Invader

A photograph, a few words and a confession...

I define myself as an UFA, an Unidentified Free Artist. I chose Invader as my pseudonym and I always appear behind a mask. As such, I can visit my own exhibitions without any visitors knowing who I really am even if I stand a few steps away from them

Invader

I confess I broke my cardinal rule on photographing gallery artwork last week - mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa. Yes, my photograph above is of that sin. By way of mitigation, the artwork in question is not on public view within Gateshead's Baltic gallery but instead tucked away in a behind-the-scenes corridor, in fact, in the corridor of the gallery's management. It's not that the managers want to keep the piece for themselves. The artist Franck Slama, better known for his artistic pseudonym ‘Invader’, decided to position it where it is.

Invader and Banksy, arguably two of our time's most influential street artists, each bring a unique approach to their craft. While their works grace urban spaces worldwide, their styles, methods, themes, and cultural impacts diverge significantly, adding to the intrigue of their art.

Franck Slama, studied at École des Beaux-Arts. His early exposure to the art world and fascination with the rise of digital culture and the early video games he played in the 1970s laid the foundation for Slama's artistic persona, Invader, to emerge in 1998 when he installed a small mosaic inspired by the ‘Space Invaders’ video game in his native Paris. The iconography from this 1978 arcade game became central to his artistic identity, standing for the invasion of digital culture into the physical world. While we know the identity of the Invader, Banksy treasures his anonymity, with his identity being still a mystery and cultivating an almost mythical persona. His anonymity is central to his brand, fuelling speculation and curiosity. The mystery of who Banksy is adds to the intrigue and power of his art, with fans and critics trying to piece together clues about his identity. 

It's easy to see why the Space Invaders game profoundly influenced Invader's work. I remember playing the game for the first time in 1978 in my then-local pub, the 'Hole in the Wall', close to London's Waterloo Station. The game was a sensation despite its simplicity by modern standards. However, it was a significant step up from the only game I recall playing in the pub before that: 'Pong', which others of a certain age may also remember playing. With its iconic alien imagery and the concept of an 'invasion' from the digital world into the physical, the Space Invaders game resonated with Invader's artistic vision.

'Pong' released in 1972, was a deceptively straightforward game despite being the first significant milestone in the history of video games. It involved two 'paddles'—controlled by players—left and right of the screen, hitting a tiny dot, standing for a ball, back and forth. The aim was to make your opponent miss the 'ball', resulting in you scoring a point. Despite its simplicity, Pong offered a level of physics-based interaction that gave it a sense of realism. The angle at which the ball would bounce off the paddles varied depending on where it struck, requiring players to employ some strategy rather than just reflexes.

Space Invaders took the simple gameplay of Pong to a new level. Tomohiro Nishikado's brainchild was not just a game but a technical challenge. For instance, Nishikado had to design the hardware it ran on, reflecting the ingenuity and innovation of the early gaming industry.

Space Invaders, like Pong, is a simple game by modern standards. The player moves a 'cannon' horizontally across the bottom of the screen, shooting upwards at rows of 'aliens' that descend. The player's goal is to destroy all the aliens before they reach the bottom of the screen while dodging incoming fire from them. Protective shields between the cannon and the aliens offer some cover but deteriorate as enemy or cannon fire hits them. The early version I played was monochrome, but then 'colour' was added by veneers of differing colours overlaid on the screen. Hence, as the invaders moved down, they appeared to change colour. I know that to a modern gaming audience, it sounds primitive, but this was a time in the early 1970s before the WIMP interface. When computers had memories smaller than the average goldfish and clock speeds akin to sundials. When all screens were 'green' and the thought that a world might exist that allowed on-screen editing was something of science fiction. The computing world then still consisted of punched cards, paper tape, disc pack platters, and portable computers that took two people to lift.

What made Space Invaders truly innovative was its use of game mechanics to ratchet up tension. The speed of the alien invaders' descent increased as their numbers dwindled, a feature that was not a planned gameplay element but a technical side effect of the hardware. This unintended consequence, however, created a sense of rising intensity as the game became more difficult the closer the player came to victory. In addition, Space Invaders introduced the concept of a 'high score' system displayed on the screen, which quickly became a staple of arcade gaming culture. This system motivated players to outperform the game and each other, fostering a competitive community that further boosted the game's popularity and created a shared experience among players.

