On the duty of the artist

I mostly know you as a muralist. When did you first start painting murals? And when did you first paint murals in Palestine?

I started doing graffiti as a kid, hopping on the side of the freeway and doing pieces or just tagging on the Muni. That was my introduction to wanting to paint publicly. But around 2007, 2008, we put up the Edward Said mural at SF State. I was in the General Union of Palestine Students at SF State, and I was on the mural committee. The process of the mural had started before I had ever got to State, but it got interrupted by zionists who didn’t want us to put up a mural, so it was on hold for a while.

The administration tried to bring us in and say, “Hey, there are some images on your mural that we don’t approve of.” It was an image of Handala, who’s the cartoon character created by Naji al-Ali, a Palestinian artist who was assassinated in England. Naji al-Ali was a child refugee, and he created this character out of the story of a Palestinian refugee child with no shoes, always turning his back to the world because he felt abandoned. And the whole thing is that he’d never turn back around until Palestine is free. The name Handala means bitter. It’s like a type of bitterness that’s very bitter. That’s where the name came from. Handala is very representative of Palestinian culture, Palestinian refugees. We can’t talk about freedom or justice without talking about the refugees.

Eventually I helped paint a little bit of that mural, and it was at that time that I said “All right, you know what? This is really what I want to do. I want to pursue my art and I want to make the focus Palestine.”

The first wall I ever painted in public that was legal, was a wall given to me by an artist named Cuba, who was part of a bunch of crews… the Ex Vandals, and the TMC crew as well. He was one of the first graffiti writers in San Francisco, but he was from Baltimore. He was doing pieces in the ’80s. Some of my friends who are some of the most OG graffiti writers from San Francisco said in their own words that Cuba did the first piece in San Francisco. So I was very honored to know him. Rest in peace, Cuba.

For him to give me my first wall meant a lot. He cared a lot about Palestine. He saw me drawing one day in Muddy Waters on 16th and Valencia, and he hadn’t seen my art. He’s like, “This is what you do? Man, come with me” He made me get up and follow him, and he took me to Clarion Alley, and he’s like, “Here, man. You take this wall. Use this wall, man, but don’t fuck it up, just keep it going. You have to upkeep it if I’m going to give it to you.” I said, “Of course, man. I’ll never give this wall up.” So I’ve been working on painting on that wall for years. He catapulted me into taking muralism more seriously. He saw my vision and he appreciated it. He was a dope dude.

So your first wall was in Clarion Alley?

Yeah, my first space where I started painting consistently and on a legal wall. It was a good little space. It didn’t feel like a gentrifier space. Muralism in San Francisco can be tainted by gentrification. The gentrifiers, they like murals because it keeps graffiti away. But you can’t really separate muralism from graffiti. It’s like hip-hop and rap. It’s part of the same culture.

Sometimes it’s even the same painters. From what I can tell, skate culture in the city has been a source of inspiration for you, too.

Skateboarding was a big part of my early childhood. When I was about 12 years old, I started skateboarding and I just jumped into the culture. My older brother started skating a few years before me, and I fell in love with it because it was just a form of freedom. It was a form of expressing myself creatively. I was not into normative sports and stuff. I was not into sports, I was not into competitive sports. I didn’t like the culture at a young age.

I never felt included in anything that was typical American. I felt connected with skateboarding because it was kids who came from similar backgrounds to me. Even until this day, I still gravitate towards that culture.

A lot of the people who do graffiti are also skaters, so it all mixes together. When I was in Palestine in 2019 and 2022, I had the opportunity to paint at skate spots and the skateparks out there, which was something I always wanted to do as a Palestinian and as a skateboarder.

Tell me more about that experience. When were you there and what was that like?

When I went to Falastin in 2022, I was doing projects in Jerusalem and all over. I ended up hooking up with my friend Aram Sabag. He’s from Nablus, but he’s one of the skateboard movement leaders in Falastin. And he was like, “Yeah, come paint here, come paint there.” So I just hopped around with him and we brought paint and I would just paint walls that needed some love.

