In the tumultuous realm of contemporary art, Iraqi artist Serwan Baran stands as a formidable figure, transforming the stark realities of war and human suffering into poignant visual narratives. Born in Baghdad in 1968, Baran’s experiences as a soldier and war artist have deeply influenced his work, giving it authenticity and emotional depth.
I first met Serwan Baran several years ago during a studio visit in Beirut, where his space was filled with canvases that seemed to pulse with life and history. I have had the privilege of multiple encounters with him, each revealing new layers of his complex psyche and artistic process. However, it was during a particularly memorable visit to his show at the 59th Venice Biennale in 2019 when he represented the Iraqi Pavilion under a show titled ‘Fatherland’ that I truly grasped the depth of his vision.
The Biennale was bustling with international visitors, yet Baran’s space was a sanctuary of contemplation. He welcomed us warmly, guiding us through his installations with the same meticulous care he invests in his work. One piece, in particular, stood out: a large canvas dominated by dark, brooding colours and fragmented human forms. He explained how it encapsulated not just the agony of conflict, but also the glimmers of hope that persist against all odds.
That visit underscored the power of Baran’s art to transcend cultural and linguistic barriers, resonating with universal themes of pain, resilience, and the indomitable human spirit. His work continues to inspire and challenge, urging us to confront uncomfortable truths while recognising the shared humanity that binds us all. The barefoot artist often paints without shoes, grounding himself and his art in a profound connection to the earth and human experience.
36- 45 Chapter I
Serwan Baran’s Early Artistic Journey
36 – 37 Introduction
38 – 45 Early Life
46 – 103 Chapter II
The Art of War: The Political Expression in Exile
46 – 47 Introduction
48 – 51 Only Slogans
52 – 57 Kisses
58 – 61 Whispering
62 – 65 Elected
66 – 69 On the Edge
70 – 73 Code
74 – 77 Face of War
78 – 85 Canine
86 – 95 Fatherland
98 – 101 Prisoners of Opinion
102 – 103 A Harsh Beauty
104 – 105 Al Rayyat Al Baydaa
106 – 135 Chapter III
Home, Belonging and Creating Through Chaos
106 – 107 Introduction
108 – 111 Beirut Clean Up
112 – 115 30 Seconds Out of Time
116 – 119 Covid Series
120 – 131 Trumpeteers
132 – 133 Al Jarad
134 – 135 Women of the 21st Century
136 – 173 Chapter IV
The Power of Patronage: Conversations on Arab Identity and Influence
136 – 137 Introduction
138 – 153 Basel Dalloul: Pushing the Envelope on Conversations about Arab Art.
154 – 173 Saleh Barakat: Paving the Way for Momentous Creations
(This Page Top) Serwan Baran at F3, Essaouira, 2011.
(This Page Bottom) Post to Baghdad, 2012, Mixed media sculpture, 120 x 80 x 90 cm. Exhibited at the Biennale in Morocco, 2012 (Opposite) Post to Baghdad, 2012 unfinished.
(This Page) Serwan Baran studio, Amman, 2011.
(Opposite) Kourawiya Men Bilad El Rafidin, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 130 x 80 cm.
‘When I was a soldier, we would sometimes run away from the army and get sent to jail. Those who had a degree would get assigned to work in the kitchen. One day, the officer asked me to slaughter a chicken. I was afraid and did not want to do it. It was the first one I had to kill. When I slaughtered the first chicken, I lost my fear.’
(Opposite) Serwan Baran, Beirut, 2011.
(This Page) Sacrifice / Division of the Kaake, 2014, Acrylic on canvas, 120 x 140 x 2 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
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(This
Serwan Baran studio, Beirut, 2016.
(Opposite) Voice of the General, 2016, Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 200 cm.
(This Page) Serwan Baran’s Beirut studio, 2024. (Opposite) Serwan Baran at Galerie Analix Forever, Switzerland, F… moi la paix exhibition, 2023.
(Opposite) Serwan Baran studio, Istanbul, 2019.
(This Page) Prisoners at Night, 2019, Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 200 cm.
(Opposite) Serwan Baran studio, Beirut, 2023.
(This page) Butchery, 2023, Acrylic on canvas, 320 x 200 cm.
(This Page) Serwan Baran studio, Beirut, 2023.
(Opposite) Al Jarad, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 320 x 200 cm. Courtesy of Errm Art Gallery.
drew this piece in Istanbul, and it represents a sewing machine sewing meat. Through my art, I compared it to a war machine sewing human flesh.’
(Opposite) Meat Machine, 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 240 x 200 cm.
(This Page) Serwan Baran studio, Istanbul, 2020.
Memories, 2018, Book art, 27 x 32 x 7 cm
(This Page) Serwan Baran studio, Cairo, 2021. (Opposite) Untitled, 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 150 x 190 cm.
(Opposite) Serwan Baran studio, Amman, 2022.
(This Page) Injured Dog, 2022, Resin, 90 x 70 x 35 cm.
(This Page) Untitled, 2023, Lithograph, AP, 50 x 60 cm.
(Opposite) Serwan Baran at a print workshop Steffen Tschesno-Berlin, 2021.
Serwan Baran studio, Istanbul, 2021.
01
Young Serwan Baran.
SERWAN BARAN’S EARLY ARTISTIC JOURNEY
Serwan Baran’s work has always been raw and deeply personal, significantly impacted by his surroundings and experiences. Born in Iraq in 1968, Baran has lived through decades of war and violence, his work an elaborate representation of both his personal life and his perspective on the human condition.
Baran was encouraged to draw and explore art at a very young age and went on to study at the University of Babylon’s Faculty of Fine Arts, graduating first in his class. He became a teacher while continuing to paint with oils, earning himself numerous accolades and prizes. One of his influences has been Iraqi artist Faik Hassan, who was instrumental in the development of contemporary art in the country and is often dubbed the “father of modern Iraqi art”.
The tumultuous and often violent situation in Iraq has had a profound effect on Baran’s creative process and has driven him to tackle various themes centred on imprisonment, war, the military, and death. Baran himself was first imprisoned as a teenager, then as a soldier when he was conscripted in the Iraqi Army.
He eventually left Iraq and began a long journey to Syria and then to Jordan, where he continued to paint and found great freedom in practicing his art with no restrictions. He shares with us both his memories of growing up in a volatile Iraq and the artists who shaped him on his creative journey.
40 EARLY LIFE
Tell us how it all started. When did you begin painting?
My mother studied art for three years but didn ‘t complete her education after getting married. She encouraged my siblings and I to start drawing and exploring art. I remember one summer we were in the garden as small children. My father, a judge, had just come back from court. He asked everyone to go inside and draw him. I was drawing expressions and details in my father’s face. When we put the pictures next to each other, I realised my drawing was more advanced than my siblings’. They were drawing simple children’s drawings, while I was drawing a detailed portrait with eyes, shadow, and light.
How did your parents react to your talent?
My parents noticed that my drawing was more advanced than other children my age. They brought me art magazines and books and supported my interest in art. Little by little, I started practicing more and read all the art books that we had at home. I even created caricatures of people I disliked, like teachers who bothered us.
What happened after you discovered your talent?
I decided to study art at the University of Babylon’s Faculty of Fine Arts. The theory and practical work were easy for me since I was already at a high level. I had already read most of the books available at the library. I graduated first in my class with a big gap between me and the other students. After graduating I served in the army for a while and then started teaching at the university. Teaching was great but it required a lot of energy. Eventually, I felt the need to leave teaching because I wasn’t painting enough. Art requires complete freedom and dedication.
How did your career progress after that?
I joined the Iraqi Art Movement in 1990. In 1991, I participated for the first time in the Contemporary Iraqi Art Exhibition with 400 other artists. I won the prize for the youth competition. The competition was hosted at the Art Circle, a huge museum, that held up to 50,000 paintings. It had high walls and large spaces, so we all wanted to exhibit there.
Each floor in the building was reserved to an age
(Top to bottom) Young Serwan Baran on his mother’s lap and other members of his family.
group and artists of all ages had an opportunity to showcase their work. The ground floor was dedicated to 400 works by new upcoming artists. The rest of the floors were more like a museum. We wanted to exhibit there because it is the most important place for artists in Iraq. I won the second prize when I participated in 1994, and the first prize in 1995 for Contemporary Iraqi Art.
During the 90s, we faced difficult circumstances due to the siege, but we managed to continue our work. I remember teaching at the University of Baghdad,
Young Serwan Baran (left) and his siblings (right).
(Top to bottom) Serwan Baran and his late professor Ismail Fatah in Baghdad.
Serwan Baran and his father, Baghdad.
Serwan Baran and his friends at the University of Babylon, 1987.
What colours did you use?
earning only $ 4 a month. Sometimes when I would go to get my salary, an employee would tell me she doesn’t have milk for her son, so I would tell her to take my salary, and I would finish the month for free. But I was a painter, so painting was my source of income.
What were you drawing?
I was drawing realistic scenes, mostly landscapes and portraits. I was working on the anatomy of the body, and on the portrait. This work helped me get to where I am today.
Canvases were very expensive, we couldn’t buy many, so I used to paint, and once satisfied with the result, I would take a picture and then paint over the work. I used to do this several times and the end result would be amazing. I had twenty paintings on the same canvas and the canvas would become heavy. You’d see the progression and the different stages.
Oil colours. The acrylic colours were still not commercially distributed. We used to get foreign oil paint, then, during the siege, we started buying pigmented oil paint. Iraq wanted self-sufficiency and it wanted to produce colours. I was very curious to try everything. I’ve explored different colour combinations over time.
Which artist influenced you the most?
I was influenced by many Iraqi artists, but the most important was Faik Hassan, the founder of the Iraqi Modern Art Movement. He guided students to look at art in a modern way, moving away from traditional methods. Another important figure was Jewad Selim, who pushed for modern art in Iraq.
