By L.R
TW: Talks of death
Usually at an art gallery there is a chance to talk to the artist, hear what they have to say about their work. Then you spend however long looking around. Walking under bright lights trying to find whatever it is you’re looking to get out of looking at art. At the end of it you leave and ponder or you try to remember what you liked or you forget because nothing stood out to you.
Unfortunately the first artist chosen for this gallery walk is dead. His name is Fathi Ghaben . He died in occupied Palestine at 77 on February 25th 2024. He requested multiple times to be moved for medical attention. He was denied.
Walk slowly, be stunned into silence. Read and re-read the bottom text in the above work.
Move on.
The next artist for the gallery walk is poet and novelist Hiba Abu Nada. She was killed in an air strike along with her son on October 20th 2023. Her last work was a poem:
Gaza’s night is dark apart from the glow of rockets,
quiet apart from the sound of the bombs,
terrifying apart from the comfort of prayer,
black apart from the light of the martyrs.
Goodnight, Gaza.
Try to read through the blur of hot tears. Do not let the lights of the gallery see you cry. Move swiftly from this piece as you picture the hand of a boy in his mother’s.
Move on.
Her name is Heba Zagout. She was 39. She died with her son. She often painted women, nature, and the bond between mother and child.
Try not to notice the brush strokes or think about how the brush was attached to a hand, and an arm, and a heart. Do not think about her eyes reminding you of your sister.
Move on.
Do this over and over again. Do this and stop noticing every name. Start instead to picture their name as a number. Forget their faces, forget their stories, forget their names. Feel better. Forget. Forget to feel sad. Forget to check the news. Turn it off. It will only hurt you. It will only make it harder to forget. The news will drag your heart over concrete until it is as calloused as the bottoms of your feet. Forget. Do not think. Do not feel. Do not see.
One day with your eyes still closed you will see a dead baby. It will look like you, or your cousin, or nephew. Do not stop scrolling. Do not count their baby eyelashes. Do not look for their missing arm. Pretend they are sleeping in the arms of their wailing father, pretend he is not crying. If you stop to count his 5 remaining fingers and 4 remaining toes you might start to feel queasy. You might blur the lines of him with your tears. You might remember. You might un-count their numbers and replace it with their names. You might remember their faces, their families, their lives, their hobbies, their dances, their streets. You might remember that it is your job to watch. You were gifted this time period, burdened with knowing exactly what’s going on across the world. You will remember to bare witness. You will watch. You will remember. It is your job. It will never be the same.
Move on
Another poet, also dead. His name is Refaat Alareer. He taught English. He was killed on December 26th 2023.
If I must die,
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth
and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail)
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza
while looking heaven in the eye
awaiting his dad who left in a blaze—
and bid no one farewell
not even to his flesh
not even to himself—
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there
bringing back love
If I must die
let it bring hope
let it be a tale
فال بد أن تعيش أنت
رفعت العرعير
إذا كان لا بد أن أموت
فال بد أن تعيش أنت
لتروي حكايتي
لتبيع أشيائي
وتشتري قطعة قماش
وخيوطا
(فلتكن بيضاء وبذيل طويل)
كي يبصر طفل في مكان ما من ّغّزة
وهو يح ّّدق في السماء
منتظرًاً أباه الذي رحل فجأة
دون أن يودع أحدًاً
وال حتى لحمه
أو ذاته
يبصر الطائرة الورقّية
طائرتي الورقية التي صنعَتها أنت
تحّلق في الأعالي
ويظ ّّن للحظة أن هناك مالكًاً
يعيد الحب
إذا كان لا بد أن أموت
فليأ ِِت موتي باألمل
فليصبح حكاية
ترجمة سنان أنطون
Translation by Sinan Antoon
Artists from left to right, Hiba Abu Nada, Heba Zagout, Fathi Ghaben, and Refaat Alareer.
This piece was created to remind people that there is power in telling these stories. Their art will live on even if they do not but I wish deeply that they had more time to tell their stories. I want to make it abundantly clear that their lives are endlessly more valuable than their art but as an artist I understand that those two things are intertwined.
Extra information and Sources:
https://www.palestineposterproject.org
https://www.trtworld.com/middle-east/israeli-bombardment-in-gaza-has-killed-artists-too-15961780
https://inthesetimes.com/article/refaat-alareer-israeli-occupation-palestine
The Junction Journal 