There were a lot of white kids from England who were all part of the Skate Pal thing. And even though they’re sweet kids… I shouldn’t even complain that they’re there because it’s dope, but it’s still kind of… bittersweet? Because we don’t get to go back. So it’s just tough when you see Europeans there. Like all my cousins who’ve never even been to Palestine, I’m like, “Man, I wish they were here.” It shouldn’t be a big deal, but I’m old school in this way. I wish I could see more of my people going there.

The first mural that I was introduced to of yours was the one in Oakland at the Solidarity Wall on 26th. Since then, you’ve done these epic murals throughout San Francisco. What has that journey been like for you?

It’s taught me a lot about myself. It’s taught me a lot about the community here in San Francisco. You learn a lot when you put something out there that has to do with what’s happening in Palestine. The reaction tells you a lot. My first piece I ever painted in Clarion Alley was completely defaced. I thought it was this person I knew who was a tweaker, but it wasn’t them who messed up my piece. It was an actual zionist. It may seem like there’s a lot of people out there who feel like that, but the reality is, no, there’s not. But the few people who do have that strong anti-Palestinian sentiment, they have the audacity to destroy my work.

In 2020 during the pandemic era, it was like my work was getting messed with daily. These people were probably home all day and they had nothing else to do, so they’d just come out and try to destroy my work. I didn’t really get much support at that time from my community. People weren’t really checking in and I just didn’t really ask for it either.

During this genocide, my Instagram account was banned and I lost all my followers, and that was a big part of my platform. It allowed me to have enough traction to maybe sell a couple prints every week, or just have enough money to sustain. I was struggling then, too, but it was nice to have that many followers because I had access to more folks.

Can you share a little bit more about that tension for you around not having community support for so long? What has it meant for you to struggle as an artist in the Palestinian diaspora?

I am a Palestinian. I’m born and raised here on this land, and my parents as well. Both my parents were the first kids to be born in the United States. I grew up knowing my culture to an extent, but my perspective was different because I also identified with other struggles. As an artist, I had a vision to educate through art. That’s why I started doing murals. I think a lot of other people who are involved in the struggle are thinking intellectually. I’d always get frustrated with that, because I believe intellectualism is only going to get us so far. When it comes to being in the streets, art connects us more. Poetry, music, visual art, all these things are so important for us. Which is why I get annoyed when they become tokenized and exploited.

There seems to be some thread around integrity, but also resources. Maybe it’s also coming from graffiti culture as well?

It’s just being part of underground cultures that are very, very opinionated. I’m definitely very opinionated about a lot of stuff, and I don’t want to come off as arrogant or being a hater, but I just think that it’s important for people who want to be involved in the arts to understand that you can’t just get into the arts without being an artist first. Don’t try to make art or try to make money off of art if you’re not a freakin’ artist. Then you’re just a curator, then you’re just a gallery owner. It’s exploitative in a way, because it takes away the space of artists. It takes away space from artists, to give us an opportunity to do stuff.

How have you been able to sustain yourself as an artist? Because you’ve been doing this for two decades?

In my 20s when I was doing mostly hip-hop performances, I would do shows and I would never get paid. I’d just do shit for free. We were the early artists before social media, so we got taken advantage of a lot. In my late 20s, early 30s, I started getting more into my visual art. I didn’t start actually getting money for that until the Palestine Oakland mural. And we all got paid $700, but it was over a month-long project. That was the first time I got paid. That showed me that I need to keep getting paid because, if this is what I’m going to do, I have to sustain myself.

When I started to take my art more seriously I started making and selling prints and t-shirts, and now I’m making hats. It helps, but it’s been a struggle. I don’t really feel fully comfortable promoting my work, selling my work, online if I’m not giving a lot of the money to my people. At the same time, it’s kind of ridiculous to feel like that because I got to survive, dude. No one’s going to take care of me.