Who are the artists that you studied with from your generation?
My generation does not mean age but my peers, all of whom studied under Faik Hassan, such as Sadik Kwaish Alfraji, Mahmoud Obaidi, Nedim Kufi, Ammar Daoud, Nazar Yahya, Ghassan Ghaib, Yasin Atia,
(This Page) This work by Serwan Baran won second place at the Iraqi Art Exhibition 1994. Museum Collection Dairat Al Founoun, Baghdad. All of the works by Serwan Baran were stolen from the museum. Only this work remains.
Mohamed Koraich, Jabbar Abded El Roda. We were working to establish our experience within Iraqi art. All of them have become very important names. We held a group show where four sculptors and four painters were displayed. It took place at the Ka’at Hiwar Baghdad (Baghdad Dialogue Hall) in 1991. The title of the show was Eight in Dialogue. Everyone exhibited became an important artist.
Can you tell us about your experience in prison?
Most Iraqis have been imprisoned at one point in their lives. We were soldiers. Sometimes we couldn’t take it anymore, especially the artists. We wanted to get back to life. So, we would escape. The punishment for escaping varied, but it often involved beatings and living in harsh conditions. Those who escaped for a week were imprisoned for two weeks. Those who escaped for a month were imprisoned for two months. That was the system at the time.
They would take us to a place called the Tadeebiyah and place us in a big cellar at the Rashid Military Camp. It was a prison called the Harithiyah. We used to go into a room in the back with 60 people. The guards used to come in to beat us and everyone would run to the middle. The people who stayed in the corner were usually the newcomers, they did not know what to do so they were beaten until their skin burned. Degradation in prison was common practice. When we got out, we tried not to go back.
The first time I was imprisoned, I was 16 or 17 years old, still at school. I made a political joke. One of the people at school witnessed it and informed the teachers. I was sent to the public security police. My father was a judge but for 18 days he did not know where I was. It was the worst thing that happened to me. My father finally reached me and was able to release me.
(Top to Bottom) Al Foukaraa’, 1995 - 2002, Oil on canvas, 50 x 60 cm.
Untitled, 1997, Oil on canvas, detail.
Women and Child from the Iraqi Desert, 1997, Oil on canvas, 50 x 60 cm.
Tell us about your series on horses. Inspired by Faik Hassan, I took a simpler, more abstract approach to painting horses. In 1996-1997, I began feeling the urge to leave the country, so I started a project called Houroub El Khouyoul, The Escape of the Horses, between 1999 and 2000, resonating with my feelings at the time; horses running in different directions in a panic, in fear and in a state of conflict – a preparation to leave the country. The idea that inspired me was [Italian sculptor] Marino Marini’s horse, who after 10 years of its life, became startled and scared. It’s called Horse and Rider. After I left Iraq and settled in Amman, I began working on the distortion of war machines, the distortion of the generaIs. I started to remember all the military leaders in my life, whom I used to praise, whom we used to draw during wartime. We were soldiers, but this was not our truth inside; we drew their truth, so I started to draw their psychological state, their truth, the truth of the trauma, the truth of the
violence inside and outside themselves, the cruelty and the lack of mercy, which they were always teaching usnot to be merciful, be very cruel. So, I worked on a large collection of distorted generals, and I worked on skulls. It’s called Face of War. I worked on statues and sculptures in the shape of skulls, which we used to see after war ended, including golden teeth. The military uniform was there, but only the skull remained. I tried to kill the image of the war generals. It was truthfully a reaction. I work on issues that move me. If something happens to me, and I have a reaction to it, this is the key to my themes.
This was part of a 10-year series of artwork on war called Harsh Beauty, which was centred on the idea of defeat. It included skulls, generals, hostages, death, canines, a military show but with crutches – a mockery of defeated soldiers. Our entire lives, we drew victory. I decided to draw defeat, and the truth is, war is defeat. It not a victory. It is an inner defeat.
When did you leave Iraq?
I left Iraq in 2003-2004 after the fall of Baghdad. I remember seeing peace for one year in my life. It was 1989, it was a great year, one of the most beautiful years ever. For the first time, travel was allowed. We lived this peace for a year, then we entered the Kuwait war, and we went back to zero again. We were banned from everywhere. I remember the first days of the siege. My father died. We started selling the house’s items so that we could eat and live. After 2003, I went to Syria and
then to Jordan, where I held exhibitions and promoted my work. I achieved success and eventually bought an apartment in Jordan, which I turned into a studio.
When I first left Baghdad to Aleppo, I was still a little afraid, and I started to draw about the division of the watermelon: how people hold a watermelon, and everyone takes a piece from it. I worked on how different sects take a piece of the watermelon, so, everyone who lost a country, lost a piece from it.
(Opposite) Houroub Al Khouyoul, 180 x 150 cm 2002.
(This Page) Houroub Al Khouyoul., 180 x 140 cm.
(This Page in Order) Serwan Baran and Marwan Kassab-Bachi at the Summer Academy in Amman examining Baran’s work, 2000.
Serwan Baran, Marwan Kassab-Bachi and other artists, Summer Academy in Amman, 2000.
Marwan Kassab-Bachi and Serwan Baran during class, Amman, 2000.
Is that where you met Syrian artist Marwan KassabBachi?
I met Marwan when I was still living in Iraq, when cultural trips were organised to Jordan to the Summer Academy for the youth of Palestine. They do not have many opportunities, so Marwan created this program to allow Palestinian youth to exchange with academic graduates from different countries. They used to invite three academic graduates from Iraq, three from Lebanon and three from Syria, so of course I applied.
During my time I got to meet Said Baalbaki, Ayman Baalbaki and Tagreed Darghouth, great friends till this day. We lived a great period, from morning to night, together in the same hotel, restaurant, studio, and with the same teacher. Marwan’s academy was like a military camp. Marwan was very blunt; he would not sugar-coat anything, but he also would not hide when he was pleased. When he liked what we did, he praised us to no end. We worked closely together, and he influenced my work greatly.
(This Page) Marwan Kassab Bachi on his Death Bed (from Imagination), 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 100 x 80 cm.
Untitled, 2000, Mixed media on paper, 100 x 70 cm.
02
Al Rayyat Al Baydaa, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 320 x 210 cm.
Courtesy of Errm Art Gallery.
THE ART OF WAR: THE POLITICAL EXPRESSION IN EXILE
During his time as a soldier in the Iraqi Army, Baran was forced to paint realistic, propagandist images depicting battle victories and the casualties who fell at the hands of powerful fighters during the Gulf War. He also refrained from creating personal and anti-war works out of fear of retaliation.
Once Baran left Iraq and eventually settled in Jordan, he reflected on his experiences and his work took on strong political undertones: Only Slogans focused on wall slogans pre- and post-Saddam; Whispering centred on silence and transmitting information; and Elected, portrayed the current democratic climate. One of his most celebrated expressionist series focused on the freakish and figural depiction of Army generals using earthy tones and muddled backgrounds. The satirical works recount Baran’s traumatic military past and aim to ridicule the leaders he and other soldiers were once made to revere.
Another subject central to Baran’s work is the dog; building on his interest in history and mythology, he learned about the role of canines across cultures and used that knowledge in his art to depict the dog as both a symbol of transition from life to death, and an instrument of the brutality of the war.
Baran discusses how his exile impacted his artwork in greater detail and tells us more about how mythology influences his painting.
(Top to Bottom) Only Slogans, 2007, Acrylic on board, 80 x 80 cm.
Only Slogans, 2007, Acrylic on canvas, 120 x 130 cm.
What artworks did you create in Jordan?
The first project I worked on was called Shiarat Fakat or Only Slogans at Orfali Art Gallery in Jordan, a political exhibition, which highlighted the politically charged murals and slogans on Baghdad’s walls. My memory was formed by the slogans on the walls glorifying the Iraqi rulers at that time. These walls were used as canvases for political expression, showcasing the shifting political landscape and the absence of a unified homeland. While the slogans remain the same, the names of the politicians and people in power changed. For example, on one wall was written, “Long live the leader, Saddam Hussein”. Then on that same wall, they removed the name of Saddam Hussein and put the name of someone else.
(Top to Bottom) Only Slogans, 2007, Acrylic on board, 120 x 40 cm.
Only Slogans, 2007, Acrylic on paper, 56 x 76 cm.
Only Slogans, 2007, Acrylic on paper, 56 x 76 cm.
The wording remained the same, but the names were changed. One of the scenes that impressed me was a big national flag on the wall. [Then] a person came and drew a donkey on the wall. The addition of the donkey was a great artistic scene. It was done in a primitive way. I took a picture of the donkey and kept it in my memory. I replicated it but artistically through the idea of time: how slogans were written on the walls, and then were erased and replaced by other slogans. But through erosion, the colours would vanish, and the previous slogans would reappear. The idea of time came up; how time changes and faces change.
Another exhibition I did at the Orfali was Whispering. After Shiara Fakat, I felt that we couldn’t speak; we
ONLY SLOGANS TOOK PLACE AT ORFALI GALLERY IN AMMAN THROUGHOUT THE TERRIBLE UNREST IN IRAQ. BARAN DEALS WITH THE UNFULFILLED POLITICAL SLOGANS COVERING BAGHDAD’S WALLS, INDICATIVE OF A BROKEN-DOWN POLITICAL DISCOURSE.
FUSING A RANGE OF CREATIVE DISCIPLINES, BARAN’S WORK IS POLITICAL IN ITS NATURE AS HE PROVOKES THE STATUS QUO AND PROVIDES AN OUTLET FOR THOSE WHO ARE UNHEARD; REPRESENTING SOCIAL ISSUES EMANATING FROM IRAQ. THIS IS A REMINDER OF IRAQ. THEY ARE ORGANIC TRANSUBSTANTIATE TO SURVIVE. THIS EXHIBITION WITH REMINDERS OF AN ONGOING STRUGGLE, ITS SPIRIT UNBROKEN OR DEAD BUT IMMORTALISED IN RAW AND UNDIPLOMATIC ARTISTIC LANGUAGE.
