“A place is defined by its people,” says Cassandra, the protagonist in my novel, How to Build a Champion. In that scene, she’s discussing the neighbourhood in the city where she lives and where she works, the place where she grew up, with a fellow character, David, a journalist. For Cassandra, and for myself, people influence their environment as much as they are influenced by their environment. Every interaction we have – whether it be with an objet d’art we’ve bought because we liked its design and to look at it brings forth a smile, or a mural, painted with joy, that we see on a street wall, or with a fellow human being – we experience an internal reaction to each external stimulus. That’s why, when we pack up our belongings – or what we can carry – it’s vital that we arrive in a place where we want to call ‘home’. A place where we can ‘root’ ourselves in a community which nourishes its members and sustains its components parts – its subcultures – so that each of us connects with a sense of belonging that’s integral to our, and each other’s, well being.
In many communities – inner city, and outside a city’s limits – there’s a tendency to gloss over the cracks in the façade; that if we ignore a problem, it’ll go away. And that’s why street artists are so vital to a community: they communicate, in their words and in their images, the larger societal issues many communities face: gentrification, disconnection, isolation. And their works show the solution, too: inclusion, self-expression, collaboration, and connection with each other and the places where we live. Some may see these artists’ work as a blight in their community, and others may see their murals as a remembrance of things lost, or a celebration of the important things in life. Others may see their works, and works-in-progress, on designated ‘free walls’, as an open air gallery or workshop; a destination for residents and tourists alike, to see who we are, and what we’re about, and so encourage much needed foot-fall into our high streets. Street art can inspire hope, act as a tool for social change, and build community. Together, we’re no longer painting over the cracks; we’re letting the light in to repair them.
To be inclusive, to work collectively, we become part of something larger than ourselves. We belong. And, as our confidence grows, we express ourselves, and in turn, we each find our purpose in the place we’ve chosen to make our homes – and really, that’s the only way a politics of kindness will flourish, irrespective of our backgrounds or ‘social class’. It cannot be found in an idealised image of the past. It can be built in seeing things as they are, now; not in knocking another down, but in extending a hand to pull each other up. Street artists, and their artworks, are one of many hopeful heartbeats in cities that are forever in flux. All we have to do, is come together, and look.
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