MARSEILLE, France: The lighthouse appeared overnight. Painted on a wall tucked away in a quiet Marseille street, its beam aligned perfectly with the real-life shadow of a metal post on the pavement. At its center, stenciled in crisp white, are the words: “I want to be what you saw in me.”
Banksy had struck again.
On Friday, the elusive British street artist confirmed the work by posting two images on his official Instagram account — without caption or coordinates. Fans quickly identified the location as 1 Rue Félix Frégier, in the Catalans district of Marseille’s 7th arrondissement, near the sea.
Since then, crowds have gathered at the site. Tourists snap photos. Children point. Locals who usually walk past the building stop to take a closer look.
There is no official explanation for the phrase. But its emotional pull is unmistakable — a quiet plea for recognition, love or redemption. Some speculate it references a country ballad by Lonestar. Others call it a love letter. Or a lament. Or both.
The image is deceptively simple: a lone lighthouse, dark and weathered, casting a stark white beam. But what gives it power is the way it plays with light — the real and the painted, the seen and the imagined. The post in front of the wall becomes part of the piece. Reality becomes the frame.
Marseille’s mayor, Benoît Payan, was quick to react online. “Marseille x Banksy,” he wrote, adding a flame emoji. By midday, the hashtag #BanksyMarseille was trending across France, and beyond.
Though often political, Banksy’s art is just as often personal, exploring themes of loss, longing and identity. In recent years, his works have appeared on war-ravaged buildings in Ukraine, in support of migrants crossing the Mediterranean and on walls condemning capitalism, Brexit, and police brutality.
The artist, who has never confirmed his full identity, began his career spray-painting buildings in Bristol, England, and has become one of the world’s best-known artists. His mischievous and often satirical images include two male police officers kissing, armed riot police with yellow smiley faces and a chimpanzee with a sign bearing the words, “Laugh now, but one day I’ll be in charge.”
His work has sold for millions of dollars at auction, and past murals on outdoor sites have often been stolen or removed by building owners soon after going up. In December 2023, after Banksy stenciled military drones on a stop sign in south London, a man was photographed taking down the sign with bolt cutters. Police later arrested two men on suspicion of theft and criminal damage.
In March 2024, an environmentally themed work on a wall beside a tree in north London was splashed with paint, covered with plastic sheeting and fenced off within days of being created.
Despite the fame — or infamy — at least in Marseille, not everyone walking past noticed it. Some didn’t even know who Banksy was, according to the local press.
On Instagram observers say this Marseille piece feels quieter. More interior.
And yet, it is no less global. The work arrives just ahead of a major Banksy retrospective opening June 14 at the Museum of Art in nearby Toulon featuring 80 works, including rare originals. Another exhibit opens Saturday in Montpellier.
But the Marseille mural wasn’t meant for a museum. It lives in the street, exposed to weather, footsteps and time. As of Friday evening, no barriers had been erected. No glass shield installed. Just a shadow, a beam and a message that’s already circling the world.

MEXICO CITY: Two moths the size of a hand, their wings patterned with brown and pink around four translucent sections, mate for hours hanging from a line alongside cocoons like the ones they emerged from just hours earlier.
“When I get here and find this, I jump with delight,” said María Eugenia Díaz Batres, who has been caring for insects at the Museum of Natural History and Environmental Culture in Mexico City for nearly six decades.
The mating pair of “four mirrors” moths as they’re popularly known in Mexico, or scientifically as Rothschildia orizaba, are evidence that the museum’s efforts to save some 2,600 cocoons rescued from an empty lot were worth the trouble.

The moths, whose numbers have fallen in Mexico City due to urbanization, have cultural relevance in Mexico.
“The Aztecs called them the ‘butterfly of obsidian knives,’ Itzpapalotl,” Díaz Batres said. “And in northern Mexico they’d fill many of these cocoons with little stones and put them on their ankles for dances.”
These cocoons arrived at the museum in late December.
“They gave them to us in a bag and in a box, all squeezed together with branches and leaves, so my first mission was to take them out, clean them,” Díaz Batres said.
Mercedes Jiménez, director of the museum in the capital’s Chapultepec park, said that’s when the real adventure began since they had never received anything like this before.
Díaz Batres had the cocoons hung in any place she thought they might do well, including her office where they hang from lines crisscrossing above her table. It has allowed her to watch each stage of their development closely.

The moths only survive for a week or two as adults, but they give Díaz Batres tremendous satisfaction, especially when she arrives at her office and new moths “are at the door, on the computer.”
So she tries to help them “complete their mission” and little by little their species recovers.