Only Slogans, 2007, Acrylic on board, 90 x 90 cm.
used to be silent, today we are still silent, and we don’t know when we will be able to speak loudly. The idea behind Whispering is people whispering in each other’s ears and gossiping and how news travels from person to person. I saw that our world was truly based on rumours and how information changes. I created Whispering to look like a film on long horizontal canvases, showing how information moves from one head to another.
Then I created an important exhibition called Elected It was exhibited at a gallery called the Matisse Art Gallery in Marrakech. Elected tackled the mocking of current democracy, a political show that I couldn’t exhibit in Jordan. Elected is a ballot box about the lies of the elections, and ultimately how our votes are useless and the people who will be elected are already chosen. After that, all my work had a political point of view. Everything was about oppression.
Was there any backlash about your work in Iraq?
When other artists and I used to exhibit in Iraq, the officials did not understand our work. If we drew something unattractive and they asked what it was, we used to say that the work is about the enemy. However, it was exhausting. We were afraid. In Jordan, they don’t care what we portrayed about Iraq or the Iraqi experience. I worked for approximately five years on army officers in high ranks in Amman with the Orfali Gallery. Then I exhibited the same show at Nabad Art Gallery in 2013 titled On the Edge
The idea was that in Iraqi mythology, when rich people, important leaders and kings, die, they are not buried in Iraq. They are buried in Bahrain. In Bahrain, there are three million Dilmun graves called the Dilmun Burial Mounds. When you go to Bahrain by plane, you could see about three million small hills. When they conducted an archaeological dig in the area, they found three million graves inside, but only for the important people, not the ordinary people, which they sent in boats. I was inspired and created the idea of putting the generals in boats to get rid of them. The work was called The Last Survivor. I created a sculpture of a general; half of him was made of bones and the other half was normal.
In 2019, Paolo Colombo saw the work and wanted it to be shown in Venice. I executed the work again, in a larger size. The first one was 120 cm, and the larger one made for the Venice Biennale was 190 cm.
Can you talk about why you use a lot of numbers in your paintings?
Yes, our identities are often reduced to numbers in society. After 2003, I realised that we are just numbers. When I entered the army, they gave me a number. When you enter the prison in the Arab world, they cancel your name, they only give you a number so no one can contact you. It’s all numbers, our mobile number, our car plates. We are born with a number and die with a number; I explored this concept in a show called Moujarad Arkam. Our lives are filled with numbers, from birth to death, and I wanted to reflect that in my work. It was a joint exhibition created by me and Ahmed Albahrani in the Al Markhiya Gallery in Qatar in 2013.
You did a series called Canines. Can you elaborate?
I explored the concept of dogs as a link between life and death in various cultures. I created feral, terrifying dogs to represent the brutality of war and humanity’s crimes. It was a powerful project that conveyed the monstrosity of conflict.
I read a lot of books, and I saw that there is an animal that is common in all cultures and in mythology. It is the link between life and death. It is called the Onubis, in the Egyptian myths, the guardian of the tombs. In Greek myths, there is Cerberus, also a dog with three heads, which takes the body to the other world. In the Mayan civilization, when people die, they are buried with a dog. So, the dog is an expression of the relationship between life and death. I wanted to draw a dog that was a joke to the world, and to humanity, denouncing the crimes that happened, and that are still happening, so I created a project about feral dogs called ‘Canines’, the dogs of war.
Kisses, 2009, Acrylic on canvas, 170 x 170 cm.
Kisses, 2009, Acrylic on canvas, 100 x 100 cm..
Kisses, 2009, Acrylic on archpaper, 86 x 71 cm.
(Opposite) Kisses, 2009, Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 180 cm..
(This page) Serwan Baran and Abdel Razzaq Abdel Wahed at Art House Damascus exhibition opening Kisses, 2010.
Serwan Baran, Mounir El Shaarani, Yasser El Safi, Youssef Abdelki, and Nasser Hussein at Art House Damascus exhibition opening Kisses, 2010.
(Top to Bottom) Whispering, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 90 x 70 cm.
Whispering, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 50 x 315 cm.
Whispering, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 50 x 315 cm.
Whispering, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 50 x 250 cm.
(Top to Bottom) Whispering, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 50 x 315 cm.
Whispering, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 50 x 300 cm.
Do you use mythology in your work?
It depends on the project. For example, at the Venice Biennale in 2018 in the exhibition Fatherland, I presented a project called The Dinner, inspired by The Last Supper. The Dinner represented a group of soldiers having a meal during the war. I imagined it in my head – you place a bomb on the table in the middle of the dinner: all the people die and the food stays in its place. The idea is food in exchange for death. What does food in exchange for death mean? It means we are given money as a ransom for our children to live, and we go to war to die.
So, I painted a large piece showcasing a group of soldiers in top view i.e., in the eye of the bird. I intended to draw it in the eye of the bird for two reasons. The first is when you draw in the eye of the bird you don’t have perspective, because everything you see is in real size, so I got rid of the perspective. The second important thing is the witness of God. Drawing in top view you are looking from above as if God is the witness of this massacre.
When I started the project, I went to Iraq. I went to see the families whose children died in the war. I asked them to tell me about their experiences. Coincidentally, one of the families sent me a letter from their son. When I saw the letter, I started to ask the other families if they had letters. There was a woman whose husband was killed during the war. Usually, the martyr is buried with his clothes. He is buried with his blood. But she kept the suit. After I went to see her about letters, she told me she had the suit and insisted on giving it to me. She said to me, ‘My children are grown up and married, and this suit is no longer of value. And I don’t want to stir up any feelings in them.’ So, I said, ‘Give me the suit, and I will try to use it in my work.’
She moved my imagination. I went to ask the other families, and I started accumulating suits. I cut these suits, and I made a collage of the names of the martyrs inside the work. It was exhibited at the Venice Biennale in 2018.
I chose the title Fatherland because we are familiar with ‘motherland’ as being our land and nation, but
we live in a patriarchal male world, and our war was a male war. It was the men who were fighting, so I came up with a title which was more appropriate and alluded to the masculine element. All the works I created highlighted the masculine qualities that are related to Fatherland. The word Fatherland is not to mock the word ‘motherland’, but it is a reality for people who lived in this masculine world of war.
The Venice Biennale collection is the culmination of a 10-year experiment. During the last 10 years, I worked on a series of works on the generals, on soldiers and on the war. I began working on this in 2011, on the human condition, on the soldiers who were injured, hurt and who were imprisoned. In 20132014, I worked on the aircraft carrier, which is the destruction of everything around us because of the war machine. The Biennale represented the end of that experiment, which ended with ‘The Dinner’.
Did you create a work related to the Tower of Babel? I studied at the University of Babylon and was inspired by the Babylonian culture. Although I didn’t work directly on the Tower of Babel, I was influenced by the ancient civilization’s use of clay and their artistic expressions. Every time I had a break at the university, or I was in an anxious state, I would climb that tower and take all the energy from it. So, I worked on Naram-Sin, one of the Ashurian fighters, the grandson of King Ashurbanipal and one of the most important military leaders. I studied the prison at that time and the Pharaohs’ prisons, and I saw art across periods repeating itself in different clothing. When I looked at The Blind Leading the Blind by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, it really influenced me. The idea was that we were in a hole, in the abyss. In the 20th century, John Singer Sargent also tackled that idea. I reviewed all of this information and realised that the fate and treatment of imprisoned soldiers has always been the same.
You started working with clay. Why is that?
Coming from a clay civilization like Babylon, I feel a strong connection to the material. Most of my work is in clay, and even when I use other materials, I try to maintain the look and feel of clay. It’s a tribute to my heritage.
(This Page) Elected, 2013, Resin, Ed 1/7, 80 x 25 x 25 cm.
(Opposite) Poster of the Elected exhibition at the Matisse Art Gallery in Marrakech, 2013.
Do you draw prisoners because of your experience in prison?
I don’t draw prisoners because I was imprisoned. It was a common experience for my generation. During the war, I saw many prisoners and the devastation caused by conflict. War is a great loss, not a victory. I wanted to draw the truth, but in Iraq you couldn’t risk it.
Instead, I focused on realistic experiences and portraits, often painting over my works multiple times due to the lack of resources. It is only when I left that I was able to explore the themes that interested me.
Tell us about your Prisoners of Opinion series. In Prisoners of Opinion, I started working on colours. How does colour determine the fate of our lives? Iraq at the time was very chaotic, then there was the revolution, so a lot of innocent people were sent to prison because they had opinions. I noticed that young university students were imprisoned as if they were criminals, so I decided to work on how colour would determine the fate of our lives. The uniform that one wore determined their fate. The blue one meant the prisoner was under investigation. When the prisoner was sentenced to two or three years, he had a yellow uniform. When he was dressed in red, it meant execution. This subject has a big impact on me, especially in the Tishreen revolution.
I also worked on a project on the white flag. A lifted white flag means surrender in Iraq, so we were prevented from wearing white undergarments so that the American military wouldn’t remove them and we’d be taken away as prisoners. So, I made a complete project on it called White Flags and it was shown at the Saleh Barakat Gallery, Gallery Misr in Cairo, and the Errm Art Gallery in Riyadh. It was also exhibited in Jordan in a museum called the Hawfa Al Hawiya in 2002.
Elected, 2013, Mixed media leporello, 30 x 125 cm.
(Above) Installation image, On the Edge Exhibition, Nabad Gallery, Amman, 2013.
(Below) Last Survivor, 2013, Resin, 110 x 34 cm.
(Opposite) On the Edge, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 70 x 60 cm.
