Artist Maisara Baroud lived in Gaza city with his small family in a large family home. Every morning, he would head to the Al-Aqsa University, where he was a lecturer in the faculty of Fine Arts. He returned home and spent his evenings in his studio, in the august company of books, papers, paints, canvases, and experiments. Until October 8, 2023.
A day after the Israel-Palestine war began, his private office was destroyed when the 12-storey Al Watan tower was levelled. The very next day, Israeli airstrikes reduced his family home to rubble. “I lost everything: a significant portion of my works, acquired pieces from artist friends, my studio with all my experiments, archives, and works accumulated over the past 30 years. I lost my tools, dozens of paintings, thousands of sketches, and an art library with over 3,000 books. I lost my small, private world, all my memories and belongings. I could save nothing,” says Baroud. Life as he knew it had changed, possibly forever.
Maisara Baroud | Photo Credit: Courtesy @maisarart
Soon after, in an attempt to reassure his friends and students that he is alive, he started posting his ink drawings on social media every day. “While rockets, shells, and the machinery of destruction have ended all my future dreams, they could not take away my passion and love for drawing,” he asserts.
Aptly titled Still Alive, the collection — active even today — simply depicts day-to-day life in a Gaza splintered by war through sharp and direct line drawings, even as Baroud flees from relief camp to relief camp. At the time of writing this, Baroud is displaced in Deir al-Balah, and is living in a dilapidated building with “barely any walls”.
Baroud is one of many artists and creatives who steadily produce art in the face of conflict, defying real threats of censorship and life. Art that brews in conflict inevitably takes on many meanings and purposes; most often as powerful tools of resistance, awareness and documentation, and self-expression. More recently, his works were displayed on the walls of the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York, at the Venice Biennale (in collaboration with the Palestinian Museum in the U.S.), and at the Plaza Mora Palace in Venice under the title Strangers in Their Own Land.
Exodus No (14) | Photo Credit: Courtesy @maisarart
Songs of a conflict
Earlier this year, in Manipur, musician Akhu Chingangbam fashioned a makeshift studio at a relief camp in Phayeng, Imphal West, housing children from different ethnic backgrounds, communities and religions. They sang in unison: Often visited in my dream/My little hut by the hillside/Although burnt down to ashes/My little village by the hillside. Released on May 3, to mark one year of the ongoing ethnic conflict in the state, the song, titled ‘Chingyagi khangpokshang (Song from a relief camp)’, is a poignant memory of the life that was, with a clear message of hope and trust.
Akhu Chingangbam (third from right) with his band | Photo Credit: Special arrangement
“Before the crisis, Manipur was vibrant. After the pandemic, there was a palpable sense of hope, especially among the youth, with many music festivals. The past 17 months have put a complete halt on any activities,” says Chingangbam, frontrunner of rock band The Imphal Talkies. He also leads the The Native Tongue Called Peace project (started in 2015), which documents Manipur’s musical legacy through children from different ethnic backgrounds, and supports an education project that helps children in relief camps to appear for their board exams. “Here [at the studio] was a group of children from various backgrounds sharing whatever little they had. This could be a model of Manipur, you know? There is an organic exchange of culture. You’ll see a Kuki girl singing a Naga song or a Naga kid teaching a Meitei song. That’s something we need!” The song has garnered more than 75,000 views on YouTube.
A boy sings at the makeshift studio in Phayeng | Photo Credit: Special arrangement
The musician sounds dejected as he speaks of his own practice. “None of us is in the mood to play, and make music now. Some musicians have even had to sell their instruments for money.” Even when friends and fellow musicians moved to other cities following the crisis and a rapidly crashing gig economy, Chingangbam felt he needed to stay back. He could not abandon his various social projects. But gig invitations from artist friends in cities like Delhi and Mumbai still flow in helping him take these songs and stories outside the state.
