Selections 65: Being Dia al-Azzawi

THE NEW VISION – THE ARAB CAUSE – THE LITERARY ARTIST – THE ARTIST BEYOND THE GALLERY – BAGHDAD TO BEIRUT: THE ITINERARY OF A YOUNG ARAB ARTIST IN THE SIXTIES BY ZEINA MAASRI, THE AVANT-GARDE OF THE BAGHDAD MODERN ART GROUP BY CHARBEL DAGHER, THE LUMINOUS FACE OF HUMANITY BY CLAUDE LEMAND, EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEWS WITH DIA AL-AZZAWI AND NABU MUSEUM CO-FOUNDER BADR EL-HAGE

AUTUMN 2023 - USD 20/EUR 18/AED 74/QAR 73

# 65 BEING DIA AL-AZZAWI

ARTS-STYLE-CULTURE FROM THE ARAB WORLD AND BEYOND

Four Children Playing Football, 2014 Mixed media on wood, 36 x 24 x 5 cm

4 In the pulsating heart of contemporary Arab art, the name Dia al-Azzawi shines with unparalleled brilliance. This issue of Selections is dedicated to the extraordinary life and work of the great Iraqi artist, focusing on his creative journey in Lebanon that has left an indelible mark on the world of art and culture. It is our privilege to present an edition of the magazine that offers a deep dive into Dia al-Azzawi’s time in Lebanon, where we had the honour of working closely with Azzawi and head of research and archives, Louisa Macmillan, shedding light on his profound influence on the art landscape.

In the midst of vibrant Beirut, Dia al-Azzawi’s artistic spirit found a unique and nurturing environment in which to flourish. From the 1970s onwards, Lebanon became a pivotal chapter in his illustrious career, marked by creativity, collaboration, and connection. His presence in this country during a tumultuous period in its history shaped not only his own art but also left an indelible impact on the art scene.

Through the pages of this issue, we take you on a visual and intellectual journey, delving into the depths of Azzawi’s work during his time in Lebanon. His pieces, whether in painting or sculpture, resonate with the complexity and vibrancy of Beirut, embodying the fusion of cultural influences and the echoes of political turbulence that shaped the city.

EDITOR’S LETTER

Window No. 1, 2000 Acrylic on wood, 40.5 x 40.5 x 5.5 cm

Collection Claude & France Lemand 70 avenue Jean Moulin , 75014 Paris +336 7377 0589 clemand@orange.fr

CONTENTS

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22 – 23 Being Dia al-Azzawi: A Lebanese Perspective 24 – 57 Chapter 1 – The New Vision 26 – 27 Early Career 28 – 29 Azzawi and Yusuf Al-Khal 30 – 31 Precious Book Series, 1967 32 – 33 The Blood of Hussein, 1968 34 – 41 Towards the New Vision Manifesto, 1967 42 – 43 The Arab League Hotel, 1971 44 – 49 The New Vision Bears Fruit 50 – 53 Azzawi and Muzaffar al-Nawab 54 – 57 Baghdad to Beirut: The Itinerary of a Young Arab Artist in the Sixties by Zeina Maasri 58 – 83 Chapter 2 – The Arab Cause 60 – 61 Azzawi and Youssef al-Sayigh 62 – 65 Azzawi and Ghassan Kanafani 66 – 67 A Witness of Our Times, 1972 68 – 69 Azzawi and Waddah Faris 70 – 71 The Body’s Anthem, 1979 72 – 73 Sabra and Shatila 74 – 77 Four Hours in Shatila by Jean Genet 78 – 83 Azzawi and Naji al-Ali 84 – 101 Chapter 3 – The Literary Artist 86 – 87 The Bridge: Khalil Hawi, 1989 88 – 89 The Bridge: Khalil Hawi, 2014

Autumn– 2023

90 – 91 Dreamer of the Earth: Nadia Tueini, 1990 92 – 93 Prayers in a Temple: Yusuf Al-Khal, 1990 94 – 95 Excursion Across Time: Talal Haidar, 1991 96 – 99 Dia al-Azzawi: The Avant-Garde of the Baghdad Modern Art Group by Charbel Dagher 100 – 101 Selections from the Poetry of Salah Stétié, 1995–96 102 – 153 Chapter 4 – The Artist Beyond the Gallery 104 – 113 Being Dia al-Azzawi: An Exclusive Interview with Selections Magazine 114 – 115 Wooden Sculpture 116 – 117 The Art of Furniture 118 – 121 A Story of Craft 122 – 123 From Furniture to Architecture 124 – 125 A New Horizon for Culture 126 – 127 A Space for Creation 128 – 129 Nabu Studio Works, 2019 130 – 131 October Revolution Posters 132 – 133 The Will of Life 134 – 135 Behind the Bullet Holes 136 – 137 Mosul: Panorama of Destruction, 2017-22 138 – 139 Years of Shame, 2022 140 – 141 Remembering the Forgotten 142 – 147 Dia al-Azzawi: The Luminous Face of Humanity by Claude Lemand 148 – 149 Land of Darkness, 1991-present 150 – 151 Mosul and Beyond 152 – 153 The Black Book of Beirut Port, 2020 154 – 155 Biography and Collections and Solo Exhibitions 156 – 157 Chronology 160 – Nights of Extermination in Gaza, 2023

