HOW I
CREATED A WALL DISTRICT?
10 YEARS LATER: The story (and some conclusions) of Distrito Graffiti, Bogotá and Ciudad Mural, Getsemaní.
CAMILO FIDEL LÓPEZ
Enough time has passed. This year marks ten years since the first edition of Distrito Graffiti in Puente Aranda, and, with the passage of time, I've been able to calmly reflect on the results and impact of a project that began as an enthusiastic and ambitious idea: to create the city's most important urban art appreciation platform. I remember arriving from Wynwood after painting "Shipwrecked" with Santiago Castro and Ricardo Vásquez, and the idea of creating something similar—but different, very different—became one of Vértigo Graffiti's priorities for 2016. Fortunately, I had the support, from the very first meeting, of the people who worked at the Secretariat of Culture (later, IDARTES joined). Together, we began to shape—and budget—what would become a novel and unprecedented project for the city.
Some photos taken before Distrito Graffiti in the area where the murals would eventually be located
The strongest argument for suggesting Puente Aranda was, firstly, its easy access by public transport and bike path (just as we envisioned and suggested from the beginning; the station is now called Distrito Graffiti), and secondly, but no less importantly, it was my interest, and that of the mayor's office, in decentralizing the cultural offerings from the city center. For better or worse, Puente Aranda has always been perceived as an industrial area. During the process, I realized the falsity of this common perception: the majority of the area is residential.
We were also helped by the fabulous experience of Ciudad Mural - Cartagena (in fact, the first Graffiti District was called Ciudad Mural II), an event we organized with Homecenter, the city government, and the Heritage Institute, which resulted in more than thirty murals by international, national, and local artists. The outcome of Ciudad Mural wasn't entirely positive; the murals marked the beginning of an over-commercialization of murals and, moreover, coincided with the gentrification process that plagues the neighborhood today. From that experience, I learned to be more careful when identifying suitable areas for these types of districts, lest I end up being blamed again for a process that I consider to be essentially speculative and economic, like gentrification. In my defense, I say that the MDC mural, which occupied one of the most important corners of the festival, took as its starting point the denunciation of this situation (we also filmed a documentary called Getsemaní, the Last Neighborhood, which, while telling the story of the festival, narrated the problem of the exodus of residents from the neighborhood). Although I don't regret Ciudad Mural, I must say that the appropriate place to do it, or at least the most suitable, was the adjacent La Matuna area and not the historic Getsemaní neighborhood. I hope that, just as time has brought me understanding, it can give me a second chance to prove my thesis and create a new Ciudad Mural there. First conclusion: neighborhoods or areas with significant historical, heritage, and architectural value should be avoided, lest their urgent need for preservation be jeopardized.
The mural map of Ciudad Mural Getsemaní
Short documentary film, Getsemaní, the last neighborhood
I want to pause to acknowledge another mistake. It shouldn't have been called Graffiti District; we should have called it Mural District. I now know for a fact that when a third party intervenes in the creative process on the street (be it an institution, manager, or sponsor), the nature of the work and its outcome change; it's no longer graffiti, but rather falls under the broad and generous category of murals. Returning to my justifications, I can say that thanks to Graffiti District, hundreds of spontaneous graffiti pieces proliferated—and continue to proliferate—in the area; some have even gone so far as to add tags and throw-ups to the immense murals that now—I regret to say—are languishing. Second lesson: call things by their proper names.
Some murals from Ciudad Mural Getsemaní
This leads me to perhaps the most important conclusion—which I now consider almost imperative—that this type of urban project must have the private sector as its primary sponsor. Unfortunately, in Bogotá, most cultural plans have an expiration date. After four years, new administrations change their focus, and, as happened with our project, public support is lost, and resources are directed to other areas or sectors. I have sadly witnessed the decline of Distrito Graffiti. It's a complete loss of an excellent opportunity, considering its positioning as a tourist destination and the very name of the station. These projects must be planned for the long term—beyond at least four years—and must secure funding from private companies to guarantee their sustainability. It's likely that the interest in doing so—I admit I couldn't find a partner of this kind—wasn't strong enough given our absolute refusal to paint logos or commercial messages. This latent threat has already devoured entire areas, as is happening on Carrera Séptima (or in Wynwood itself). Seventh Avenue is a historic graffiti space now occupied by enormous monstrosities of advertising disguised as murals. (A clever move, no doubt, to avoid being labeled outdoor visual advertising.)
Some murals from Distrito Graffiti 2016
Murals by Bikismo (Puerto Rico) and Kenor (Spain) Graffiti District 2016
Esteban del Valle Process, (USA), Graffiti District 2016
But I won't dwell on the reservations. Nor is it about denying the outstanding aspects of our project. For starters, Distrito Graffiti managed to integrate itself into the city's dynamics, not only through its intended cultural decentralization but also by being planned close to pedestrian traffic (buses and bicycles). I believe it's a mistake, and I've pointed this out to other cities that have tried to emulate the project, to place these kinds of cultural venues in locations that are difficult for the public to access. On the other hand, I feel that the area has indeed been revitalized, though not in the same way as Cartagena. Today I see more activity and commercial activity in the area; some will say this is due to the presence of several call centers nearby, but I've seen how some businesses are focusing on and offering products and services—tours, for example—aimed at visitors, many of them foreigners. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I believe that Distrito Graffiti's greatest achievement was its open conceptual and curatorial approach to the themes explored by the artists. At the time, we were sensible, proposing such broad topics that they allowed for the inclusion of diverse and varied perspectives from three continents. These perspectives were far from complacent, a significant risk inherent in projects funded with public resources.
Some murals from the Graffiti District 2019. Visited by tourists.
Murals of Pro 176 (France), 2020.
Mural Uri, Spain, 2019
Mural BIO (USA) and Sabotage (Spain) 2019. Graffiti District
Ten years later, I'm left with the bitter taste of a mission only half accomplished. I'm convinced the project's potential was never fully realized. I dreamed of a section with at least a thousand murals (today it has something like one hundred and fifty) that would span the wide avenues that intersect in the area (America and 13th Avenues). However, I haven't given up hope of continuing. But this time, I hope to put into practice everything I've learned and everything that time has allowed me to see clearly. Perhaps I've decided to reminisce as an unusual way to get Distrito Graffiti back on track. I know beforehand that there's still a lot to do, but like my initial vision for Wynwood, this time I would do it similarly but differently. Very differently.
Camilo Fidel López
Creator and Director of District Graffiti
2016-2019
FLOP Mural (Brazil) 2019.