Miquel Wert

Interview

Miquel Wert Jirheden (Barcelona, 1982) is a Spanish-Swedish painter, draftsman, and muralist based in Barcelona. He graduated in Fine Arts from the University of Barcelona in 2005 and has developed an artistic practice that combines studio painting, drawing, and mural interventions in both public and institutional spaces.

His work explores memory, identity, and the construction of collective narratives, portraying everyday scenes charged with symbolism and a strong narrative atmosphere. In both his studio work and large-scale murals, Wert creates images that evoke a recent, fragile, and ambiguous past, placing viewers before situations that oscillate between reality and fiction. He has participated in numerous solo and group exhibitions nationally and internationally and has carried out public art projects throughout Europe, the Mediterranean region, and North Africa. His work forms part of both public and private collections. In the field of public art, one of his most notable projects is the mural created in 2021 together with Elisa Capdevila in Barcelona’s Camp de l’Arpa neighborhood, a tribute to older generations and the collective memory of the area. Alongside his artistic practice, he also teaches as an associate professor at the University of Barcelona in the fields of Fine Arts and Conservation-Restoration.

Your relationship with graffiti dates back to the 1990s. What were your beginnings like, and how do you view today’s urban art scene?

My earliest memories are linked to a pencil. Drawing was my main pastime. My father was a talented draftsman, although professionally he pursued a more technical path as a technical illustrator and designer. As a child, I would copy the drawings he made for me, often characters from 1980s films that fascinated me. I was so proud of those drawings that I made photocopies to share them with my school friends.

My mother, meanwhile, regularly took me to museums, and we even traveled specifically to visit them. Later, around 1993, I saw a television report about graffiti on the TVE2 program Línea 900, which sparked my fascination with the movement. From that moment on, I filled notebooks with calligraphic forms and, together with school friends, began making my first timid tags.

Around 1997, I painted my first pieces, heavily influenced by comic books and American graffiti. Yet from the beginning, what interested me most was the human figure. My closest references were artists such as Sendy’s, Poseydon, Rostro, Skum, Done, and Mr. Kern—the artists whose work I encountered on the streets of Barcelona and Mollet.

Today, I perceive a strong generational shift taking place. There is tremendous energy, spontaneity, flashes of brilliance, but also, at times, a certain superficiality. Many younger artists seem impatient to make a name for themselves and build an artistic career quickly, which sometimes leads to imitation, copying, or plagiarism both in the streets and on social media.

This urgency is not unique to muralism or urban art, but any field that attracts attention and money becomes vulnerable to these dynamics. Those of us who have been around longer are less easily fooled by opportunism. At the same time, there is an extraordinary amount of talent emerging, and I genuinely enjoy collaborating with and learning from younger artists.

You hold a Fine Arts degree. What importance has academic education had in your work?

Although I began painting in the 1990s through graffiti culture, I simultaneously pursued formal artistic education through an Art Baccalaureate and later Fine Arts studies.

In those early years, before painting murals, almost everything was learned through observation, trial and error, conversations with fellow writers, and whatever could be found in books, magazines, and VHS tapes. This was the pre-internet era—or at least the pre-internet era in my household. I remember visiting friends’ homes with floppy disks to download graffiti images from some of the first websites dedicated to the subject and then studying them later on my ancient computer.

I believe academic education is valuable, although I personally became somewhat disillusioned with certain aspects of it. What it gave me was focus, the opportunity to meet people with similar interests, and access to libraries where I discovered artists and references that shaped my visual imagination.

Even today, I continue learning constantly. I never stop reading or collecting books—so many, in fact, that one day I may well be thrown out of the house because of them.

One of the defining characteristics of your work is the reduction of color to grayscale or highly limited palettes. Why do you work this way?

The materials I use in the studio—and consequently in public space—are simple tools that allow for a direct and graphic relationship with canvas, wood, or walls.

In my earlier years, my palette was much broader, and I worked naturally with oil and acrylic paint. However, unlike painters who enjoy the technical craft of mixing and preparing paint, I wanted a faster, more direct medium. My impatience with lengthy technical processes led me to simplify my materials progressively.

Eventually I reduced my practice almost to its essence: charcoal and the white of the support itself. This approach is closer to drawing than painting.

In public space, I also use monochromatic or highly restricted palettes and uncomplicated tools that help me work quickly, spontaneously, and directly.

There is another important factor: I have severe deuteranomaly, a form of color vision deficiency commonly grouped under the term “color blindness.” This condition affects around 8% of men and only 0.4% of women. Naturally, it influences my preference for monochromatic ranges and limited palettes.

Additionally, much of the documentary material I work from is itself monochromatic or heavily desaturated due to age and reproduction techniques, which further reinforces this visual language.

As a teacher, what is your view of contemporary art education?

Today, I see three major trends.

First, there are highly specialized private academies with rigorous programs, although their costs are often inaccessible to many students.

Second, self-directed learning and online courses are becoming increasingly important, reflecting the era of pandemics and multi-screen lifestyles in which we live.

Third, there is the traditional university model, whose quality often depends greatly on the particular teachers a student encounters.

