Walls of remembrance: Armenia’s murals of war and memory

As you walk the streets of Yerevan or the quiet alleys of Armenian towns, you’re bound to come across vivid murals of soldiers, both young and old. Their faces are immortalized in paint, their stories etched into the walls of the communities they once called home. These are not just random images; they are powerful symbols of loss, remembrance and a nation’s attempt to heal. Many of these portraits honor those who lost their lives in the wars of 2016, 2020 and 2022, often painted in the districts where they lived, studied or served. What began as a grassroots tribute has now become a striking and sometimes divisive part of Armenia’s urban landscape. The rise of this mural movement traces back to 2016, in the aftermath of the April Four-Day War. As grief swept through the country, local artists turned to walls as their canvas—a public outlet to mourn and honor those who had given their lives. Armenian society has developed many different ways to commemorate the deceased. For example, throughout Armenia, one can encounter memorials, rest pavilions, khachkars (cross-stones) and pulpulaks (drinking fountains) dedicated to individuals who died, including victims of car accidents or other tragedies. Portraits of fallen soldiers have become another form of such memorials. In the face of sudden, traumatic loss, creating visible, communal spaces of remembrance helps alleviate the pain. The streets of Yerevan have long served as a canvas for cultural memory. In the 2000s, portraits of legendary commanders from the First Artsakh War, such as Monte Melkonyan and Vardan Stepanyan (aka Dushman Vardan), began appearing alongside images of beloved Armenian icons like Hovhannes Tumanyan and Aram Khachaturian. These early works celebrated the country’s history and sacrifice. However, in the aftermath of the April Four-Day War, the walls of Yerevan State University (YSU) became a canvas for remembrance and a call to action. Young soldier and artist Artur Avagyan, still serving in the military at the time, painted graffiti portraits to fallen war heroes Beniamin Yeghoyan, Robert Abajyan and Armenak Urfanyan. For Artur, these murals were more than art; they were deeply personal tributes, thoughtfully created to honor sacrifice and inspire purpose. Though he now humbly admits that the works weren’t technically good, he believes their essence and the message they carried once resonated powerfully. Today, he feels that meaning has slowly faded with time. The murals at YSU were never just about honoring the past; they were about shaping the future of the next generation. As students walked to and from class, the images of these young heroes served as a solemn reminder that their own battles would be fought not on the frontlines, but in lecture halls and libraries. Their weapon would be knowledge—their duty, to build a stronger and safer Armenia. Powerful quotes next to each portrait reinforced this message, with one mural reading, “His weapon was his tank, yours is your knowledge.” These words, paired with the faces of the fallen, aimed to instill a deep sense of patriotism and responsibility in the youth. For a time, the impact was undeniable; students were reminded daily of the price of freedom and the importance of carrying that legacy forward through their values and education. The walls bearing these portraits of fallen soldiers are often the homes where the soldiers once lived, the schools where they studied, or other places that hold meaning to their lives and legacies. They are not confined to major cities like Yerevan but also stretch across rural Armenia, reaching even the most remote villages. Each mural is painted or commissioned by those who knew the soldier best, such as family members, close friends, school principals or local officials who feel a duty to honor their memory. However, there are boundaries; painting on residential buildings requires the permission of at least 50% of the residents—a process that reflects the delicate balance between public tribute and private space. Artur, now 29, humbly denies the title of “artist,” but his works and actions speak otherwise. During the 2020 war, he and his friends volunteered to serve in Artsakh. Over the years his opinions have evolved; Artur believes the murals that followed his, often commissioned by grieving families or local officials, have moved away from his original intent. Instead of honoring life, he worries they’ve turned Yerevan into a city of death—a walking reminder of loss for families trying to heal. Society remains divided on the presence of these murals. Some argue that such public displays of fallen soldiers reopen fresh wounds, especially for families who lost loved ones in war. The constant visual reminders prolong their grief, making it harder to heal and move forward. They believe that peace of mind requires space from the pain, not constant exposure to it. Others, however, see these portraits as essential. To them, honoring the memory of fallen soldiers is not only appropriate but necessary and patriotic. Remembering these sacrifices is a moral obligation, a duty to ensure that the cost of their freedom is never forgotten. Today, these portraits stretch from Yerevan to Gyumri, Dilijan to Kapan, and to remote villages—painted on school walls, apartment buildings and public spaces—serving as a powerful and complex reflection of a nation’s grief, memory and patriotism. What began as a heartfelt tribute by artists born from personal loss and national tragedy has evolved into a widespread and, at times, controversial form of public remembrance. These murals have sparked a broader conversation about how a society should mourn its heroes, preserve their legacy and cope with the scars of war. While some see them as a vital reminder of the sacrifices made for Armenia’s future, others fear that their proliferation may overwhelm public spaces and dilute their meaning. Ultimately, these portraits stand as a testament to Armenia’s enduring struggle to honor its past while striving for a peaceful and prosperous future.

Walls of remembrance: Armenia’s murals of war and memory

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Anthony Pizzoferrato

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Anthony Pizzoferrato

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