In 2012, when I painted

the minaret of Jara Mosque in my hometown
of Gabes, in the south of Tunisia,

I never thought that a graffiti
would bring so much attention to a city.

At the beginning, I was just looking
for a wall in my hometown,

and it happened that the minaret
was built in '94,

and for 18 years, those 57 meters
of concrete stayed grey.

When I met the imam for the first time,
and I told him what I wanted to do,

he was like, "Thank God you finally came,"

and he told me that for years
he was waiting for somebody

to do something on it.

The most amazing thing about this imam
is that he didn't ask me anything,

neither a sketch
or what I was going to write.

In every work that I create,
I write messages

with my style of calligraphy,

a mix of calligraphy and graffiti.

I use quotes or poetry.

For the minaret, I thought that
the most relevant message

to be put on a mosque
should come from the Quran,

so I picked this verse:

"Oh humankind, we have created you
from the male and the female,

and made you people and tribe
so you may know each other."

It was a universal call for peace,
tolerance, and acceptance

coming from the side that we don't usually
portray in a good way in the media.

I was amazed to see how the local
community reacted to the painting,

and how it made them proud
to see the minaret

getting so much attention

from international press
all around the world.

For the imam, it was not just a painting.
It was really deeper than that.

He hoped that this minaret
would become a monument for the city

and attract people to
this forgotten place of Tunisia.

The universality of the message,

the political context
of Tunisia at this time,

and the fact that I was writing
Quran in a graffiti way

were not insignificant.

It reunited the community.

Bringing people, future generations,
together through Arabic calligraphy

is what I do.

Writing message is
the essence of my artwork.

What is funny actually is that
even Arabic-speaking people

really need to focus a lot
to decipher what I'm writing.

You don't need to know
the meaning to feel the piece.

I think that Arabic script touches
your soul before it reaches your eyes.

There is a beauty in it
that you don't need to translate.

Arabic script speaks to anyone, I believe:

to you, to you, to you, to anybody,

and then when you get the meaning,
you feel connected to it.

I always make sure to write messages

that are relevant the place
where I'm printing,

but messages that have
a universal dimension,

so anybody around the world
can connect to it.

I was born and raised in France, in Paris,

and I started learning how to write
and read Arabic when I was 18.

Today I only write messages in Arabic.

One of the reasons
this is so important to me

is because of all the reaction
I've experienced all around the world.

In Rio de Janeiro, I translated
this Portuguese poem

from Gabriela Tôrres Barbosa,

who was giving an homage
to the poor people of the favela,

and then I printed it on the rooftop.

The local community were really
intrigued by what I was doing,

but as soon as I give them
the meaning of the calligraphy,

they thanked me, as they felt
connected to the piece.

In South Africa, in Cape Town,

the local community of Philippi