COVER PORTRAIT OF DIA AL-AZZAWI

BY ALEJANDRO ARANGO, 2016

ٌ ‫قــــــــر‬ ‫ون مــن اإلبــــــــداع‬

Millennia of Creativity The interest in the antiquities of the region and modern art is an intellectual endeavor, a passion that leads to the investigation of historical facts through academic research. The mission of the museum's foundation is to take a step closer to filling a cultural vacuum and to ensure a brighter future for generations to come. Furthermore, as a cultural institution, the museum aspires to serve as a safe haven for displaced artists who wander across the boundaries of various cultures, nations, and artistic media forms.

Free Entrance Opening hours:

Wednesday to Sunday 9:00 am - 6:00 pm

‫إن االهتمــام بآثــار بالدنــا وبالفــن الحديــث هــو مســى فكــري وشــغف نحــو اكتشــاف أهميــة‬ .‫ه دون تخيــالت‬ ‫ كمــا ي‬،‫هــذه التحــف الفنيــة عـ بـر إجـراء بحــوث علميــة لمعرفــة وقائــع التاري ـ ــخ‬ ً ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ـا� وإىل العمــل‬ ‫يهــدف هــذا النشــاط أيضــا إىل التقــدم خطــوة إىل األمــام ي� مــلء الف ـراغ الثقـ ي‬ ً ً ‫ ســيكون المتحــف مــالذا‬،‫ وبصفتــه مؤسســة ثقافيــة‬.‫لمســتقبل أ كـ ثـر شإ�اقــا لألجيــال القادمــة‬ ‫ـ� النازحـ ي ف‬ ‫آمنـ ًـا للفنانـ ي ف‬ .‫ـ� والعابريــن حــدود الثقافــات واألمــم ومختلــف أشــكال الفنــون‬

‫ شمال لبنان‬- ‫ قضاء البترون‬- ‫الهري‬

El-Heri - Qada’ Al-Batroun - North Lebanon

www.nabumuseum.com - info@nabumuseum.com (+961) 26 541 341 - (+961) 26 541 941

‫الدخول مجاني‬

‫يفتح المتحف‬ ‫من األربعاء إلى األحد‬ ً ً ‫ مساء‬6:00 - ‫ صباحا‬9:00

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CONTRIBUTORS AUTUMN– 2023 Zeina Maasri is a Senior Lecturer in Global Visual Culture at the University of Bristol and currently a fellow of the Arts and Humanities Research Council, UK. She is the author of the award-winning book Cosmopolitan Radicalism: The Visual Politics of Beirut’s Global Sixties (Cambridge University Press 2020) and Off the Wall: Political Posters of the Lebanese Civil War (IB Tauris 2009) and curator of related travelling exhibitions and online archival resources (www. signsofconflict.org).

Claude Lemand is a researcher and exhibition curator who holds a doctorate in comparative literature. He is a former university professor, a collector since 1981, a gallery owner and an art publisher in Paris since 1988. He is a man who claims to be “100% Lebanese and 100% French”, who has recently made, with his wife France, several significant and exceptional donations to the Arab World Institute Museum.

Badr El-Hage is a Lebanese researcher, historian and writer, who worked in journalism for a period of time in Lebanon and Europe. He is a cofounder of Nabu Museum and has published a number of books, the most recent of which, in cooperation with Ambassador Samir Mubarak, is the two-volume work in English titled Beirut 1840-1918, A Visual & Descriptive Portrait (Dar Kutub, 2022), which delves into Beirut’s history.

Louisa Macmillan is Head of Research and Archives at Azzawi Art, London (2015–present) and author of A Picture of Poetry: The Artist’s Books of Dia alAzzawi (Skira 2023). Formerly a curator of modern and contemporary Middle Eastern at the British Museum (2008–12), her love of language (especially unusual etymology and fiendish grammar) is matched by a passionate conviction that making visual art accessible to all is essential to mutual understanding between cultures.

Charbel Dagher is a Lebanese professor at the University of Balamand, Koura, Lebanon. He has been an active and prominent voice on the Arab cultural scene, mainly in the fields of poetry, Arabic language, and Arab and Islamic arts, having authored 82 books. He is a poet, writer and storywriter in both Arabic and French.

Jenin, 2002 Acrylic on canvas, 300 x 450 cm (triptych, each panel 300 x 150 cm)

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#65

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A special thanks to Louisa Macmillan, Claude Lemand, Nabu Museum, Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art, Doha, Tate London, Dr. Nada Shabout, MoMA London studio photography by Anthony Dawton; Lebanon studio photography by Mansour Dib; other photographers credited where possible.

All artworks featured are courtesy of the Azzawi Collection unless otherwise specified.

