals, I’ve gained an appreciation for mural writing and graffiti tagging.

Wynwood is an interesting area just north of downtown Miami. Formerly, it was the home of a burgeoning fashion industry. As the industry moved out, however, it was taken over by developers. They saw it as a new area to draw tourists to and encouraged the painting of former factory walls with a variety of images. They are also transforming the area to a warren of high rise condo buildings, glitzy restaurants, and more.

When I first became acquainted with the growing area, all I could see was a jumble of images and colors; what I termed (excuse me) visual diarrhea. As I came to recognize the painters and taggers, I came to appreciate what I was seeing. I even sought out murals and graffiti in other cities I visited (see Cartegena, 6-14-2024, New Orleans, 3-26-2024, Athens, 11-7-2022). I wish I had photos from a long ago visit to Lisbon.

I wonder if a code of ethics governs these public works of art. Every time I return to Wynwood, I see murals I love seeing slowly and sequentially covered over by taggers or simply disappearing. I feel a loss of friends that I have come to know and appreciate. My response is to see these changes as defacing, but I don’t know if the community of artists views the changes the same way. Or is it some great organic evolution? I think no one has really discussed this fact in the transient live of murals.

Every Friday I take a tai chi class in one of our city’s recreation centers in historic Flamingo Park. Our room is overshadowed by a large mural recognizing the brave first responders on September 11, 2011. I know I will never forget the emotions that washed over me that fateful day as I was transfixed in a coffee shop in the center of Sofia, Bulgaria where the conference on Peace and Reconciliation in the Balkans as which I spoke had just concluded.

When I see this mural, I remember another mural that I saw in the late 1970s when I worked in Cleveland, Ohio. I was the curator at a short-lived, grass-roots museum founded by members of the many ethnic communities in that city along Lake Erie. My research assignments took me into many of the ethnic communities documenting their history and traditions. One frequent destination was St. Emeric Roman Catholic Church, founded by Hungarian immigrants. They chose to replicate the US postage stamp commemorating the 1968 Apollo 8 space launch.

I laugh when I remember seeing this image, to me, so out of place in a church. And yet, it’s a great commemoration. Filled with memories.

PS – If you wonder why two posts, back to back … I’m a victim of the full moon. Insomnia visits me much too often. Writing is a constructive way to fill the night hours.