Barcelona Metropolis

Urban art is disruptive, provocative and transforms public spaces, sparking heated debates about its legitimacy. Is it vandalism or artistic expression? In Barcelona, this controversy has shaped decades of street interventions, from the arrival of graffiti in the 1980s to the institutionalisation of contemporary street art. The journey is filled with anecdotes, bans and resistance, as well as an ongoing struggle to claim the walls of our city.

It’s often said that the most important life lessons are learned on the street. Urban art exemplifies this perfectly, as it’s a social phenomenon that disrupts, challenges and transforms cities in unexpected ways. For some sectors of society, these “tags” are an unmistakable form of vandalism that stains the public space. For other, these “works of art” are fleeting, transgressive artistic expressions that emerge from nowhere, shaking up complacent minds and adding a touch of colour to the grey lives of thousands. Clearly, the controversy is brewing.

This divide in opinion is part of urban art’s essence, which has been present since its roots in the decaying streets of 1970s New York. This very divide has kept urban art alive in the collective imagination, outlasting trends and fads. It’s a fascinating paradox that has sparked much reflection, because the criticisms, bans and penalties that have been used to suppress this movement in various cities over the decades have only helped to fuel its legend, turning some artists into media stars.

Controversy is always at play because for every mural erased from some corner of the world, a new one appears, amplifying the truths that mainstream media, swayed by political and economic lobbies, dare not broadcast. What’s more, social media has achieved what once seemed impossible: turning a local phenomenon into a global one. Today, urban art knows no borders, and any mural can travel the world in seconds, only to disappear forever. Eternity captured, immortalised by millions of likes.

These contradictions have taken centre stage, ultimately overshadowing the artistic experience itself. The equation is simple: the more forbidden, the more successful. That’s why it’s no surprise that many artists who once painted the streets clandestinely are now commanding high prices in prestigious galleries and headlining exhibitions in leading museums. Let’s be honest: in this fast-paced, ever-changing society, what role does urban art have once it’s been absorbed and tamed by the system? To begin answering this question, there’s no better city to focus on than Barcelona.

When graffiti started in Barcelona

This love-hate story goes back to the mid-1980s, when graffiti first appeared on the streets of the Catalan capital. For some, it came too late and in a distorted form. For others, it was the right moment, as the lingering shadows of the dictatorship and the uncertainties of the transition were giving way to newfound spaces of freedom. At that time, the city centre smelled of dog urine, spray paint on the walls and prostitution (not always in that exact order). These three elements had become part of the urban landscape, creating a balance based on the everyday.

Haring chose one of the walls where syringes piled up each morning, a wall that also reminded him of the rundown neighbourhoods in New York where he had first started painting. This mural, with the inscription “Todos juntos podemos parar el sida” [Together, we can stop AIDS] in Spanish, became one of the first social statements in urban art in Barcelona, although the building where the wall was located was soon demolished as part of an urban development plan. Beyond nostalgia, this intervention showed local artists that their graffiti could be more socially engaged. The seed planted years earlier was about to bear fruit, though the journey would bring many surprises.

The first change didn’t take long. By the early 1990s, Barcelona began its transformation into the host city for the 1992 Olympic Games. Pasqual Maragall, the mayor from the PSC [Socialist Party of Catalonia], who orchestrated the Olympic “miracle”, saw this as the perfect opportunity to clean up the neighbourhoods, build new public infrastructure to put the city on a par with other European capitals, and, most importantly, open Barcelona up to the sea and harness the tourism potential of its beaches.

In hindsight, the Olympics marked the triumphant arrival of modernisation in Spain, ushering in a shift towards a more cosmopolitan mindset that no one had asked for, but which, it seemed, everyone needed. It was also the era of the “Barcelona, posa’t guapa” [Barcelona, get pretty] campaign, which promoted the renovation of buildings and other architectural features, and played a key role in establishing the city as an international hub for design, fashion and creativity.

