Ask anyone – a local, a visitor or a good old search engine – to name the main sights around the small town of Tafraoute, which nestles among the Anti-Atlas Mountains of southern Morocco, and they will come up with a list such as this:
Le Chapeau de Napoleon (Napoleon’s Hat): A distinctive rock formation which looks vaguely like ahat.
The Lion’s Head: Cracks and crevices on a mountainside supposedly resembling a lion’s face.
Ait Mansour Gorge: A breathtaking, palm-lined, narrow mountain gorge which you can walk or drive through.
Kasbah Tizourgane: An impressive and very picturesque, restored kasbah atop a small hill, half an hour outside of the town.
The Painted Rocks. Sorry…what?
As defined by Google, these are the ‘Painted Rocks: A series of boulders spray-painted blue by artist Jean Verame in 1984, located just outside of Tafraoute.’
They aren’t all blue. Some are canary yellow or sickly pink; yet others look as if the ‘artist’ ran out of paint and left them half-done. There are those where the colour is peeling or fading from the sunlight, or perhaps an individual – an environmentally conscious, likeminded soul – has taken some wire wool to them under the cover of darkness. We can live in hope.
Revisiting the Tafraoute area after many years, during my recent search for a new place to hold my Moroccan artists’ retreat, I was reminded how gorgeous the area truly is, and it’s not yet overrun by mass tourism, despite being relatively close to Agadir. I had forgotten about the Painted Rocks, which a friend had proudly shown me around on my first visit. I was horrified and perplexed at the time, my reaction summed up in two words: Just why?
My feelings remain unchanged.
The year before I graduated from Art College, a Fine Art student allegedly earned her degree by painting herself blue and sitting up a tree. This secured her a first-class honours, to the apparent bewilderment of her classmates who had not been sleeping with the Course Director. This was over a decade before Tracey Emin was nominated for the Turner Prize with her unmade bed exhibit, My Bed, and when wacky, less-is-more, thinking-outside-the-box creativity was encouraged, applauded and rewarded. It was part of a movement in which the emperor wore no clothes, and in which I played no part. In this way I was, and remain, a Philistine: for me, Art has always been visual.
Beyond this, though, and far more importantly, my belief is that Nature cannot be ‘improved’, and nor should we try. Natural landscape, untainted by humans, is increasingly rare, and must be protected at all costs: for all to enjoy, and for its own sake, regardless.
The rocky mountain views around Tafraoute are spectacular, and just perfect for painters. That is, for those to want to capture its essence on paper or canvas, as opposed to literally painting the land in garish splodges for no obvious reason beyond egotistical infamy. Verame’s handiwork is a display of mindless vandalism no different from urban graffiti, and infinitely less appropriate.
I woz ere, or B. luvs S. declarations have defaced tree trunks since Man learned to write. One might imagine we’re beginning to evolve, though initials chiselled into ancient temples, alongside modern dates, suggest otherwise. Our contemporary, social media-driven desire to place our mark on the world (or, as I prefer to think of it, cock our leg against a lamppost) doesn’t help and the ever-growing ‘Look at me! Look at me!’ culture continues to reach new levels. Take the inane fad of stone-stacking. These pointless ‘sculptures’ not only disrupt vital habitats, potentially destabilising ecosystems, but they impair the enjoyment of others by removing any sensation of solitude or pristine timelessness. I must admit they drive me into a rage bordering on insanity.
As a lifelong painter, let me be clear: despoiling the landscape is not Art. It’s not clever, it’s not interesting and it’s far from pleasing. Declaring it so is pretentious, and I reckon it’s high time the emperor got dressed.