Can you say more about that? Because that does feel like a real tension for a lot of people right now, specifically for Palestinian artists.

For me, it was a waste of my resources to focus on raising money when I know that’s not my strong point, and I know it’s not going to be easy for me to do. It’ll take me hella more resources.

I don’t have a lot of rich people following me. It’s mostly working-class people who follow my work and people who are not balling by all means. I don’t want to sound insensitive because it’s such a critical time… But they’re not even letting the trucks into Gaza. There’s hundreds of thousands, tons, of food, tons of resources just sitting there that are not getting in. And this is the result of probably a couple billion dollars that people donated.

I’m not going to lie, though. If there was a freaking donation box for M16s, then shit, I would fucking hit that. I would definitely, but then I would be on a fucking watch list.

It doesn’t sound insensitive to me. It seems like you’re very clear on what your role is.

Even saying all that with my chest, I still feel bad. I still feel bad that I’m not sending money to Palestine or to families. Because how can I not feel bad? We’re in a place of plenty. We have everything we need. But the reason they don’t have anything is by design. It’s not like it can’t get there. It can, but they won’t let it.

This is why our job here is to just keep the pressure on and keep Palestine in people’s minds and keep that name coming out of people’s mouths 24/7. Our solidarity is picking up. More and more people are waking up.

Do you feel that’s the role of your work? Keeping Palestine in people’s vision?

I always tell people I’m in this shit for the long haul. I’m not here for the moment. I’m here for the movement. I would say my role is a cultural role to help inspire my people who are artists to pursue their art or any creative means to tell their story. To educate others. To be unapologetically Palestinian.

Could you share a little more about your mural process? What does conceptualizing it versus actually getting it up on a wall look like?

It depends on the wall. Some murals I paint I’ll sketch out the idea. When I painted my mural on Cortland and Mission, it’s the one that’s been defaced multiple times, it says, “Resistance is justified when people are occupied.” That piece, I just freestyled it.

I kind of have these go-to images that I like to paint. I love painting cities. Cityscapes. I love painting trees. I love painting people. And when I want to make it strong and bold, I will add elements of the military occupation. Negative elements. Tanks and bombs and stuff like that. That’s when I just want to make things clear.

I’m using that piece as an example because it’s one of my favorite pieces creatively, I just did whatever I wanted to. That’s usually when my art comes out the best, when there’s no limitations.

I just wanted to draw the image of a kid with a rock slinging it toward tanks and helicopters and bombs dropping. I wanted to show that this is what the fight for Palestine is about. Just being an artist who paints what I paint, my work is going to be a counter message to, say, AIPAC. It’s counter propaganda. Because of the imagery I’m painting, it’s counter to all that.

How different were the choices you were making around what you painted in Palestine then? Because those are scenes they live daily, so I imagine you don’t need to remind people of the reality of the occupation.

I thought about that a lot, especially in 2019, when I was painting in Balata Refugee Camp, which is the biggest refugee camp in the West Bank. They see a lot of violence.

I painted a mural with an elder man playing the oud and then a woman holding a tray in her hand. On top of the tray, instead of food or olives, was Jerusalem. Then I did a cityscape, and then I did some mountains, but I put words inside the mountains. Words like friendship. Solidarity. A bunch of positive words. It’s mostly for the kids because it was right on the UN school that was really dilapidated and run down. Those are the images I painted for them.

But some other kids were like, “Come here. Come here. I want you to paint my store.” And they would just grab me by the wrist and just pull me toward their house or their store. And they’re like, “Paint something hana.” And I’m like, “What do you want me to paint?” “Hatt sittash, hatt sittash.” They want me to paint an M16. So I would paint a character, with a Hatta, a Keffiyeh, and then I’ll paint some cactus, and he’ll be holding the M16.