ON THE EDGE TOOK PLACE AT NABAD GALLERY IN AMMAN. THIS EXHIBITION DELVES INTO THE CONCEPT OF IDENTITY, FEATURING A SERIES OF PAINTINGS AND SCULPTURES THAT BLUR THE LINES BETWEEN WHAT IS VISIBLE AND HIDDEN, AND WHAT IS REAL AND IMAGINED.
BARAN’S ART GRASPS A DEEP TRANSFORMATION. HIS FIGURES, ELEGANTLY EERIE AND UNSETTLING, DEFIES TRADITIONAL DEPICTIONS. FACES AND BODIES APPEAR ALMOST DREAMLIKE, EVOKING A SENSE OF CHILDLIKE FASCINATION MIXED WITH A PARTICULAR EXISTENTIAL DISCOMFORT. THIS DUALITY REFLECTS THE ARTIST’S INTEREST IN HUMAN VULNERABILITY AND THE MASKS WE WEAR TO NAVIGATE OUR EXISTENCE. IN ON THE EDGE, BARAN USES A MINGLING OF REALISM AND ABSTRACTION TO CONVEY THE INTERNAL STRUGGLES OF HIS SUBJECTS. HIS TECHNIQUE REVEALS THE INVISIBLE FRAGMENTS THAT SHAPE
OUR PERCEPTIONS AND IDENTITIES. THE WORKS CARRY A SENSE OF PLAYFULNESS, YET THEY ALSO OFFER A WEIGHTY CONTEMPLATION ON THE NATURE OF BEING AND THE ESSENCE OF SELF. HIS PIECES OFTEN REFERENCE MYTHOLOGICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL THEMES, CREATING A RICH TAPESTRY OF CULTURAL AND PERSONAL NARRATIVES.
THIS EXHIBITION CALLS VIEWERS TO CONTEMPLATE ON THE FLUIDITY OF IDENTITY AND THE ELUSIVE NATURE OF SELF. BARAN’S FIGURES, SOMETIMES APPEARING AS MARIONETTES, SOMETIMES AS FRAGMENTED FORMS, COMPEL US TO CONSIDER THE PROFOUND AND OFTEN CONTRADICTORY ELEMENTS OF OUR HUMANITY. THE USE OF MUTED COLOURS AND TEXTURED SURFACES FURTHER ENHANCES THE ETHEREAL QUALITY OF HIS WORK, MAKING ON THE EDGE A COMPELLING RESEARCH OF THE HUMAN CONDITION.
(Opposite) On the Edge, 2012, Acrylic on cardboard, 57 x 67 cm.
(This Page) On the Edge, 2012, Acrylic on cardboard, 70 x 57 cm.
(This Page) Code 8, 2013, Mixed media on carton, 78 x 108 cm. Courtesy of Al Markhiya Gallery, Doha.
(Opposite top) Code 3, 2013, Mixed media on carton, 78 x 108 cm. Courtesy of Al Markhiya Gallery, Doha.
(Opposite, below) Code 2, 2013, Mixed media on carton, 78 x 108 cm. Courtesy of Al Markhiya Gallery, Doha.
Order)
(In
Face of War, 2014, Acrylic on canvas, 60 x 50 cm.
Face of War, 2014, Acrylic on canvas, 60 x 50 cm.
Face of War, 2018, Acrylic on canvas, 40 x 50 cm.
(In Order) Face of War, 2023, Acrylic on canvas, 130 x 220 cm.
Face of War, 2023, Acrylic on canvas, 50 x 60 cm.
Face of War, 2023, Acrylic on canvas, 50 x 60 cm.
(This Page) Face of War, 2017, Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 200 cm. This work was the artist’s start into the Harsh Beauty exhibition.
(Opposite) Face of War, 2013, Resin with Bronze, 37 x 37 cm.
IN CANINES, SERWAN BARAN REIMAGINES THE SYMBOLISM OF DOGS THROUGH A MULTITUDE OF THREADS. FROM SHAKESPEARE’S DOGS OF WAR TO NIETZSCHE’S DOMESTICATED WOLVES, THE EXHIBITION FEATURES BARAN’S PAINTINGS OF DOGS AS FIGURES OF POWER, FEAR, AND COMPANIONSHIP, IMBUED WITH SYMBOLS OF STRENGTH AND MENACE. MYTHOLOGY BREATHES THROUGH HIS ART AS WELL, WITH ANUBIS, THE EGYPTIAN DEITY GUIDING SOULS TO THE AFTERLIFE, MANIFESTING IN HYBRID FORMS THAT BRIDGE LIFE AND DEATH. BARAN’S WORK EXPLORES THE DUALITIES OF PROTECTION AND INTIMIDATION, WHILE REFLECTING ON POLITICAL AND PERSONAL FEARS, NOTABLY EVOKING THE TERROR OF THE 2003 IRAQI INVASION. THIS JUXTAPOSITION IS UNDERSCORED BY BARAN’S TRANSITION FROM DETAILED REALISM TO ABSTRACT EXPRESSIONISM, EMPHASISING THE EVOLVING NATURE OF HIS ARTISTIC ENGAGEMENT WITH HIS SUBJECT MATTER.
,
HIS WORK REFLECTS A DEEP DIALOGUE WITH THE MULTIFACETED ROLES OF DOGS—BEASTS OF BURDEN, LOYAL COMPANIONS, AND POTENT SYMBOLS—CHALLENGING VIEWERS TO CONFRONT THEIR OWN PERCEPTIONS AND RELATIONSHIPS WITH THESE CREATURES. CANINES BECKONS VIEWERS TO A PROFOUND ENCOUNTER WITH THE TIMELESS BOND BETWEEN HUMANS AND DOGS, INVITING CONTEMPLATION OF OUR SHARED JOURNEY THROUGH THE TRANSFORMATIVE POWER OF ART AND THE ENIGMATIC PRESENCE OF THESE ANIMALS IN OUR LIVES.
(Opposite) Sketch for Fatherland, Venice Biennale.
(This page) The Last Meal, 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 140 x 120 cm.
FATHERLAND, COMMISSIONED BY THE RUYA FOUNDATION FOR THE IRAQ PAVILION AT THE 58TH VENICE BIENNALE IN 2019, SEES SERWAN BARAN EXPLORE THE RELENTLESS WARS THAT HAVE SHAPED IRAQ. THIS EXHIBITION, BORN FROM BARAN’S INTENSE PROPOSAL, DOCUMENTS THE SOLDIER’S PERSPECTIVE ON THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MAN AND HOMELAND. IT DELVES INTO THE TRAUMA ENDURED BY GENERATIONS UNDER DICTATORSHIP AND SUBSEQUENT CONFLICTS. BARAN HAS EXPERIENCED OVER FORTY YEARS OF WAR, MAKING HIS WORK A RAW AND EXPRESSIONISTIC COMMENTARY ON THESE HARSH REALITIES.
HIS WORKS HAVE EVOLVED TO ADDRESS HIS MILITARY EXPERIENCES AND THOSE OF HIS COLLEAGUES, PRESENTING A CRITIQUE OF IRAQ’S MASCULINE AND PATERNALISTIC POLITICAL CULTURE. THE CONCEPT OF “FATHERLAND” CONTRASTS WITH THE NURTURING “MOTHERLAND,” HIGHLIGHTING THE OPPRESSIVE IDEOLOGIES ENACTED BY MALEDOMINATED LEADERSHIP IN IRAQ.
THE EXHIBITION FEATURED SITE-SPECIFIC COMMISSIONED WORKS SUCH AS THE LAST MEAL, A MONUMENTAL ACRYLIC PAINTING DEPICTING A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW OF FALLEN SOLDIERS DURING THEIR LAST MEAL, INCORPORATING COLLAGE ELEMENTS FROM IRAQI MILITARY UNIFORMS. THESE UNIFORMS, PROVIDED BY THE FAMILIES OF THE DECEASED, SPAN THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR, THE SECOND GULF WAR, AND THE WAR AGAINST ISIS. ANOTHER SIGNIFICANT PIECE IS THE LAST GENERAL, A LIFE-SIZE SCULPTURE OF A DECAYED ARMY GENERAL IN A SUNKEN LIFEBOAT, SYMBOLISING THE TRAGIC FATE OF LEADERS AND SOLDIERS ALIKE.
ENTERING FATHERLAND RAISED THE FEELING OF A WAR ZONE, ALIGNED WITH BARAN’S DARK AND ATMOSPHERIC STYLE. THE EXHIBITION INVITED VIEWERS TO REFLECT ON THE HUMAN AND POLITICAL DIMENSIONS OF WAR. THE ACCOMPANYING CATALOGUE IS AS A REFLECTIVE DOCUMENT WHICH PRESERVES THE MEMORIES OF DECEASED IRAQI SOLDIERS THROUGH COLLECTED LETTERS AND SELECTED POEMS BY SARGON BOULOS AND ABDUL AMIR JARAS. THESE LITERARY PIECES COMPLEMENT BARAN’S ARTWORK, FROM WHICH QUESTIONS ARISE ON THE HUMAN COST OF IRAQ’S ENDURING CONFLICTS.
(Opposite) Reader of the Will, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 110 x 70 cm.
VENICE BIENNALE: IRAQ AND IRAN, PAVILIONS UNDER THE SYMBOL OF TRAGEDY. THE WORKS OF SERWAN BARAN AND REZA LAVASSANI ARE AMONG THE EXHIBITION’S MOST INTERESTING WORKS
By Philippe Dagen
It has almost become tradition: at every Venice Biennale since 2011, the Iraqi pavilion, which changes address each time, is one of the most interesting among those held outside the official venues. It is also the case this year, although the principle has changed. Until now, the exhibition has brought together several artists from different generations and using different modes of expression. This time, only one project occupies the space, and it presents only two works: a painting and a sculpture. We are introduced to the latter first, following a narrow corridor whose walls are covered with military green fabric: a boat placed on the pavement within which lies the half-decomposed corpse of a soldier, lifesize, brutally sculpted using grey clay. The work is called ‘The Last General’. The back wall of the second room is covered entirely by a painting from floor to ceiling: a pile of bodies in uniform, piled up against one another, seen from above. Plastic plates and pieces of clothing are stuck on the canvas, entitled ‘The Last Meal’. These soldiers died while they were eating. Some have their mouths open, demonstrating their final cry.
