The Secret: Art and graffiti in Mallorca

Mallorca is an island of artists. It must be something to do with having so much time on their hands.

The great tradition of art, in the north of the island at any rate, grew out of the creation of the Pollensa “school” in the early years of the last century. As with much of the island’s alleged culture, the impetus for this came not from locals but from mainland Spain and Argentina, while the best known pieces of the sculpture branch line of art, such as those on the roundabouts, are the work of an Italian and a Hungarian – the hideous horse of Alcúdia and the knotty conundrum of the Magic area.

It’s hard to avoid art, be it in galleries in Pollensa town or in its port, or in restaurants which, through their own exhibitions, acquire for themselves the canvas of sophistication. The Bennassar gallery in Pollensa is its own white background, grafted onto which is an interior design of minimalism and a rotation of splashes of the abstract or the Fauvist post-impressionism with which Pollensa is sometimes associated. The Llompart gallery in the Seglars square at the foot of the Calvari is a wooden abundance of every bit of space being competed for by prints. It’s a gallery in which you feel you can blow your nose, unlike Bennassar’s where you would fear being quarantined in its starkly pristine clean-room laboratory.

Not a fiesta passes without the programme being brushed with an opening of an exhibition here, another one there, all the work of artists you have never heard of. The fiesta posters are their own works of art, grandly announced in advance of the release of the fiesta schedule itself, like the single promoting a new album. Art is everywhere. In the towns you may stumble across some German ancients on folding camping-chair canvas (of a different variety), sketch pads in hand and an earnestly inquisitive expression as they commit to paper a town house with its green persianas, a tumble of bougainvillaea and a balcony flowerpot or two. The owners should sell image rights or if not, then engage in some surreptitious mooning.

Mallorca has not escaped the artistic vandalism of the modern day, be it the pictorial ramblings of a scrambled abstract creator or the urbanism of street art – graffiti, to you and me. The deceit of street art lies in a connivance by an ultra-liberal, social services movement of expression of one’s inner caveman. Normally I would approve, but when it comes to uninvited decoration of walls or shop shutters, I am less inclined to, irrespective of the merits of what are often astonishing statements. One can at least appreciate the creativity of the Mallorcan Banksys, though quite how citizen dismay at street art squares with another aspect of the fiesta programme – the street art workshop – is a question only the connivers can really answer.

But then there is the graffiti scrawl. It may often have its own signature style, but it ain’t art, except perversely as some kind of Dadaist artistic anarchy. The scrawl is vandalism impure and simple, but occasionally, when it is intelligible as words, an enigma arises. And we have one. Mallorca has a secret. Look around, and you will see that it does. The secret’s out, as in that it’s all over the place; on this wall, on that pillar or utility’s control-box housing. In Puerto Alcúdia one such pillar poses the question “Secreto?” on one side, and answers on the other – “El secreto es sexy Nena”. What is this secret? I have no idea. Maybe there is no secret. Perhaps it is just a conceit. Whatever it is, it’s intriguing. It may have no merit, it may be vandalistic, but it does make you think, which is, after all, a purpose of art. If you can call it that.

Thanks to Ben Grimley for drawing my attention to the “Secreto” graffiti.

Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.

Art For Art’s Sake

Jeremy Paxman believes that the British spend too much time watching television and that television they watch in great droves, like “Britain’s Got Talent”, represents time that would be better spent going to the likes of art galleries. There was a discussion of this on Stephen Nolan’s Five Live show, with Rod Liddle basically agreeing with Paxman, while readily admitting he was being elitist.

This is not a discussion for this blog, but it acts as a neat point of entry to Alcúdia town hall’s current list of events – painting exhibition, pottery exhibition and a theatrical production in Catalan. These should have tourists turning up in their droves. Ah but, you say, these are just for local people. In the main yes, but not exclusively. Either way, they still fall firmly into the category – worthy but dull. Well can one imagine the excitement generated around the pools of Bellevue at the news that a German artist has got a few pictures hanging in the library in the old town. Don’t all rush at once.

It was pleasing to hear views on the Nolan programme that museums and their like should be places of interactivity and of entertainment, a point I have made myself in respect of the planned new Pollentia museum. For the couch-potato, TV-watching, double-Susan Boyle-sized Philistine Brits, read the sun lounger-potato, double-Susan Boyle-sized Philistine Brit tourists, also TV watching, be it “Talent” or the Cup Final at the nearest bar, when they could be looking blankly at some ceramics or attending a play in an indecipherable language.

This is not to say that the town hall shouldn’t put on these events, but it is to say that if they seriously believe tourists are going to take much notice, then they should think again. Recently, it was announced that the summer Via Fora programme (the dramatised street productions) would be held inside the walls of the old town and not just outside them – as has been the case. Boy, that’s a major innovation. Sadly, much as the Via Fora historical representations are quite good, they also fail to inspire the tourist to vacate his bar stool. Why not do one in English and stage it in the Bellevue show garden? The history of Alcúdia with loads of flashing lights, blokes with swords, hologram religious icons weeping; that sort of malarkey. A sort of Pirates with only the odd pirate and loads of Romans and Moors. Far too unauthentic probably, and Heaven forbid it shouldn’t be in Catalan, but you know something, I reckon they’d be packed out. Actually, forget it, Alcúdia town hall. Don’t bother reading this. I’m on the phone to a theatrical impresario. Or maybe Paxman’s got a few bob knocking around he’d care to invest.