Power-Washed but Not Forgotten: The Vanishing Murals of the Baltic Triangle

They say street art is meant to be ephemeral—painted into public life and then slowly claimed by time. But when Paul Curtis’s coffee plant mural vanished overnight from Brick Street in Liverpool’s Baltic Triangle, the reaction wasn’t one of quiet acceptance. It was sadness. Frustration. A deep sense that something meaningful had been carelessly erased.

The coffee plant mural on Brick Street in Liverpool (Image: Paul Curtis)

Because while street art may be transient, the stories it tells should not be so easily scrubbed away.

Since 2017, Curtis has added more than 250 pieces to our public realm—Liverpool’s very walls tell his story, and ours. The wings that welcome selfies. The octopus that sprawls across Liverpool ONE. And that mural—now gone—of rich coffee plants blooming against a brick backdrop. It wasn’t just decoration. It was identity. It was memory. It was a visual signature for the now-closed Coffee & Fandisha, and a landmark for everyone who wandered that stretch of Brick Street.

The erasure of the mural wasn’t announced. There was no conversation. No moment to say goodbye. Just a power wash and silence. And in that silence, something more than paint was lost.

“Power-washing a wall won’t erase the story,” wrote Coffee & Fandisha in a heartfelt farewell. “But you’ve destroyed something that mattered — not just to us, but to the whole Baltic Triangle.”

They’re right.

We’ve said it before, and we’ll say it again: murals matter. They are the emotional architecture of a place. They reflect the character of a street in ways a brochure never could. But their fragility means we need to do better—because while a street’s artwork may vanish in a blink, the memories it holds deserve a longer gaze.

Paul Curtis created the 'For All Liverpool's Liver Birds' artwork in the Baltic Triangle

In creative cities like Liverpool and around Merseyside, we should treat murals not as temporary branding exercises but as living, breathing archives. Not everything should be preserved in resin or roped off with plaques, but a conversation—a basic respect for the stories on our walls—shouldn't be too much to ask.

Because this isn’t just about a mural. It’s about the cumulative loss of what makes a place feel like home.

We’ll leave the last word to the artist himself:

“Everything fades from memory eventually,” Paul said. “But it’s just a bit sad.”

Sad, yes—but not forgotten. Not while we’re still writing about them.

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And most importantly—tell the story before someone erases it.