For this painting, its author, Serwan Baran, probably drew as much from his personal memories, if not more, than from current events. Born in 1968 in Baghdad to a Kurdish family, he could not avoid army conscription, which was then that of Saddam Hussein. The army was waging war on Iran, before facing the Western coalition forces after the invasion of Kuwait and its eventual defeat in the civil and religious wars that followed. He only experienced the first years of this carnage, having left Iraq for Beirut, where he lives and works today. As a soldier, Baran was also subjected to governmental propaganda discourse, and the exhibition is therefore mockingly called ‘Fatherland’. As examples of this approach, the catalogue includes diplomas of decorations awarded posthumously and letters from soldiers, obsessed with patriotism and ready for “martyrdom”.
Theme of ‘The Last Meal’
Both works nevertheless tend towards a universal theme. The dead general could be that of an army at the time of Pharaonic dynasties, placed on a funeral boat according to ancient rite. The corpses could have died in any trench in the 20th century. In the chronicles of historical painting, which Baran obviously knows perfectly, he comes after Goya, Géricault, Dix or Morley. His works begin with charcoal and coffee-stained
drawings on paper, symbols of remarkable efficiency. This same quality is at work when he paints or sculpts, making the Iraqi pavilion once more one of the most interesting at the Biennale. By strange coincidence, the theme of the last meal is also that of Reza Lavassani in the Iranian pavilion, where it occupies most of the space.
The work, called ‘Life’, comprises a semi-circular table about ten meters long, with armchairs, a chandelier, bouquets, plates, fruit, cutlery – but no guests. This would already be a worrying sign, but the installation is all the more funereal because Lavassani, who began working on it in 2012, created it entirely out of ash-grey papier-mâché, which represents ideas of petrification and burial, like Pompeii or some other disaster. This still life is a life-size vanitas, which calls for silence.
Lavassani, who was born in Tehran in 1962, studied art there, as well as philosophy and history. He has exhibited little outside Iran. When he draws, he does so by piercing a white or grey surface with needle holes to create symbolic animals. When he sculpts, it is in papier-mâché, with the same extreme solemnity. It is when it allows us to discover previously unknown artists that the Venice Biennale is truly useful, and not when it orchestrates celebrities of the Western market.
On the left: When it allows us to discover previously unknown artists, the Venice Biennale is truly useful, not when it orchestrates celebrities of the Western market.
(This Page) The Parliament, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 170 x 140 cm.
Untitled, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 200. Permanent collection Institut du Monde Arabe, Paris.
(Opposite) Untitled, 2022, Bronze, Ed 1/8, 183 x 50 x 50 cm. Permanent collection Institut du Monde Arabe, Paris.
(In Order) Prisoners of Opinion, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 180 cm.
Prisoners of Opinion, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 180 cm.
Prisoners of Opinion, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 200 x 180 cm.
Prisoners of Opinion, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 110 x 70 cm.
(In Order) Prisoners of Opinion, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 130 x 190 cm.
Prisoners of Opinion, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 140 x 190 cm.
Prisoners of Opinion, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 170 x 140 cm.
IN A HARSH BEAUTY, SERWAN BARAN CONFRONTS THE STARK REALITIES OF CONFLICT THROUGH MONUMENTAL WORKS THAT COMMAND BOTH AWE AND REFLECTION. THIS EXHIBITION FEATURES BARAN’S IMPOSING PAINTINGS AND SCULPTURES THAT VIVIDLY DEPICT THE HARROWING EFFECTS OF WAR. WITH CANVASES STRETCHING UP TO FIVE METRES WIDE, BARAN EMPLOYS A SOMBRE PALETTE OF MILITARY GREENS, BEIGES, AND BLACKS TO PORTRAY THE VISCERAL EXPERIENCES OF SOLDIERS, BOTH LIVING AND DEAD.
THE EXHIBITION EXTENDS BARAN’S CRITIQUE OF NATIONALISM, A THEME HE FIRST EXPLORED IN FATHERLAND AT THE 2019 VENICE BIENNALE. HERE, HIS EXPRESSIONISTIC DISTORTIONS OF SOLDIERS’ FACES AND THE STARK, GRAPHIC REPRESENTATION OF THEIR SUFFERING UNDERLINE THE HUMAN COST OF WARFARE. BARAN’S WORK ALTERNATES BETWEEN REALISM AND EXPRESSIONISM, CAPTURING THE GRANDEUR OF HISTORICAL SCENES WHILE PROBING EXISTENTIAL ANXIETIES IN MORE ABSTRACT COMPOSITIONS. HIS DETAILED, NARRATIVE SCENES LIKE THE LAST MEAL AND EXPRESSIVE FIGURES IN SCULPTURES SUCH AS THE LAST GENERAL REVEAL THE DEHUMANISING IMPACT OF CONFLICT, LINKING PAST AND PRESENT SUFFERINGS.
BARAN QUESTIONS THE GLORIFICATION OF WARFARE AND EXPOSES ITS BRUTAL REALITY. HIS FIGURES, OFTEN DISFIGURED AND RENDERED IN RAW, POWERFUL STROKES, REFLECT A CRITIQUE OF THE IDEALISTIC NARRATIVES OF NATIONALISM. A HARSH BEAUTY INVITES VIEWERS TO GRAPPLE WITH THE GROTESQUE BEAUTY OF DESTRUCTION, URGING A DEEPER UNDERSTANDING OF THE HUMAN COSTS OF CONFLICT AND THE ENDURING QUEST FOR MEANING AMID CHAOS.
(This Page) Untitled, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 120 x 200 cm.
(Opposite) Untitled, 2019, Bronze, Ed 1/3, 90 x 70 x 40 cm. Courtesy of Saleh Barakat Gallery.
(This Page) Al Rayyat Al Baydaa, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 200 x 150 cm. Courtesy of Errm Art Gallery.
(Opposite Top) Al Rayyat Al Baydaa, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 210 x 160 cm. Courtesy of Errm Art Gallery.
(Opposite Bottom) Al Rayyat Al Baydaa, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 240 x 210 cm. Courtesy of Errm Art Gallery.
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30 Seconds Out of Time, 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 70 x 80 cm. Courtesy of Errm Art Gallery.
HOME, BELONGING AND CREATING THROUGH CHAOS
Serwan Baran continues to visit Iraq but has grown disheartened with his country’s transformation and what he deems to be a regressing artistic community. Since his permanent departure in 2003, his work has taken on a more political tone because of his ability to express himself more freely outside of Iraq.
Baran has been significantly shaped by his experiences living in Beirut, particularly following the 2020 blast. Being so close to the centre, and then witnessing the coming together of the Lebanese youth cleaning the streets, culminated in testimonial works like Beirut Clean-Up and 30 Seconds Out of Time, the latter a reflection on the fate of the ten firefighters who disappeared in the port as the blast occurred.
During this time, Baran was also personally impacted by the Lebanese economic crisis and the pandemic, which prompted a series of deeply delicate and thought-provoking works centred on destruction and isolation. He discusses in depth his thought process on how those ideas came to be and gives us insight into more recent pieces focused on the war in Gaza and modern technological warfare.
page) Beirut
How do you feel about your experiences in Iraq now?
Iraq has changed a lot. The Baghdad I knew is different now, with many educated people fleeing and those remaining struggling to live. Entering the city is a mess. The people have changed. Baghdad was beautiful, not in its streets, but in its people. I always say that the big impact that happened to Baghdad, is that the countryside migrated to the city. However, I still visit Iraq occasionally, and I just came back from a trip with friends.
How has the art scene in Iraq developed since you left? It’s a disaster. All the good artists left. There are no real committees to choose the works. We used to participate in the exhibitions, and only a select few were accepted. When one of our works got into the museum we used to go outside and dance in the streets. It was an accomplishment. And now anyone can be exhibited. Iraqi artists, living in Iraq, always avoid politics in their work. It is only the artists who leave Iraq that can tackle political issues in their work. After 2003 all my work became political.
I have a passion for art, and art is not a profession to me. Art is a purpose to me. If I don’t have a cause or purpose, I don’t draw.
Where is your favourite place to be?
Beirut, truthfully, for security reasons. The most important thing in Beirut is freedom of expression. Beirut supports each person that visits. You don’t feel like a stranger. The first day you enter this city, a week later, they consider you a citizen of the country. This breaks all the barriers, and you feel that you can start living in your country.
What was your experience in the Beirut Port explosion of August 2020?
I was in Beirut at the time, and I was very close to the blast. I was in Dora with Saleh Barakat. The next day I went back to see what happened. I needed to see something to be able to express myself, but the destruction and ruin did not move me to draw. The city is very beautiful, and it gave me a lot, so I didn’t want to ruin that. I saw something much better. I saw young people cleaning the city. They had their own sandwiches, and they were cleaning as if they were cleaning their own houses. Seeing them, I learnt
(This
Clean Up, 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 150 x 200 cm.
(Opposite) Beirut Port, 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 140 x 140 cm.
Beirut Clean Up, 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 480 x 150 cm
the first lesson in the love of a nation. When our city [Baghdad] was destroyed, the people of the city did not clean it. On the contrary, when our city fell, they burned state offices, and the state’s computers. Coming from a country where the people stole and destroyed the city to a country where the people are actively trying to put it back together, my whole system was distorted. So, I decided to start a project of twenty works about the people cleaning the city of Beirut. I also came across another important issue. Prior to the explosion, ten firefighters entered a place where they knew they would die. The ten firemen disappeared, so I imagined a story in my head. The project is called 30 Seconds Out of Time; out of time because no one knows what happened. How these firefighters reached the warehouse, the conversation between them, and how they disappeared. I wanted to honour them, so I created twenty-eight works. I exhibited these paintings at Errm Art Gallery in Riyadh.