I am somewhat concerned about certain academies because they can unintentionally contribute to the loss of an individual artistic voice. Artists who develop through slower processes of experimentation and trial and error often build a stronger personal language.

At the same time, I know many successful artists who never attended formal institutions and developed entirely through self-education. That, in my opinion, is one of the strengths of the arts: it is possible to build a meaningful career without institutional validation. Ultimately, the quality of the work speaks for itself.

Your references range from graffiti to American comic-book illustration. How have they influenced your work?

Those were important references during my early years of painting in public space, more than twenty-five years ago. They were simply the materials available to me before I began questioning why I painted or what I wanted to communicate.

Today, graffiti has far less influence on the aesthetics of my work—not because I have lost interest in it, but because my current artistic concerns lie elsewhere.

Some illustrators from the so-called Golden Age of Illustration remain important references, but their influence has become highly distilled and transformed over time.

You have exhibited and completed residencies in countries such as France, Tunisia, and Germany. What is your artistic relationship with these places?

My relationship with France began almost accidentally fifteen years ago when I moved to Brittany to work as a projectionist in a small community cinema. I am passionate about cinema and photography, and during that year I learned French and fell in love with French culture.

Shortly afterward, I spent several months in Tunisia through an artistic residency organized by Jiser: Mediterranean Reflections. Since then, my relationship with France has continued to deepen through numerous solo and group exhibitions.

Today, the connection is part of my daily life. My partner is French, we speak French at home, and many aspects of French culture have become integrated into my everyday existence.

You balance studio work with large-scale murals. What role does each discipline play in your artistic practice?

The balance has evolved naturally.

There have been periods when mural projects dominated my schedule and I had less time in the studio, and other periods when the opposite was true. Today, teaching has become part of that equation as well.

I believe each discipline enriches the others. Many people have discovered my studio work through my murals, while public-space interventions constantly feed my artistic thinking.

The street keeps me alert and attentive in ways that the studio sometimes does not. The comfort of the studio can occasionally lead to distraction, whereas public space demands focus.

My goal is to continue working in both fields for as long as physically possible.

In 2021, you and Elisa Capdevila created the mural honoring older generations on Avinguda Meridiana. How do you remember that collaborative process?

I love painting alongside other artists.

Elisa is a remarkable painter, and although we had known each other for years, it was the first time we had worked together. The collaboration was enriching because we could discuss ideas openly and honestly from the perspective of shared professional experience.

Collaborating always introduces an element of challenge and playfulness, which I find healthy in an art world often dominated by ego.

Working with the Senior Citizens Advisory Council was equally rewarding. It was a stimulating and meaningful process, although it carried significant responsibility because we were representing an important segment of the population.

Both Elisa and I approached the project with respect and a commitment to listening carefully to what participants shared during meetings and discussions.

I would do it again without hesitation.

The Meridiana mural was eventually covered by another artwork. Should murals embrace their ephemeral nature, or should cities develop strategies to preserve them?

Ephemerality is part of public art. Any intervention in public space is exposed to weather, time, and urban life.

However, it is unfortunate when works of quality and strong social significance disappear simply because there are not enough walls available for new interventions.

When a piece remains relevant and in good condition, cities should consider mechanisms to preserve its legacy—not by turning everything into a museum, but by recognizing its value as collective memory.

Preservation could involve protecting specific walls, documenting and archiving artworks, or creating programs that integrate artists into urban planning. The challenge is finding a balance between ephemerality and the preservation of meaningful cultural references.

You have spoken critically about copying and imitation in the current scene. How do you deal with plagiarism and AI-generated reproductions of artistic styles?

I have certainly recognized works and concepts of mine that have been adapted or directly copied by younger artists.

That said, I always clarify that I did not invent anything. What I object to is the reproduction of concepts without deeper reflection.

When a new generation of muralists emerged and historical photography became fashionable, I saw many artists reproducing old photographs on walls without much conceptual development. Rather than discouraging me, it pushed me to explore new thematic and conceptual directions.

Artificial intelligence has accelerated the reproduction of aesthetics, often in superficial ways. My response is to emphasize process, research, material decisions, and context. These aspects are difficult to imitate and help preserve the uniqueness of a work.

I am convinced that we will eventually witness a renewed appreciation for the human touch and handmade creation.

You combine muralism, studio practice, and teaching. How do you maintain that balance?

There is often pressure to do everything at once.

My own path has been gradual and organic. Teaching entered my life through an invitation to replace a semi-retired professor, and I continue because I genuinely enjoy sharing knowledge and learning from students.

Over time, murals have increasingly replaced the constant cycle of exhibitions that once defined my practice. I am now deliberately slowing down and focusing on a more thoughtful exhibition project.

I believe it is possible to make a living solely from murals, but it requires careful career management and selecting projects wisely. Demand fluctuates, and for that reason diversification or maintaining a studio practice remains valuable.

In twenty years, I probably will not be painting walls with the same intensity. If I continue, I imagine doing so with a small team supporting me.

I have no problem viewing mural painting as a collective endeavor. In fact, I am increasingly interested in passing on to younger generations the knowledge I acquired through years of self-directed learning.

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