Invader took the Space Invader game as an example of technology infiltrating everyday life while reflecting on the boundary between real and virtual worlds. Banksy often tackles themes of anti-authoritarianism, capitalism, war, and environmental issues. With a primary goal of sparking conversations around injustice and inequality, he is positioning his art as a form of visual protest. Invader's installations are often playful, encouraging a 'treasure hunt' for fans to discover his pieces in hidden or unexpected locations. This 'treasure hunt' aspect of his work adds an interactive and engaging element for his audience. Inviting them to explore a city differently while searching for these hidden invaders. 

The process behind Invader's work is meticulous. His carefully crafted mosaics, of tiny squares of glass or ceramic tiles, which mimic the pixelated form of the early video game graphics, mirror the building blocks of digital images, allowing him to create recognisable figures with a retro, minimalist aesthetic. These works were then installed in public spaces, often on walls, corners, and street signs, engaging with the urban landscape in both a disruptive and harmonious way. In contrast to Banksy, Invader is not looking to critique or protest but to entertain and inspire curiosity. His pixelated mosaics evoke nostalgia for the simpler days of gaming when titles like Space Invaders, Pac-Man, and Mario dominated the cultural landscape. While his work is provocative in that it reclaims public spaces, it lacks the overtly political messages that characterise Banksy's art. 

In contrast to Invader, Banksy's primary medium is spray paint, and his technique relies heavily on stencils. This method helps him avoid detection by the authorities as he can work quickly and efficiently in employing 'guerrilla' tactics, installing his works without permission in public spaces. Stencils also enable Banksy to replicate his works across various locations, ensuring that the same image can have widespread visibility. His use of spray paint and stencils lends his work a gritty, raw aesthetic that complements the often-political nature of his often-site-specific pieces, chosen for their relevance to the work's message. Banksy's approach is visually striking and metaphorically rich, designed to create an immediate emotional or intellectual response. For example, his mural of a child artist on a house in Bristol, his birthplace, or his works in the West Bank reflect the importance of the location to the meaning of the piece. Banksy ties his art closely to social and political contexts, making the location integral to interpreting his work.

One of Invader's defining features is the global scale of his work, and his approach is more systematic and game-like. The idea is that these cities become part of a giant 'game board,' and fans can 'play' by finding the mosaics. Each mosaic has a point value, creating a sense of global scale and interconnectedness. Since his first installation in Paris, Invader has 'invaded' over eighty towns and cities worldwide, including New York, Tokyo, London, Hong Kong, and Los Angeles (and Gateshead!). Each municipality becomes a part of his 'gameboard' in which he installs mosaics in hidden or unexpected places to challenge the city's inhabitants to discover and interact with his work. On his website, there is a catalogue of each mosaic and its assigned score, transforming the entire project into a live-action game. Through this process, Invader's work transcends mere street art; it becomes a form of global performance art and a collective treasure hunt for his fans.

For Invader, the placement of his mosaics is crucial. His choice of locations often reflects a deep understanding of the city's history, architecture, and culture. His works may appear on significant buildings, cultural landmarks, or unnoticed corners of the urban environment, subtly changing how people perceive their surroundings. Invader redefines the relationship between art, public space, and urban life by blending art with the city's fabric. His choice of ceramic tiles is a deliberate one. These mosaics' tactile, permanent nature contrasts his designs' ephemeral and digital origins. This tension between the physical and the virtual underscores one of the critical themes in Invader's work: the idea that digital culture has become inseparable from our physical world. By bringing these 'invaders' from the digital realm into the real world, Invader creates a dialogue about merging these two spheres in contemporary society.

Like Banksy and many street artists, Invader's work treads a fine line between art and vandalism. He often installs the mosaics without permission, which often makes them illegal. However, his work's playful, non-intrusive nature has garnered widespread public support, and many cities have embraced his mosaics as part of their cultural landscape. The work of such street artists raises essential questions about the ownership of public space and the role of art in urban environments. By placing their work in such spaces without authorisation, they force us to reconsider who has the right to use and change these environments. Is street art a form of democratic expression, or is it an intrusion into shared space? This controversy is a significant part of the street art movement, and understanding it is crucial to appreciate the full impact and implications of these artists' work.

And as with Banksy, Invader's influence extends beyond street art. His work has been shown in galleries and museums, such as the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles and Paris's Le Musée en Herbe, blurring the line between street art and high art. Despite this, Invader is still committed to his origins as a street artist, continuing to install his mosaics in public spaces rather than shifting entirely to the gallery setting. While Banksy's art is a form of rebellion, directly critiquing institutions like governments, corporations, and the media, his art attracts a high commercial value. For instance, his 'Girl with the Balloon' touches on themes of loss and hope. A recently stolen (and then recovered) print of the piece has a value of £270,000.

