"FOR CLOSE to six years I painted the streets of Jerusalem from sun-up to sun-down, painting for so long I got blisters on my fingers, but the streets began to take on new life," says INSPIRE, one of Jerusalem's most prolific street artists, whose stencils, drawings and murals can be seen all over the city. "This is not what I wanted to say, actually," confesses one speech bubble on Rehov Hillel. Some graffiti carries a distinctly political message, often ironic and in Hebrew, such as "A star dies in Gaza, a star dies in Sderot" and "Missiles don't return hostages," while others leave their mark on the city with more elaborate drawings or social commentary or are just downright perplexing. The fact that graffiti has made its way to the shuk is a sure sign that the images that have been hitting Jerusalem's streets in the last few years are being noticed, sparking a debate over whether it represents vandalism or a form of spontaneous urban renewal. Gallery owner Yoram Amir, who lives in an apartment in the building, explains that the piece is a comment on Jerusalem's declining authenticity due to increasing commercialization, as embodied by the homogeneous cuisine of the multinational corporation. Hanging in a frame on one of the gallery's walls is a stencil of the word "Yerushalayim" in Hebrew, its final letter swapped with the Golden Arches of the McDonald's Corporation. The Pirates of Jerusalem gallery tucked away on the second floor away from the clamor of the fruit and vegetable stands sells photographs of unusual Jerusalem scenes, including stencil graffiti, casting a skeptical eye over the city's changing architectural and cultural environmental.
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Their handiwork can also be seen at the shuk, but this time as professional photographs set in handmade picture frames. The mysterious notices are not the work of the army, but belong to the unseen graffiti artists who roam the city's streets under cover of darkness, armed with cans of spray paint instead of M-16s. Instead, life goes on as normal as traditional religious families rub shoulders with art students, veteran Israelis and North American New Age spiritual types carrying home their shopping from the nearby Mahaneh Yehuda market. A few yards around the corner of the narrow alleyway, another sign pops up: "No thoroughfare without authorization," stamped with a large tzaddik, the initial of the Hebrew acronym for the Israel Defense Forces.Īround the corner of the cobbled streets of Nahlaot, another notice commands pedestrians to come to a halt: "Checkpoint ahead." But the roadblock, like soldiers or other signs of military activity, are nowhere to be seen. 'Stop! Closed military area," warns the writing on the wall. NOTE! Consider delaying until first div on page If (slot) slot.addService(googletag.pubads()) (function (a, d, o, r, i, c, u, p, w, m)
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