Peace is often treated as the opposite of war — a return to calm after chaos.
But for artists, educators, and communities who have lived through conflict, peace is rarely that simple. It’s not just a state to be declared. It’s something that must be imagined, built, and rebuilt — often in the same spaces where violence once took place.
Art has played a role in this process across cultures and histories. Some works use symbols that are widely recognized, like doves, cranes, or rainbow flags. Others take shape as public memorials, collective projects, or classroom activities that invite people to reflect and participate. What they have in common is the belief that peace needs more than words to foster and take hold: it needs images, spaces, and shared experiences that help people remember, listen, and begin to heal.
Here we explore how art has been used not just to protest war, but to envision peace — in ways that are visible, grounded, and ongoing. From global symbols to local murals, from post-conflict communities to everyday classrooms, we’ll look at how people use art to mark loss, create dialogue, and imagine what comes next.
Read also:
Hi there — before we continue:
I’d love to build a small community on Instagram and try out some short-form content over there. It would mean a lot if you could hop on IG and follow me @art_sprouts_art.
Also, what kind of content would you like to see from me next?
Drop a comment below or send me a DM on Instagram to let me know!
Art for Peace: Symbols, Memorials, and the Politics of Healing
Table of Contents
Symbols of Peace: Art as a Universal Language
Some images carry weight without needing words. You see them in school hallways, painted on protest banners, hanging from balconies. These are peace symbols — visual tools that help people imagine coexistence long before conflict is resolved. They don’t offer solutions, but they create shared meaning, often across language, religion, or political boundaries.
Picasso’s Dove of Peace
One of the most familiar modern peace symbols comes from Pablo Picasso. In 1949, he designed a lithograph of a white dove for the World Peace Congress in Paris. He based it on an earlier drawing of a pigeon, simplifying the form into a clean black outline. The image spread quickly. During the Cold War, it appeared in anti-war campaigns, children’s books, posters, and classroom walls. Over time, the Dove of Peace became one of those rare images that moved beyond its origin — broadly recognized, easy to reproduce, and open to interpretation. It continues to circulate in public and educational spaces today.
Fun fact: the dove Picasso used for his peace poster was originally drawn from a pet pigeon that belonged to Henri Matisse. So while the two artists were known for their rivalry, Matisse unintentionally helped shape one of Picasso’s most enduring public images.
Read also:
The Peace Sign
The circular peace sign was designed in 1958 by Gerald Holtom, a British artist working with the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND). It combines the semaphore signals for the letters “N” and “D,” and was first used in UK marches against nuclear weapons.
During the Vietnam War, the symbol was adopted more widely by anti-war movements in the United States, and from there became a global shorthand for peace and resistance. Its graphic clarity is part of what made it so enduring. It doesn’t rely on text, and it works in almost any context.
Read also:
Looking for more art ideas, book picks, and interactive content?
Follow me on Instagram @art_sprouts_art for extras, sneak peeks, and a chance to shape future posts.
Tag your work with #ArtSproutsArt—I’d love to share it!
The Rainbow Flag
In Italy, the rainbow Pace flag became a symbol of anti-war protest during the U.S.-led invasion of Iraq in 2003. The movement — called “Pace da tutti i balconi” (“Peace from every balcony”) — encouraged people to hang the flag from their homes. It features seven horizontal rainbow stripes and the word PACE in bold white letters. The design came from earlier peace marches in the 1960s but reached a new level of visibility through the balcony campaign. While the rainbow has different meanings in different contexts, this version remains closely linked to peace activism across parts of Europe.
“Coexist” Graffiti
The word “Coexist” — spelled out using religious symbols — was first designed in 2000 by Polish graphic designer Piotr Młodożeniec for a competition run by the Museum on the Seam in Jerusalem. His version used the crescent moon (Islam), the Star of David (Judaism), and the Christian cross to form the word coexist. The design was later adapted into street art, stickers, and t-shirts, especially in cities like Berlin and Paris.