Can you walk us through the COVID-19 series?
I created a series on COVID-19 about isolation. Most of the work I did during the pandemic was my own selfportrait. I sat on the floor with books; I couldn’t clean my house, and I felt like I couldn’t live in the place at all, so I used to take a selfie, and place a mirror and draw myself. I took a selfie of myself and drew how I changed. I also worked on how people wore masks, how the shapes of their faces changed.
We were also living in chaos, during the economic crisis. What can one draw from the economic crisis? How can I express myself. I looked at the economic crises in the world that started with the pandemic, first. Secondly, I looked at the locust attacks. The locusts used to attack the crops and the agricultural season would end, leaving people without food. This insect has created economic crises for centuries, so I linked it to the human being, the one who ate everything. I worked on a series of locusts that wore army colours. I was fascinated by the singularity that one insect could eat everything. There is a saying in Arabic: the locusts eat the green and the dry. I felt that we had an invasion of locusts but in the form of humans.
30 Seconds Out
Page) 30 Seconds Out of
(Opposite)
of Time, 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 170 x 210 cm. Courtesy of Errm Art Gallery.
(This
Time, 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 190 x 160 cm. Courtesy of Errm Art Gallery.
(This Page) 30 Seconds Out of Time, 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 120 cm. Courtesy of
(Opposite) 30 Seconds Out of Time, 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 200 x 180 cm. Courtesy of
Errm Art Gallery.
Errm Art Gallery.
How did the Gaza war impact your work?
The Gaza Strip, as usual, is a war zone. I can’t draw a building that is being bombed and the suffering people. These are all things I have done. I didn’t want to draw a documentary-type photograph. Instead, I looked at how the television channels show people from America, from the Arab world, from the United Kingdom, protesting in the name of Palestine. There is a contradiction in this matter. The Arab League, and some countries, made a big speech; however, they did not do anything to stop Israel. This contradiction reminded me of a similar work I had done in the past: the Sad Clowns in 2012. Clowns make people happy, but they are sad. I was thinking to myself and saw a great opportunity to mock the politicians who are silent. The ones I drew now in 2023 were smiling, strong, with an evil smile. They are wearing welldecorated suits, and they have microphones in front of them. I studied body language and the language of the fingers and the hand. Some of the movements are pre-determined, some are false promises, and some are support and power. I added the trumpets. I created a whole exhibition, and I called it Al-Bouaqeen, which in Arabic means two words: either trumpeters or the screamers and liars. In Arabic, the word is the liar, the thief, or the musician.
Who has acquired your works?
My works are in collections of the Ramzi and Saeda Dalloul Art Foundation, the Ibrahimi Foundation, Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art in Qatar, and the Maghreb Museum. I also work with galleries in New York and Geneva.
What are you working on in 2024?
This year, I am working on a new project: the Electronic War and how people are prisoners of technology. Today, if someone takes a person’s mobile or computer, they get lost. So, we are all prisoners of this. Second, I am a prisoner of a spy machine that knows me anywhere I am, and it can determine my location anywhere I am. Privacy has gone from us, but we are addicted to technology. Today, the drones are doing everything. A young person can hack the Pentagon and change the whole system. I started working on this world, the new world, the world of computers, the world of social media, which manipulates people’s minds, and overthrows governments. This project will be exhibited in 2025 at the Saleh Barakat Gallery.
(This Page Top) Untitled (Covid Series), 2020, Sketch, 30 x 40 cm.
(Opposite) Autoportrait (Covid Series), 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 30 x 40 cm x 3.
Untitled (Covid Series), 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 82 x 58 cm.
(Opposite) Autoportrait (Covid Series), 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 140 x 180 cm.
(This Page) Untitled (Covid Series), 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 60 x 70 cm.
Untitled (Covid Series), 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 40 x 50 cm.
The Sick Family (Covid Series), 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 140 x 120 cm.
THE TRUMPETERS BY SERWAN BARAN INVITES VIEWERS TO CONFRONT THE STARK REALITIES OF HUMAN SUFFERING AND THE SEARCH FOR IDENTITY. BARAN, SHAPED BY THE RAVAGES OF WAR AND DISPLACEMENT, CHANNELS THESE EXPERIENCES INTO HIS ART, CREATING A RAW AND UNFILTERED PORTRAYAL OF THE WORLD.
BARAN’S JOURNEY THROUGH CONFLICT AND EXILE HAS DEEPLY INFLUENCED HIS WORK. THIS COLLECTION OF PAINTINGS REFLECTS HIS PERSONAL STRUGGLES AND BROADER THEMES OF RESILIENCE AND PAIN. THE ART PRESENTS DIFFICULT SUBJECTS WITH A DIRECTNESS THAT ENGAGES VIEWERS WITH BARAN’S CORE EXPERIENCES. EACH PIECE IN THE TRUMPETERS SERVES AS A COMMENTARY ON THE HUMAN CONDITION, USING THE HUMAN FORM TO EXPLORE LOSS, IDENTITY, AND SURVIVAL. THE EXHIBITION CHALLENGES VIEWERS TO FACE THE HARSH TRUTHS OF EXISTENCE, OFFERING A SPACE TO REFLECT ON HOW OUR EXPERIENCES SHAPE US.
(This Page) Serwan at Gallery Misr, Cairo, 2023.
(Opposite) Round Table, 2023, Acrylic on canvas, 200 x 180 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(This Page) Untitled X, 2023, Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 200 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(Opposite) Political Speech, 2023. Acrylic on canvas, 200 x 150 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(Opposite) Untitled VI, 2023, Acrylic on canvas, 188 x 150 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(This Page) Untitled II, 2023 Acrylic on canvas, 100 x 90 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(Opposite) The Parliament, 2023, Acrylic on canvas, 100 x 140 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(This Page) Untitled XIX, 2024 Bronze, Ed 2/7, 62 x 30 x 25 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(Opposite) Untitled VII, 2023, Acrylic on canvas, 150 x 200 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(This Page) Untitled IX, 2024 Acrylic on canvas, 173 x 208 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(This Page) Arab Dialogue, Salah Al-Din Citadel, Cairo, Egypt, 2023. Acrylic on canvas, 170 x 250 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(Opposite) Behind the Scene I, 2023, Acrylic on canvas, 200 x 140 cm. Courtesy of Gallery Misr.
(Opposite) Al Jarad, 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 200 cm.
(This Page) Al Jarad, 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 120 x 140 cm.
(This page) Woman of the 21st Century, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 100 x 120 cm.
(Opposite) Woman of the 21st Century, 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 150 x 180 cm.
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Canines, 2017, Acrylic on canvas, 138 x 120 cm. Courtesy of Errm Art Gallery.
THE POWER OF PATRONAGE: CONVERSATIONS ON ARAB
IDENTITY AND INFLUENCE
Serwan Baran’s art has moved from Baghdad to Aleppo, Amman and now Beirut. Along the way, he forged significant and life-changing connections, and has found immutable support by some of the Arab art world’s most influential leaders.
Dr. Basel Dalloul, who inherited a remarkable art collection from his parents and founded the Dalloul Art Foundation in 2016, is a longstanding friend and supporter of Baran’s; the foundation has acquired and featured several of Baran’s works over the years, going back to when the late Ramzi Dalloul commissioned the portrait Fidel Castro and collected several others.
Saleh Barakat, founder of the pioneering Saleh Barakat Gallery, has long been an advocate of Baran’s work, and together they envisioned the famed Canines collection. The gallery also showcased the incredible Fatherland project, which was exhibited at the 58th Venice Biennale.
The following encapsulates substantial discussions by the prominent founders and collectors on Baran’s artwork, focused on his unique influence, the sociopolitical themes prominent in his works, and the importance of promoting dialogue in the Arab art world.
BASEL DALLOUL PUSHING THE ENVELOPE ON CONVERSATIONS ABOUT ARAB ART
How has your interaction with Serwan Baran influenced your appreciation and understanding of his work?
Serwan is probably one of the kindest people I know – a balanced and gentle soul. Despite his occasional absent-mindedness, such as misplacing his keys or getting pickpocketed in Venice, his sweetness is undeniable. When it comes to his art, I consider him an artistic genius. His sculptures are reminiscent of Alberto Giacometti’s with their elongated, almost skeletal forms that evoke a sense of fragility and existential angst. His paintings, on the other hand, echo the raw, visceral intensity of Francis Bacon’s work, characterized by distorted figures and emotionally charged, almost chaotic compositions. My interaction with Serwan, who is among a close-knit group of artist friends, is more about our personal connection rather than his work. It is fascinating that someone so gentle can produce such edgy, Bacon-esque art.
Serwan’s ability to translate his profound thoughts and experiences into his artwork is remarkable. His work is deeply rooted in his cultural and historical background, drawing inspiration from the rich heritage of Iraq. His paintings often reflect the tumultuous socio-political landscape of his homeland, blending realism with expressionism to depict the complexities of life in Iraq. Moreover, he also creates art that addresses the places he lives in, including Lebanon. His works often reflect the issues and events happening in these regions, adding another layer of depth and relevance to his creations.
(This Page) Basel Dalloul and Serwan Baran. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
(Opposite) Ramzi Dalloul and Serwan Baran. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
Serwan went down there immediately after the blast, and frequented there as he volunteered in the postblast civilian clean up.Everything he saw first-hand inspired him to create this powerful piece titled Beirut Clean Up, 2020.
His unique approach to art has not only influenced my appreciation of his work but has also broadened my understanding of how art can serve as a powerful medium for social commentary. His ability to capture the essence of the human condition, with all its beauty and suffering, is truly inspiring. Serwan’s art challenges viewers to confront difficult truths and consider different perspectives, making his work an essential part of our collection at the Ramzi and Saeda Dalloul Art Foundation (DAF).