Urban art (still under the long shadow of graffiti) coexisted with these social, urban planning and economic changes, thanks to the lack of regulation and the freedom that prevailed in the streets. Barcelona City Council was too preoccupied with its stadiums, pools and seafront promenade to pay attention to the young people painting on the walls of buildings being demolished to make way for public facilities. No one realised that a new artistic movement, driven by hip hop, was taking shape, with the city seen as a blank canvas to express the concerns and contradictions blossoming beneath the street pavement.

During this period, the Catalan capital became a reference point, rivalling New York in the importance of its murals. Artists like Os Gemeos, WK Interact, Miss Van, Jorge Rodríguez-Gerada, The London Police, Invader, Faile, Suso33 and Mark Bodé left their mark on the walls of the Raval, the Gothic Quarter and Poblenou, capturing the social realities of the city’s residents. Their works focused on controversial themes that rarely made the headlines, including racism, violence, homophobia, opposition to imperialist wars, real estate speculation, rampant capitalism, the negative impact of mass tourism and even the challenges posed by the growing wave of gentrification.

This golden, mythologised era, which has been chronicled in books and documentaries, came to an abrupt end with the introduction of Barcelona’s public conduct ordinance in early 2006. The ordinance was passed with votes in favour from the PSC [Socialist Party of Catalonia], Esquerra Republicana [Republican Left of Catalonia] and Convergència i Unió [Convergence and Union]; the PP [People’s Party] abstained; and Iniciativa per Catalunya (ICV-EUiA) [Initiative for Catalonia Greens – United and Alternative Left] voted against. The aim of this controversial measure was to maintain public order in the city’s public spaces, enforcing fines for uncivil behaviour such as street vending, drinking alcohol in public, prostitution, begging and the degradation of the urban environment through advertising, posters and graffiti. For some, it was a way to put an end to “issues” related to coexistence that had been dragging on for years. For others, it was a focus on the symptoms rather than the root causes of the problems. Once again, controversy was rife, playing out on the streets.

The first sign of this shift was the ban on urban art, and complaints quickly followed. However, the fines couldn’t stop the movement, as it had already become an integral part of a globalised city that was constantly evolving, yet reluctant to lose its essence. Authorities and politicians believed they could keep the dogs tied up to stop them urinating on street corners, fine artists to prevent them from painting on walls and relocate prostitutes so they wouldn’t disturb the millions of tourists. But it was an impossible dream.

From illegal activity to art galleries

The penalties had the opposite effect. Instead of resolving issues, they led to the creation of urban ghettos, heightened social tensions, widened inequalities and, above all, drove prohibited activities further underground. The case of urban art was particularly controversial, as the very artists who illegally painted the city’s walls would later sell their works for thousands of euros in galleries. The ban became the best form of publicity to reach the masses and generate profits, though it also made many question the true advocacy behind their messages.

Self-managed spaces and associations also stand out, such as the Tres Xemeneies Gardens in Poble-sec and Nau Bostik in La Sagrera, which have become important hubs for both local and international artists. These places not only offer a legitimate platform for creating large-scale murals but also foster dialogue between the community and the artists, transforming the urban landscape into an open-air art gallery.

This is likely the balance that Keith Haring aimed for back in 1989, when he painted his iconic anti-AIDS mural, which was later restored in February 2014 with a replica of the original, on a wall facing the Plaça de Joan Coromines in the Raval. This was made possible through the collaboration of the Keith Haring Foundation, Barcelona City Council and MACBA. As expected, this institutional move helped put the city’s urban art scene back on the international map, although Barcelona’s walls had never stopped proclaiming uncomfortable truths.

Today, the contradictions of a city that constantly transforms, rebels and allows itself to be tamed unexpectedly are still reflected on its walls, even though some neighbourhoods continue to carry the scent of dog urine and prostitution (perhaps in that order). As the saying goes, nothing is perfect, and perhaps it never will be when it comes to customs, identity and graffiti on the walls.