That was for them because that’s what they wanted. And I couldn’t say no. So fuck, yeah, I painted it. Then another person took me to paint on their house and I painted a handala. That’s what they wanted to see. And then I painted two martyrs. Everybody was pulling me left and right, man. Because I was the only Palestinian painter. There was this girl from Brazil and this dude from Peru, but they’re in la-la land, painting elephants and shit. It was pretty funny, man. It was like this guy painted this psychedelic ass elephant and everybody was just staring at it. They had no idea what it was supposed to mean. They painted over it when he left.

I just painted what they wanted to see. I felt like it was more for them to tell me what they wanted to see, because I’m leaving in a month. I’m not going to be there. They’re going to be there. But I heard all of my art that I painted is still up and still riding, so they liked me. It made me feel good to have that respect from them, because I know that they’ve been through hell. Life is tough in the camp. They made me paint a couple martyrs and I learned a lot about the society back home.

I painted a guy who was killed by the Palestinian authority, Hasham. This mural was on the main street. So I felt a little bit shifty too. I was like, am I going to get in trouble for this shit? Somebody going to ride up on me? But the people really appreciated it. I was painting the guy’s leg, it was really funny, and some guy came up and said, “It doesn’t look like him at all, man. Who is that? It doesn’t look like anything like him.” And I was like, “Look, bro, I’m working with six spray cans. I don’t even have the right colors. I don’t have the right tips. I’m just doing this with very minimal resources. I’m sorry, man, if this is not exactly like him.”

He came up and he’s like, “Mish M’bayan Mish M’bayan.” I’m like, “Man,” I was like, “Bro, get the fuck out of here. I’ve been here for three hours, bro.” There’s no more light and I’m over here painting this freaking portrait and there’s like ten people crowded behind me. I couldn’t even back up to look at the painting, because everybody was on my ass. So they were really excited and they loved that I was doing it, but they were also just right up in it.

That’s hilarious. That honestly just feels so Arab.

Oh my god, so Arab man. It was hella funny, because I’d be on the wall painting and this one white dude, he was painting that big ass elephant, like I said. And the kids didn’t really like him, because he wasn’t being very nice to them. I caught him yelling at them one time, and I was like, “Don’t be yelling at the kids here, man. You’re here for them, bro. You’re not here for your elephant shit. You’re here for these kids.”

So the kids started stealing his cans. Maybe he noticed one or two, but they were taking a good amount. So the kids came up when I was painting and they thought they were going to be slick, and they took a few of my cans too, and they ran off. I chased them. It was so funny. And then some of the kids who were with me, hanging out with me all day, started chasing them with me. So I chase these kids all through the camp, from one side of the camp, literally all the way to the other main street.

And I kind of gave up at one point and I was like, all right, I’m just going to go back. I was with these other kids and they walked back with me and they were talking shit about the kids who stole the cans. They’re like, “Don’t worry, don’t worry. We’re going to get them back for you.” It was so funny, 20 minutes later, I’m sitting there and these kids come up and they have hella cans from those guys that stole them. They brought me back like cans and more cans, it was so funny. I’m like, “Good job, man, good job.” They were the best man, they’re so damn sweet. And just full of life, full of love.

What advice would you give to younger artists?

I’m going to use a System Of A Down song: Follow your inner vision. Follow whatever inspired you in the beginning. Never forget that and always stick with that feeling, because it’s like the feeling that you get when you’re a kid, that motivation or something you get excited about, that should never leave you as an artist. You should always have that.

I don’t know if there has been any other time in history that’s been this challenging to stay mentally, physically, and emotionally healthy, stable… It’s been tough. It’s almost unfathomable to imagine, to witness what we’re witnessing. This is not normal at all. We’ve been numb to it, but it is scary. It can be really draining to our creative senses. It kind of makes me feel like I want to isolate myself more. So it’s important to stay around good folks. Just stay around as much positivity as you can, and I hope that you are also taking care as much as you can.