Over the past decade, graffiti, murals, and public art have fundamentally transformed how Malaysians experience artistic expression. Once dismissed as simple vandalism or fleeting visual novelties, these works have moved from traditional art galleries onto the streets, bridges, drains, and building facades of cities across the country. From George Town's iconic murals by Lithuanian-born artist Ernest Zacharevic to sprawling graffiti projects that span urban centers, public art has evolved into a shared visual language that reflects place, people, and identity. However, as available wall space diminishes and existing murals age, a critical question emerges for artists, communities, and policymakers alike: what comes after murals?
Kenny Ng, general manager of the Penang Art District, believes the future of public art lies not in creating larger or more spectacular works, but in fundamentally rethinking its purpose and social role. According to Ng, public art has shifted over time from expressions of civic idealism to tools for creative placemaking and, increasingly, instruments of city branding. The next step forward, he argues, should not focus on producing more murals or bigger sculptures, but rather on embracing process-driven, people-centered practices. This includes art that evolves organically over time, meaningfully involves local communities, and responds authentically to real social contexts instead of merely decorating spaces. Zacharevic, whose work helped popularize mural culture in Malaysia, shares a similar philosophy, noting that artistic mediums constantly change but human creativity remains constant. He also sees value in impermanence, suggesting that the temporary nature of some works can enhance their meaning, though he acknowledges that certain pieces become so embedded in a city's identity that imagining the location without them becomes difficult. In September 2024, Zacharevic was commissioned by the Penang state government to restore three of his most famous murals located on Cannon Street (Boy on Chair), Armenian Street (Children on Bicycle), and Ah Quee Street (Boy on Motorcycle), having previously restored them in 2016 and repaired the Children on Bicycle piece after vandalism in 2019.
Local artist Sliz, who began creating paid murals in 2012, offers a perspective shaped by graffiti culture's raw roots. Having completed an estimated 50 to 70 commissioned murals in Malaysia while also producing over a hundred unpaid or self-funded graffiti works, Sliz has painted internationally in cities such as Singapore, Mumbai, and Hanoi. He emphasizes a significant gap between what is defined as murals or public art and what graffiti represents as a living culture. For many artists who started in graffiti and what was once considered vandalism, he explains, they were already exploring their own next steps before these terms even entered mainstream discourse. Sliz points to an uneasy interdependence between public art as a tool for real estate development or branding and graffiti as a culture deeply rooted in community and place. He believes this tension deserves more professional dialogue. Personally, Sliz appreciates the temporary nature of street art but simultaneously strives to create lasting marks whenever possible, reflecting the complex balance between accepting impermanence and seeking permanence.
Muhammad Fakhrul Akmal Shamsurrijal, a 38-year-old graffiti artist known as Mile09, represents another facet of Malaysia's public art evolution. He began creating graffiti in high school before leaving a stable advertising job in 2010 to pursue mural work full-time, initially viewing graffiti strictly as a passion rather than a career. Since then, his work has appeared across Malaysia and internationally, including a 300-meter mural at a Royal Malaysian Air Force base and a one-kilometer underpass project in the United Arab Emirates. For Mile09, public art's value extends far beyond aesthetics. In Kuala Terengganu, murals he painted on bridge pillars unexpectedly helped fishermen distinguish between deep and shallow waters. In Kuala Lumpur, graffiti transformed a former addicts' den near an LRT station into a safer, creative space now used for filming and public activities. These artworks fundamentally changed the entire vibe of their respective areas. However, Mile09 is candid about the harsh realities behind large-scale public art, including significant safety risks and material costs. After falling from unstable scaffolding early in his career, he now insists on high-quality safety equipment even when it reduces his profit margins. He also advocates for better materials and fairer budgets, explaining that cheap materials might last only one year while quality materials can extend a mural's life to seven years or more.
As public art continues attracting tourists, shaping neighborhoods, and sparking debate, stakeholders increasingly recognize that its future requires collective responsibility. Both Ng and Zacharevic stress that this burden cannot rest on artists alone, but must be shared among government bodies, institutions, developers, and most importantly, the communities who live with these works daily. Mile09 similarly argues that nurturing talent requires giving artists creative freedom to interpret projects in their own ways, allowing ideas to flourish organically. The conversation has expanded beyond simply painting walls to encompass critical issues of access, ownership, safety, storytelling, and community engagement. Ultimately, Malaysia's public art scene stands at a crossroads where the focus is shifting from creating decorative objects to fostering sustainable, socially-responsive practices that will define the nation's visual legacy long after the paint begins to fade.