Though informal, the symbol caught on because of its simplicity. It puts different belief systems side by side without blending them, offering a visual gesture toward tolerance and shared space.
Paper Cranes
In Japan, the paper crane (折鶴, orizuru) has become a powerful symbol of peace, especially in connection to Hiroshima. The story of Sadako Sasaki, a girl who survived the atomic bombing but later developed leukemia, helped shape that meaning.
According to tradition, Sadako folded paper cranes while she was sick, hoping to reach one thousand — a number said to grant a wish. After her death, her classmates continued the project in her name.
Today, thousands of paper cranes are offered each year at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park. The crane, long associated with health and long life in Japanese culture, became a way for children and visitors to engage in quiet acts of remembrance.
Are You Enjoying this kind of content?
Sign up to receive thoughtful articles, teaching tools, and creative prompts straight to your inbox.
Memory and the Aftermath: Art as Testimony and Mourning
While some artworks call for peace, others respond to the absence of it. In the aftermath of violence, public memorials and commemorative works serve a different role. They don’t offer closure or solutions, but they give form to grief and make loss visible.
Vietnam Veterans Memorial – Maya Lin (Washington, D.C., 1982)
Designed by Maya Lin when she was still a student, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial consists of two long, black granite walls sunk into the ground and inscribed with the names of over 58,000 American soldiers who died or went missing during the Vietnam War. The walls are arranged in a V-shape, pointing toward the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. There’s no heroic statue, no flags or narrative panels. Just names — listed chronologically by date of death, not by rank or category.
When it was unveiled, the memorial sparked controversy. Some critics called it unpatriotic or too somber but over time, it became one of the most visited sites in Washington. Visitors often leave personal notes or touch the names of loved ones. Lin said she designed it so that people could “see a reflection of themselves” in the polished stone. It’s a work that doesn’t explain the war or try to justify it. Instead, it marks its cost.
Read also:
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe – Peter Eisenman (Berlin, 2005)
This memorial, located just south of the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, was designed to commemorate the six million Jewish victims of the Holocaust. It consists of 2,711 rectangular concrete blocks, arranged in a grid across a sloping field. The blocks vary in height and are spaced narrowly apart, creating a series of long, straight corridors that visitors can walk through.
At street level, the slabs seem uniform and orderly. But as you enter the field, the ground begins to drop unevenly and the slabs rise above you. Within a few steps, you lose sight of the city around you. The space becomes disorienting, even isolating. There’s no single vantage point, and no explanatory plaques. Eisenman intentionally avoided direct symbolism. He didn’t want the memorial to illustrate or narrate. Instead, he wanted to create a physical experience — one that changes as you move and doesn’t tell you how to feel.
Reactions to the design have been mixed. Some critics have found it too abstract or too detached from historical context. Others argue that its very openness — the lack of names or narrative — is what gives it emotional weight. What’s essential to understand is that the memorial is not meant to stand alone.
Beneath the field of stelae, the information bureau provides some much-needed historical context, including the names of victims, letters written during the war, photographs, and personal accounts, grounding the abstract experience above in documented history.
Srebrenica Memorial Quilt (Bosnia and Herzegovina, ongoing)
Created by the Mothers of Srebrenica, this quilt is made up of hundreds of squares embroidered with the names, birth dates, and often photographs of the victims of the 1995 Srebrenica massacre, where over 8,000 Bosniak men and boys were killed. Each square is crafted by survivors or family members. As a whole, the quilt functions both as a memorial and a form of testimony — a patchwork record of a community’s loss.
The quilt has been displayed at international venues, including the United Nations, and continues to grow. It’s both intimate and public. Unlike traditional monuments, it’s portable and collaborative. And while it honors the dead, it also affirms the presence and work of the living — especially women, who often carry the burden of memory after war.
Peace Through Participation: Collective Healing and Reconciliation
Peace doesn’t happen all at once. In many communities, it starts with small acts: telling a story, painting a wall, sitting in a circle. When people make art together — especially after violence or displacement — the process itself can help rebuild trust. These projects aren’t about erasing the past. They’re about creating space to move forward, together.