Which work do you feel particularly proud to have acquired?
There are actually two works that stand out. The first is a painting commissioned after the Beirut blast in 2020. It depicts a scene in Gemmayzeh, where citizens volunteered to clean up the streets, bandage each other, and help amidst the chaos, while no government officials were present. The painting captures the raw emotion and resilience of the people, with detailed portrayals of shattered glass and debris against a backdrop of solidarity and communal effort.
The second work I treasure is titled 30 Seconds Out of Time, 2021. It portrays firemen rushing into the warehouse before the blast, capturing a haunting moment of bravery and tragedy. Serwan found a broadcast with images from the blast site, prior to the explosion, showing firemen rushing into the warehouse where the fire was, now notoriously known as Warehouse #12, located right in front of the Beirut silos. Tragically, all the firemen depicted in the painting shortly after perished. The piece is characterized by its eerie, Francis Bacon-like faces, with distorted and expressive features that evoke a deep sense of loss and heroism. The firemen are depicted in motion, their urgency palpable, set against the backdrop of the now-infamous warehouse. This piece, with its haunting imagery and emotional depth, serves as a somber reminder of the lives lost.
Both works resonate deeply with me, not only for their artistic brilliance but also for their emotional and historical significance.
What was the first work of Serwan Baran acquired by the late Dr. Ramzi Dalloul?
The late Dr. Ramzi Dalloul, true to his form, did not acquire just one piece but several at once. Among these was a commissioned portrait titled Fidel Castro, 2016, reflecting my father’s admiration for the Cuban leader. This portrait is a powerful representation of Castro, capturing his resolute and commanding presence through Serwan’s unique blend of realism and expressionism.
Another notable piece was a painting of Che Guevara, 2017. This artwork stands out for its dynamic composition and evocative use of color, highlighting Che’s revolutionary spirit and charismatic persona. Our collection features several portrayals of Che by various artists, reflecting the revolutionary spirit that resonated with my father.
The significance of these works lies not only in their artistic brilliance but also in their historical and ideological connections. Serwan’s ability to capture the essence of these iconic figures in his distinctive style made these acquisitions particularly special. They serve as a testament to my father’s admiration for revolutionary leaders and his dedication to preserving their legacies through art.
Given the diverse collection of the Ramzi and Saeda Dalloul Art Foundation, what specific attributes of Serwan Baran’s work aligned with the foundation’s mission and vision?
Our mission and vision at DAF are to educate people about Arab art, spreading its knowledge and appreciation globally while preserving it for future generations. Serwan Baran’s work aligns perfectly with these goals. As an Iraqi artist, his pieces reflect the rich cultural and historical narratives of the Arab world. His ability to blend personal experiences with broader socio-political themes resonates with our objective to present art that tells compelling stories. Serwan’s work documents and preserves the evolution of Arab art, capturing its essence through a variety of mediums and styles. His paintings not only highlight the struggles and resilience of the people in Iraq but also address issues pertinent to Lebanon and the wider Arab region. This inclusivity and diversity in his work make it an essential part of our collection. By showcasing his art, we aim to foster dialogue and raise awareness about the cultural significance of Arab art, staying true to our holistic and inclusive approach.
How does Serwan Baran’s exploration of sociopolitical themes in his art resonate with the broader narrative the foundation aims to present through its collection?
The foundation tends to be apolitical, allowing the artworks to speak for themselves. The reason why we are apolitical is because almost all of the artworks from this part of the world are politically charged, so there is no reason for us to take any stand. The artworks take their own stands. Our job is to put the artworks front and center, irrespective of what country the artists come from or what subjects they choose to tackle –whether in painting, photography, sculpting, or any other medium. Our focus is singular: to introduce and promote all our artists, showcasing the diversity and richness of Arab art.
Serwan Baran’s exploration of socio-political themes fits well within our collection’s objective to present diverse perspectives from the Arab world. His work often tackles political and social issues, depicting the harsh realities and complexities of life in the region. This aligns with our mission to document and preserve the cultural heritage of the Arab world, showcasing its richness and diversity.
By presenting Serwan’s art, we highlight narratives of resilience, struggle, and identity, fostering a deeper understanding of the Arab world’s complexities. His pieces capture the emotional and psychological impacts of socio-political events, making his art a powerful tool for education and awareness. Serwan’s work encourages viewers to confront difficult truths and consider multiple perspectives, which is crucial to our goal of raising awareness about the cultural significance of Arab art.
Additionally, his art promotes dialogue about important issues, resonating with our value of fostering meaningful conversations about Arab art and culture. His ability to blend personal experiences with broader socio-political themes ensures that his work remains relevant and impactful, contributing to our vision of disseminating Arab art globally and preserving it for future generations.
Che Guevara, 2017, Acrylic on canvas, 204.5 x 150.5 x 3.5 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
30 SECONDS OUT OF TIME, 2021, BY SERWAN BARAN CAPTURES A HARROWING MOMENT OF BRAVERY AND TRAGEDY. THIS LARGE-SCALE ACRYLIC PAINTING, MEASURING 200 X 253 CM, DEPICTS FIREMEN IN THEIR VIVID RED UNIFORMS RUSHING INTO THE INFAMOUS WAREHOUSE #12, SITUATED AT THE PORT OF BEIRUT, JUST MOMENTS BEFORE THE DEVASTATING AUGUST 4TH, 2020 BEIRUT EXPLOSION. THE GESTURAL CHAOTIC BRUSHSTROKES AND INTENSE COLOURS EVOKE A SENSE OF URGENCY AND PERIL, DRAWING THE VIEWER INTO THE MIDST OF THE ACTION. BARAN’S STYLE IN THIS PIECE IS REMINISCENT OF FRANCIS BACON’S VISCERAL INTENSITY, CHARACTERISED BY DISTORTED AND EMOTIONALLY CHARGED FIGURES. THE FIREMEN, WITH THEIR FACES OBSCURED AND BODIES CAUGHT IN FRANTIC MOTION, ARE SET AGAINST A BACKDROP OF AN APOCALYPTIC AFTERMATH OF THE EXPLOSION. THE USE OF ACRYLIC PAINT, AS A THICK AND FAST DRYING MEDIUM, MIRRORS THE URGENCY OF REPORTING THE DEADLY INCIDENT IN A RAW AND EXPRESSIVE MANNER.
THIS ARTWORK NOT ONLY COMMEMORATES THE BRAVERY AND SACRIFICE OF THE FIREMEN WHO PERISHED IN THE EXPLOSION BUT ALSO SERVES AS A POIGNANT COMMENTARY ON THE FRAGILITY AND HEROISM INHERENT IN SUCH TRAGEDIES. BARAN’S ABILITY TO TRANSLATE PROFOUND EMOTIONAL AND HISTORICAL EXPERIENCES INTO HIS WORK IS EVIDENT IN THE HAUNTING IMAGERY AND DEEP SENSE OF LOSS CONVEYED IN 30 SECONDS OUT OF TIME, 2021. THE PIECE STANDS AS A POWERFUL REMINDER OF THE LIVES LOST AND THE RESILIENCE OF THOSE WHO FACE UNIMAGINABLE DANGERS IN THE LINE OF DUTY.
30 Seconds Out of Time, 2021, Acrylic on canvas, 200 x 253 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
FIDEL CASTRO, 2016, IS A COMPELLING ACRYLIC PAINTING THAT IMMORTALISES THE ICONIC REVOLUTIONARY CUBAN LEADER, WHO SERVED AS THE PRIME MINISTER OF CUBA FROM 1959 TO 1976, AND PRESIDENT FROM 1976 TO 2008. SPANNING 208 X 173 X 4 CM, THE ARTWORK PRESENTS CASTRO IN A CONTEMPLATIVE, YET AUTHORITATIVE POSE, COMBINING ELEMENTS OF REALISM AND EXPRESSIONISM. HERE, CASTRO IS DEPICTED IN HIS SIGNATURE MILITARY UNIFORM. BARAN’S APPLICATION OF EARTHY TONES OF OCHRE, BROWN, AND GREEN, IN TEXTURED BRUSH STROKES LENDS A TACTILE QUALITY TO THE PAINTING, EMPHASISING THE RUGGEDNESS OF CASTRO’S ATTIRE. THE HAZILY PAINTED BACKGROUND, AS IF THE ARTIST HAS CONCEALED CASTRO’S HISTORICAL PAST AND ERASED HIS REIGNING SEAT, CONTRASTS SHARPLY WITH THE DETAILED PORTRAYAL OF CASTRO. THIS CONTRAST DRAWS ATTENTION TO HIS REFLECTIVE EXPRESSION AND COMMANDING PRESENCE. STILL, BARAN CHOOSES TO REGISTER THE YEAR THAT MARKS CASTRO’S RULE, 1959, AS A HISTORICAL COMMEMORATION.
THIS PIECE SHOWCASES BARAN’S FASCINATION WITH HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL FIGURES, BLENDING PERSONAL REVERENCE WITH A NUANCED SOCIO-POLITICAL COMMENTARY. THE MUTED, ALMOST MONOCHROMATIC PALETTE ENHANCES THE SOMBRE, INTROSPECTIVE MOOD OF THE PORTRAIT, CAPTURING A MOMENT OF QUIET REFLECTION IN A LIFE DEFINED BY DYNAMIC ACTION AND REVOLUTIONARY FERVOUR. THE PAINTING’S RICH VISUAL TEXTURE AND EMOTIONAL DEPTH ARE HALLMARKS OF BARAN’S ABILITY TO CONVEY THE PHYSICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL WEIGHT OF HIS SUBJECTS. FIDEL CASTRO, 2016, STANDS AS A POWERFUL HOMAGE TO A PIVOTAL HISTORICAL FIGURE, INVITING VIEWERS TO CONSIDER THE ENDURING IMPACT OF HIS REVOLUTIONARY IDEALS AND LEADERSHIP.
