ArtBeat
It was inevitable. No matter how often we reflect on the ultimate ephemerality of street art, it still stings when a familiar work disappears. Recently, a collection of murals that have coloured our city walls for years were destroyed as the buildings they adorned were demolished. The most notable of those lost were Fin Dac’s Kaitaiki on the exterior of Hereford Street’s YMCA building and Jacob Yikes’ surreal blue work on the damaged car park building overlooking Cathedral Square. Over the years, these works have become established in our memories, as both specific narratives and landmarks and as part of the backdrop that informs the wider urban landscape. Yet, it was inevitable that they would eventually meet their end, disappearing as long-planned rebuilds are realised.
Street art has always been a response to the prevailing landscape, whether bold graffiti painted on dilapidated trains, social commentaries stencilled on walls, or large murals that serve as both extensions of and counterpoints to pervasive advertising. Street art is marked by its adaptability, working within the urban landscape and the realities that such an environment of change brings. Whether chaotically colourful car park walls, overlooked alleyways, the modular panels of St Asaph Street’s BOXed Quarter, or the big, bold paintings found in busy hotspots, art finds a way to activate spaces of varying sizes and profiles. The disappointment of the disappearance of familiar works is tempered by the hope that something fresh will appear, making use of the new surroundings that emerge. The changing city remains an intriguing site for art to flourish – regeneration is always possible.
But what will such regeneration look like now? The spectre of the earthquakes is less dominant today, and instead we find an array of street art that serves different purposes. Across the city we can find acts of tribute (such as Kophie Su’a-Hulsbosch and Janine Williams’ Wahine Toa mural on Hereford Street), beautification, transformation and celebration, but also messages that illuminate issues, such as the legacy of Iranian activist Mahsa Amini (outside the Arts Centre, also by Su’a-Hulsbosch), and interventions that confront the crises in Ukraine and Gaza, and local talking points, such as the discourse around Te Tiriti. Of course, not all of these subjects are able to garner the same platforms or support. It is understandably hard to gain approval from a building owner (or funding bodies) for those proposals that seek progressive or confrontational conversations, be they political or stylistic. The dynamic between expression and permission will always be fraught with challenges.
But that is exactly the balance to strike – works that engage our public audiences in different ways, that embrace the humanity in our creativity, that celebrate the immediate, if ephemeral, impact of art in the streets. The reason we need to replace and regenerate the lost works throughout the city is because we risk losing our declarations of presence amidst the spaces we build. We have seen the rise of Artificial Intelligence begin to affect how we make, consume and define art (tailor-made music can be artificially constructed through personal prompts, creating songs that suit your prevailing mood, rather than finding empathy with another human’s personal expression), so the chance to adorn our shared spaces, whether large walls or smaller surfaces, is a vital way to maintain our creative agency in our common landscape. Don’t be sad if works disappear, be sad if we don’t replace them.
IMAGES
1. FinDac's Kaitiaki is demolished as the Hereford Street YMCA building prepares for rebuilding. A mural produced in tribute to Palestinian activist Mahsa Amini by Kophie Sua-Hulsboach - produced in collaboration with the Kia Ora Academy