But why was I in the Baltic Gallery's management corridor? Well, Heritage Week took place in the UK and many other European countries a couple of weeks back. This is the week when many museums, historic houses, archives, cultural centres, etc., which are not usually open to the public, open their doors to visitors and encourage people to explore. 

Heritage Week's purpose is twofold: to educate people about the significance of heritage and foster a sense of pride and stewardship over these treasures. Heritage Week makes history more accessible and relevant to contemporary audiences, providing a platform for local stories, national narratives, and global connections, all converging to create the rich tapestry of heritage.

One of the most captivating aspects of UK Heritage Week is its diverse range of activities. In the past, I've savoured guided tours of historic homes, castles, churches, and industrial sites, usually closed to the public or only available by appointment. These tours, often led by historians, archaeologists, or local experts, offer unique insights into the stories behind the landmarks.

Some venues also bring history to life through interactive experiences and workshops so visitors can see (and sometimes take part in) traditional crafts like blacksmithing, weaving, and pottery. Some venues provide lectures on topics ranging from medieval history to urban development. I've been along to a few of those in the past, too. Some also offer re-enactments, in which actors bring historical events and figures to life, adding a dynamic layer to the festivities and offering a glimpse into the past through immersive storytelling.

Heritage Week plays an essential role in raising awareness about the importance of heritage conservation and generating funds to help support historic buildings, landscapes, and traditions as they face the pressures of the increasing cost of upkeep. The week encourages dialogue about how best to protect these invaluable assets that act not just as a window into the past but also as a resource for the future—offering educational opportunities and shaping local identities. There is often limited funding for conserving and supporting historic sites, and many buildings are at risk of decay or neglect. Additionally, while noteworthy progress has made heritage sites more accessible, issues of physical accessibility for those with disabilities and broader inclusivity reflecting diverse histories are still areas Heritage Week looks to improve.

Given the subject of many of my Meanders, it will be no surprise that an essential part of the week for me is that it also provides an opportunity for communities to reclaim and celebrate their heritage. Many events focus on local histories, as mainstream narratives often overlook these. This can include industrial heritage in post-industrial cities, the histories of diverse migrant communities, or the preservation of rural traditions. By bringing attention to these stories, Heritage Week broadens the understanding of what constitutes heritage and whose stories deserve a telling. The week's emphasis on collaboration between heritage organisations, government bodies, educational institutions, and community groups inspires greater community involvement in heritage preservation. These partnerships can lead to new conservation projects and academic programs, increase the visibility of heritage issues, and attract new volunteers, advocates, and donors who play crucial roles in sustaining the heritage sector.

The week also has a significant socio-economic impact. It promotes domestic tourism, encouraging people to explore heritage sites in their communities or nearby regions. This local focus not only boosts visitor numbers to smaller or lesser-known sites but also supports local economies through increased spending at museums, cafés, shops, and hotels. By participating in Heritage Week, you enrich your understanding of our heritage and contribute to the economic well-being of local communities. 

I've often visited the Baltic since it opened as a Gallery twenty or so years ago. I wrote a piece last year after visiting a Chris Killip retrospective there in Chris Killip at the Baltic, in which I wrote about the Baltic's journey from Mill to Art Gallery. Yet my behind-the-scenes tour of the Baltic certainly expanded my understanding (who knew it houses a tiny cinema) of its artistic offering and its role within the northeast England community. As you'd expect, there's a traditional cafe, and I can recommend their toasties! - but also a separate communal area (with a splendid view across the Tyne and the Millennium Bridge) where people can meet and chat over complimentary tea, coffee or fruit juice. That area also hosts weekly English language conversation get-togethers for people new to these shores to practice their language skills in relaxed surroundings. Of course, the English they converse in has a distinct Geordie twang! 

Surprisingly, just before her first album release, Amy Winehouse sang in the Baltic's performing arts area (also available for weddings). As I and my fellow visitors stood in the very dressing room where Amy prepared herself, we even turned on all the lightbulbs around the mirrors— in a "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille…." moment.

Although I had the privilege of viewing artwork that is not usually seen by visitors, it's worth noting that if a visitor wishes to view that piece, they can simply ask at the reception desk. A museum staff member will then escort them into the Baltic's inner sanctum to behold it—and even take a photograph!

Invader has another piece within the Baltic, not in one of its galleries but in an area more easily accessible by visitors. Because of that location, I refrained from taking a snap of that piece. If you visit the Baltic, the clue to where you’ll find it is that it's near Mark Wallinger's piece 'Heaven and Hell'. Now, that's an installation that left me feeling disoriented. It's incredible what a mirror can do in the right hands.