Fidel Castro, 2016, Acrylic on canvas, 208 x 173 x 4 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
(Opposite), 2015 ,
, Acrylic on canvas, 176 x 176 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
(Above) Clinging to the Shoulders, 2016, 175 x 175 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
Thakirat Al Nidal, 2016, Acrylic on canvas, 185 x 220 x 4 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
SERWAN BARAN’S PAINTING DEPICTS A MYTHICAL CREATURE CALLED BOURAK IN ARABIC, FEATURING A HUMAN HEAD, HORSE’S BODY, AND COLOSSAL WINGS, POISED FOR ASCENT. THE WELL-DEFINED LEGS AND HOOVES, OPEN WINGS, AND ARCHED LEGS SUGGEST IMMINENT FLIGHT, WHILE ITS ROBUST BUILD INDICATES READINESS FOR THE JOURNEY. SEEMINGLY, A WOMAN LIES ON THE BACK OF THE CENTAUR, HER LEGS FUSE WITH THE CREATURE’S TAIL, SYMBOLISING A SHARED JOURNEY. THE WORD 3ARRIJ , MEANING ‘TO LIMP’ IN ARABIC, IS SOFTLY EMBEDDED IN THE UPPER CENTRAL PART OF THE PAINTING’S PALE BACKGROUND, ADDING AN EXTRA SENSE OF SYMBOLISM. BARAN’S FEARLESS USE OF FIERY RED AND BLACK AGAINST THE PALE, OFF-WHITE BACKGROUND ENHANCES THE DYNAMIC AND PARADOXICAL NATURE OF THE ARTWORK. THE WORK BLENDS SERENE SPIRITUALITY WITH AGGRESSIVE ACTION. THE IRAQI-KURDISH ARTIST FREQUENTLY USES CONTROVERSIAL MYTHOLOGICAL AND ANIMAL FIGURES TO EXPLORE THE HUMAN CONDITION. BOURAK, 2015, IS INSPIRED BY PROPHET MOHAMMAD’S CELESTIAL JOURNEY, DURING HIS ISRA AND MI’RAJ, WHERE HE FLEW FROM MECCA TO JERUSALEM AND UP THROUGH THE HEAVENS AND BACK BY NIGHT. BARAN’S INTEGRATION OF DEFORMED AND FUSED BODIES, GENDER, NATURE, AND MORTALITY, PRESENTS A SURREALIST SCENE REFLECTING EXISTENTIAL ANGST. BOURAK, 2015, RIFE WITH CONTRADICTIONS AND LAYERED MEANINGS, SHOWCASES BARAN’S EVOLUTION FROM REALISM TO EXPRESSIONISM; IT EPITOMISES A HOLY EXPERIENCE INTERTWINED WITH IRONY THROUGH CONTRASTING SYMBOLS.
(Opposite) Bourak, 2015, Acrylic and mixed media on canvas, 150 x 150 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
(Above) War Without Borders, 1992, Oil on canvas, 76.5 x 76.5 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
(Opposite) Bread and Onions, 2013, Acrylic on canvas, 182 x 112 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
(Above) Beirut Clean Up, 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 190 x 228 cm. Courtesy of DAF Beirut.
SALEH BARAKAT PAVING THE WAY FOR MOMENTOUS CREATIONS
How did you first come across Serwan Baran’s work, and what drew you to represent him?
I had been aware of Serwan from the days he was based in Amman but it was not until he began his move to Beirut in 2014 that our relationship became closer. At this time, we opened a conversation about an eventual exhibition at Agial. I was mesmerised by his brushstrokes and painterly gestures, but also his eloquence and clarity in expressing himself and his views in Arabic. He had everything I look for in an artist; a clear vision and a strong well-articulated concept, coupled with an excellent command of painting practice. Our conversation and understanding developed into Canine, in 2016, an exhibition which shed light on the aggressive attitudes of humans as predators.
Can you share some background information about Serwan Baran and his artistic journey?
Serwan has a gift for painting and is, in my view, one of the most talented painters of our times. He was formed in Iraq under Faik Hassan, at a time when the Faculty of Fine Arts there was still the quintessential incubator of young artists. As the situation in Baghdad deteriorated, he was forced to leave, beginning a new chapter of his life, passing through Muscat, Amman, and many other stops before settling between Beirut and Cairo.
How has your collaboration with Serwan Baran evolved over time?
Our relationship has developed into a profound friendship which extends far beyond my appreciation of his artwork. For example, I remember vividly the moment I met his mother, a strong woman who raised the family after the early death of his father, an honourable judge and law maker.
Can you discuss the significance of Serwan Baran’s participation in the 58th International Venice Biennale and the impact it had on his career?
The Venice Bienniale is the premier artistic event in the art world and so to represent one’s country there through the format of the national pavilion is a moment of extreme significance. Serwan prepared an incredibly powerful body of work, culminating with a large mural (400 x 500cm) coupled with an important sculptural piece. Later, I had the privilege to showcase this entire project in the newly inaugurated flagship space of Saleh Barakat Gallery, one of the proudest moments of my career.
How has Serwan Baran’s work contributed to the broader cultural and artistic landscape in the Middle East and beyond?
Serwan is a true believer in Arabicity. He is a proud Kurd, a proud Iraqi, and a proud Arab at the same time, who believes in the multiplicity of identities and cultures. I share with him this belief in Levantine culture, multi-
confessional and multi-ethnic, which makes Arabs feel at home, whether in Cairo, Damascus, Baghdad, Sharjah, Amman, Riyadh, Beirut, or any other Arab city. This nuanced understanding of Arab culture ensures that his art is as much appreciated in Beirut as in Dubai, Amman, Cairo, Abu Dhabi or Riyadh, where he regularly exhibits. Indeed, the issues that he explores through his work touch most Arabs, whether relating to the Iraqi condition, totalitarian regimes, the situation of women, a general lack of freedom, ISIS, exile, or the Palestinian cause. Recently, he began work on the idea of the imprisonment of the human race within their current fascination of social media. Given the more global and humane dimension of the subject, this new body of work is likely to propel him forward onto the international scene, where an artist of this skill, subtlety and calibre ultimately belongs.
THIS PAINTING IS REPRESENTATIVE OF A NEW TURN IN SERWAN’S OEUVRE. HERE, THERE IS A SHIFT FROM THE CONDITION OF SUBJUGATION AS IT RELATES SPECIFICALLY TO THE ARAB WORLD, TOWARDS A MORE GLOBAL CONCERN. THE ARTIST CONSIDERS THE IMPRISONMENT OF THE HUMAN THROUGH TECHNOLOGY AND THE CONSTANT MEDIATION OF THE SCREEN, AS WELL AS A GROWING RELIANCE ON SOCIAL MEDIA. TACKLING THIS SUBJECT HAS GIVEN HIS PAINTINGS A NEW COLOUR PALETTE AND COMPOSITIONAL FOCUS, AGAIN SHOWING THE SKILFUL COMBINING OF TECHNIQUE AND SUBJECT. IT IS CLEAR FROM THESE THREE PAINTINGS AND FROM MANY OTHERS, THAT THE ENDURING THEME OF SERWAN’S WORK IS IMPRISONMENT, WAR AND SUBJUGATION, IN WHICHEVER SPECIFIC CONDITIONS AND CONTEXTS HE CONTINUES TO FIND THEM.
(Opposite) Saleh Barakat and Serwan Baran, Babylon, Iraq, 2022. (This Page) War on Technology, 2024, Acrylic on canvas, 150 x 200 cm.
THIS INTENSELY EVOCATIVE PAINTING DEPICTS THREE WOMEN WEARING RED WITH THEIR SHACKLED HANDS HELD OUT IN FRONT OF THEM. ALTHOUGH UNTITLED, THE WORK HIGHLIGHTS A SPECIFIC HISTORICAL MOMENT – THE ENSLAVEMENT AND SELLING OF YAZIDI WOMEN FROM THE SINJAR REGION BY ISIS IN 2014. POWERFULLY PAINTED, THE POIGNANCY OF THE SUBJECT MATTER IS HIGHLIGHTED BY THE USE OF THE COLOUR RED AS WELL AS SUBTLE SHIFTS IN FOCUS BETWEEN HAND AND FACE. THIS PIECE ALLUDES TO THE HEAVY PRICE PAID BY WOMEN AMIDST THE REALITY OF WAR AND AT THE SAME TIME GESTURES TOWARDS THE WIDER SITUATION OF WOMEN IN SOCIETY AND THEIR SUBJUGATION AT THE HANDS OF OTHERS.
FOR ME, THIS MONUMENTAL WORK IS SYMBOLIC FOR THE MAJESTIC MANNER IN WHICH IT REPRESENTS SERWAN’S FASCINATION WITH THE IMPRISONMENT THAT IS IMPLICIT WITHIN VIOLENCE AND WAR. THE WORK HIGHLIGHTS THE SUBJECT MATTER OF MUCH OF SERWAN’S WORK, WHICH DEALS MORE OR LESS DIRECTLY WITH THE FACT THAT WAR DOES NOT BRING ANSWERS, RATHER DESTRUCTION, DEATH AND ULTIMATELY MORE WAR. FURTHER, THIS WORK ESSENTIALISES THE HUMAN TRAGEDY OF WARS, PLACING IT FIRMLY WITHIN A LINEAGE OF LARGESCALE PAINTINGS THAT DEPICT WAR AND THE HUMAN CONSEQUENCES OF WAR. IN ITS MASTERFUL TECHNIQUE AND SUBJECT, IT IS A PAINTING THAT I FIRMLY BELIEVE BELONGS IN A MUSEUM ALONG THE WORKS OF FIGURES SUCH AS DELACROIX AND GOYA.