Amplifying their voices
Dissent via samosa packets
Art born out of crises often shape-shifts into acts of resistance. U.K.-based Bangladeshi artist Sofia Karim’s idea of resistance art has risen through personal stories. “My uncle [renowned photojournalist and activist Shahidul Alam] was jailed in 2013, which was the turning point,” she says. He was jailed for 107 days on charges of “provocative statements” against the Information and Communications Technology Act of Bangladesh. Alam has also been on the forefront of the coverage surrounding the recent anti-government protests that toppled Bangladesh’s long-serving Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina.
Sofia Karim | Photo Credit: Special arrangement
“When I was campaigning for him, I had to engage with this community of artists and activists that has been his world. Once I connected with them, the momentum built up. I began working with solidarity groups in the U.K. that have been active for the last 30 or more years, focusing on anti-racist and anti-imperialist movements, war on terror and Islamophobia. That’s when I realised that maybe art is a way to activate and vocalise some of the issues they face.”
Karim’s Turbine Bagh project, which takes after one of the biggest resistance movements in the world led by women, the 2019-2020 Shaheen Bagh protest in Delhi, was an urgent call to attention to the mass incarcerations in India and Bangladesh. Humble samosa packets became conduits carrying messages of dissent and the slogan ‘Free Shahidul’ across borders. The movement also took the form of a physical protest at Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall.
A samosa packet with a photograph by Ali Monis Naqvi from Shaheen Bagh | Photo Credit: Ali Monis Naqvi
Today, she is mobilising monetary support for the Palestine cause by offering to remodel bits and portions of homes in the U.K., the remunerations for which are used for donations. “We have done 11 or so projects, and some students have now got involved. It is also a way to bring activism into our architectural practice which is not done often,” says Karim, adding, “When you are an activist, one side of your work is very loud and direct in its messaging, and it needs to be. But most artists and activists have another side to them, where their work is a lot more quiet and inward.”
From the interstices
Archives of lived realities
While patronage for arts is already vexed, these difficulties are compounded in areas of conflict, believes documentary filmmaker and writer Sanjay Kak from Kashmir. “We all must share in those [responsibilities]. What artists are probably ordained to do is to perform the role of the avant-garde, and to find the crack in the brick wall, the chink in the armour. Open up the discourse, and look for ways of connecting old ideas and thinking up new ones,” he says.
Sanjay Kak | Photo Credit: Special arrangement
The filmmaker’s curated book project, Witness, features the work of nine Kashmiri photographers (from 1986 to 2016) who stray away from the typified image of the valley that has gone through decades of unrest. “What the book also does is provide a model for a certain kind of collective effort. It’s not that the nine photographers were a group or will ever be one. But the generosity with which they shared their work for the book created a new thing, something that became visible as ‘Kashmiri photography’,” says Kak. The project, published in 2017, took on the job of an archive, with the sole aim to document the history of a conflict for posterity.
Police Announcement, Srinagar 2016, by photographer Syed Shariyar for Witness | Photo Credit: Syed Shariyar
In 2023, over 5,000 km away in Sudan, as intense fighting broke out in mid-April, capital city Khartoum, home to many art galleries and cultural museums, bore the brunt. Looting and vandalism were rampant. In June, Sudan National Museum was reportedly raided by the RSF fighters. Since then, there have been attempts to safeguard the cultural heritage of the nation, by artists and curators alike. In a project that identified almost 150 Sudanese artists who need rehabilitation, curators Raheim Shadad, Aza Satti and Mahsin Ismail started an online campaign to procure aid, and later sold art prints in Cairo to raise donations. Shadad also started an artists residency programme for refugees. The project helped some artists to relocate to other parts of the continent to continue their work.
Hope is not a constant emotion in stretched times. What has remained constant, however, is that even in the thick of adversities world over, artists continue to create. Back in Deir al-Balah, Baroud’s lines have become simpler and sharper. The details, textures and colour gradients that he once turned to are now absent in his work. Instead, he uses symbols with specific meanings: crescents, arrows, tulip flowers, tents and bodies. “Determination comes from not looking back and moving forward. I have vowed to myself to continue and try to survive as much as possible. I have decided to postpone my grief,” he states.
A call to build solidarity
gowri.s@thehindu.co.in
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