Art display

Step into the Raval and the first thing you’ll notice isn’t the architecture; it’s the friction. It’s the sound of urethane wheels slapping against granite, the smell of cheap hashish, and the heavy, humid air of a neighborhood that refuses to be gentrified into submission. Tucked behind the gleaming white, clinical fortress of the MACBA—Barcelona’s Museum of Contemporary Art—is a long, blood-red streak of defiance known simply as the Keith Haring mural. Officially titled 'Todos Juntos Podemos Parar el Sida' (Together We Can Stop AIDS), this isn't just an 'art display.' It’s a ghost of 1989, a time when the Raval was the 'Barrio Chino' and the city was teetering between Olympic ambition and a heroin epidemic.

The mural you see today at Carrer de Valldonzella is a faithful recreation, but the soul remains intact. Haring painted the original in 1989 on a crumbling wall in Plaça de Salvador Seguí, a place then synonymous with needles and neglect. He did it in five hours, for free, with a boombox blasting house music. When the area was razed for urban renewal, the city had the foresight to trace the work before the wall came down. In 2014, it was resurrected here, on this concrete slab in the Plaça de Joan Coromines, using the exact same shade of red. It’s a thirty-meter-long narrative of snakes, syringes, and dancing figures, all intertwined in a desperate, rhythmic struggle against a plague that was devouring Haring’s world.

Standing here, you’re at the epicenter of Barcelona’s street culture. To your left, the MACBA’s Richard Meier-designed facade looks like a giant, expensive refrigerator. To your right, the Raval’s narrow, dark arteries pulse with life. The mural sits in the middle, a bridge between the institutionalized art world and the raw reality of the street. You don’t need a ticket. You don't need a docent to tell you what it means. The imagery is universal: the snake of disease being strangled by the collective effort of the figures. It’s loud, it’s urgent, and it’s remarkably beautiful in its simplicity.

The atmosphere is rarely quiet. This is the unofficial headquarters of the city’s skate scene. You’ll see kids from all over the world—Japan, Brazil, California—launching themselves off ledges, their shadows flickering across Haring’s red lines. There’s a beautiful irony in it: a mural about a terminal illness serving as the backdrop for the most kinetic, alive energy in the city. It’s not a place for hushed whispers. It’s a place to sit on a concrete ledge, crack a beer from a 'latero,' and watch the world go by.

Is it worth the walk? If you want the sanitized, postcard version of Barcelona, stay in the Eixample. But if you want to see the city’s heart—the one that beats with a bit of a murmur and a lot of grit—this is it. It’s a reminder that art doesn’t always belong in a climate-controlled room. Sometimes it belongs on a wall, under the sun, getting hit by the occasional stray skateboard. It’s honest, it’s tragic, and it’s one of the few things in this city that hasn't been ruined by a gift shop.