Fambul Tok (Sierra Leone)
After the civil war in Sierra Leone ended in 2002, many communities were still struggling. Survivors and former fighters often lived side by side, but had no real way to address what had happened. A local peace initiative called Fambul Tok(“Family Talk” in Krio) created a space for that to change.
Villages held evening gatherings around bonfires, where people could tell their stories publicly. Some built sculptures, memory stones, or traditional shrines as part of the process. These weren’t official monuments but were made by and for the community — often drawing on local symbols and rituals. The point was to recognize what had been lost and name it out loud.
Truth and Reconciliation Commission Murals (South Africa)
During South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission in the late 1990s, some communities turned to public murals as a way to process the stories being shared in courtrooms and hearings. These murals were painted on schools, health clinics, and community buildings; many were designed with input from survivors, youth groups, and artists working together.
The imagery varied — some showed portraits of local activists, others combined text and symbols from traditional beliefs. In all cases, the goal was visibility. The murals made private grief and resistance part of the public landscape, without relying on official narratives. In areas where truth-telling was difficult, art became a second language.
Memory Cafés and Creative Workshops (Colombia)
In post-conflict Colombia, especially after the 2016 peace agreement between the government and the FARC, many rural communities began using art workshops and memory cafés to explore trauma and reconciliation. These spaces combined oral storytelling, collage-making, drawing, and even cooking — activities that helped people gather across generations.
Some of the workshops focused on visual timelines of local events. Others invited participants to draw missing family members or map places they had been forced to leave. The emphasis was not on producing polished art, but on process and participation. People were invited to witness one another’s stories, not debate them.
Learn from the Best, Level Up Your Career
Click to explore the most in-demand courses—by Stanford, Yale, Google & more.
Peace in the Classroom: Art as a Tool for Education and Emotional Literacy
Peace is often taught as an idea — a goal, a value, or a historical event. But in educational settings, peace can also be practiced. Through collaborative projects, reflective art-making, and visual storytelling, students are able to explore empathy, difference, and dialogue in ways that don’t rely only on words.
Pinwheels for Peace
One of the most widespread school-based art projects tied to peace is Pinwheels for Peace. It began in 2005, when two teachers in Florida invited students to create pinwheels decorated with words and images about what peace meant to them. On International Day of Peace (September 21), the pinwheels were installed outdoors — often in large groups on school lawns, turning in the wind like quiet markers of hope.
The project has since grown to involve thousands of schools worldwide. It’s simple, inexpensive, and easy to adapt across grade levels. More importantly, it shifts the focus from abstract lessons about war and diplomacy to something personal. Students aren’t just learning about peace; they’re asked what peace looks like to them.
Image via joelartista.com
Murals and Collective Art Projects
Murals created by students — whether in schools, community centers, or workshops — offer another way to explore peace and justice in a local context. Topics might include environmental rights, anti-bullying, migration, or gender equity. The process of designing and painting together teaches collaboration, compromise, and shared decision-making. It also turns classroom discussion into a lasting, visible outcome.
These murals don’t have to be permanent. Some are painted on temporary panels or installed as part of an exhibition. Others are entirely process-based, created during a single workshop and then documented. What matters is not the final product but the act of working together, especially across differences.
Image courtesy of Erwin Zareie, via redandblack.com
Art Therapy and Safe Expression
In refugee camps and conflict-affected communities, art is often used to support children dealing with trauma. Activities like drawing, collage, and visual storytelling give children ways to express emotions and experiences that are hard to put into words. These practices don’t require formal training in therapy — they rely on structure, safety, and visual language.
We can learn from these models. In classrooms, similar approaches can help students process difficult topics like violence, discrimination, or displacement. Making art in a group, or simply having time for quiet visual reflection, allows students to explore feelings they may not know how to speak about yet. It also fosters empathy — not by telling students what to feel, but by giving them space to respond.
The goal isn’t to diagnose or fix. It’s to create room for connection and care, using tools that are already familiar.