ARTS-STYLE-CULTURE FROM THE ARAB WORLD AND BEYOND

Dia al-Azzawi photographed in his London studio by Waddah Faris, 1983

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Dia al-Azzawi making Sabra and Shatila Massacre, Highgate studio, London, 1982–83

Being Dia al-Azzawi: A Lebanese perspective Today, Dia al-Azzawi is a renowned figure, celebrated not only for his artistic accomplishments but also for his political engagement and tireless dedication to giving a voice to those who still await justice. A deep love for his Iraqi homeland is palpable in his work, and his life as an exile in London since 1976 is well documented. However, this special issue dedicated to Azzawi’s illustrious career aims to present a different perspective – one that casts a spotlight on Lebanon, a country that played a pivotal role in his artistic journey and continues to inspire him to this day.

From the first visit onwards, Lebanon was more than just a place on the map for Azzawi; it was a revelation, a sanctuary of artistic freedom. Its capital city represented freedom, a stark departure from the socially conservative atmosphere of Baghdad. Azzawi vividly recalls Beirut’s status as a prominent cultural and artistic centre of the time. It was here that he had the opportunity to forge connections with numerous Lebanese artists, fostering a rich tapestry of artistic exchange and collaboration. Moreover, his time in Beirut provided a unique window into the works of other visionary artists from across the Arab world, including Sudanese artist Ibrahim El-Salahi, and the works of Egyptian sculptor Adam Henein. This cultural immersion broadened the artist’s perspective in ways that Azzawi acknowledges would have been inconceivable in the isolation of Baghdad.

In Beirut, there wasn’t only unparalleled artistic freedom, but also an atmosphere in which open press and critics with diverse artistic and cultural backgrounds thrived. This environment not only nurtured his creative spirit but also inspired him to push the boundaries of his creativity. Among those who left an indelible mark on his journey was Waddah Faris, “a true instigator of art in every sense”, who Azzawi believes epitomised the creativity and richness of Lebanon in the vibrant 1970s.

From the cultural apex of the 1960s and 1970s to the civil war that would eventually unfold, Lebanon’s influence on Azzawi did not wane with time; it evolved, continuing to shape his artistry in profound ways. The country’s tragic events, such as the Tel al-Za‘atar massacre of 1976 and the Sabra and Shatila massacre of 1982, served as powerful catalysts, inspiring some of his most iconic and emotionally charged works. These works stand as testaments to Azzawi’s unwavering commitment to portraying suffering and resilience, transcending borders to speak to the universal human experience.

Returning to Lebanon after the end of the civil war, Azzawi encountered a different country from the one he had known. He recalls, “In 1991, when I landed at Beirut airport, I could not believe what I saw: a ruined and dark country. It was a shock that I could not bear. When I remembered the days of old, I was amazed at the destruction caused by its people who were fighting one another under the banner of religious sectarianism despite the openness of their society.”

The trajectory of Lebanon in the ensuing post-war years has echoed that of Azzawi’s homeland of Iraq in many ways. For Azzawi, the parallel is clear. “There is no difference between the two countries today,” he says. “The bad model of Lebanon was brought by those who came on American tanks. Both have had their wealth plundered, and both have become more sectarian, as opposed to national. The politicians are not ashamed of working for neighbouring countries, nor are they embarrassed by the language of revenge or acceptance of outsiders over any loyalty to the Arab nation.”

Through all the years and in various ways, Lebanon has profoundly influenced Azzawi’s art. And in turn, Azzawi has honoured that inspiration with an unwavering dedication to being a beacon of truth, justice, hope, and the enduring power of art.

01 Study for The Epic of Gilgamesh, 1965–66 China ink on paper, 35 x 25 cm

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THE NEW VISION

Throughout the mid- and late 1960s, Dia al-Azzawi’s artistic journey intersected profoundly with Lebanon, specifically Beirut, a period that not only influenced his craft but also broadened his artistic horizons in unprecedented ways.

Born in Baghdad in 1939, Azzawi’s early passion for archaeology and fine art led him to combine these two paths, pursuing his bachelor’s degree in the former subject at the University of Baghdad in the mornings followed by studies for a diploma in the latter at the Institute of Fine Arts in the afternoons. He graduated in 1964, precisely during a time of transformation in Iraq’s art landscape. As his creative prowess blossomed, so did his prominence in Baghdad’s burgeoning art exhibitions. In 1965, a year after his graduation, he achieved a significant milestone with his inaugural solo exhibition at al-Wasiti Gallery in his home city.

During the mid-1960s, Azzawi’s links to the vibrant Lebanese art and literary circles began to grow, courtesy of Yusuf Al-Khal, a prominent Lebanese poet renowned for his establishment of the literary journal Shi‘r and Gallery One. When Khal and Jabra Ibrahim Jabra, a pivotal critic of contemporary Arab art, organised two seminal group exhibitions of Iraqi art, held at Gallery One in Beirut in March 1965 and the Nicolas Sursock Museum in November 1965, Azzawi’s work was included in both, a sign of his increasing recognition as an artist.

The connection between Azzawi and Khal grew, resulting in a solo exhibition for Azzawi in Beirut’s Gallery One in 1966. This event not only marked Azzawi as one of the earliest Iraqi artists to exhibit beyond the borders of Iraq but also underscored his integral bond with Lebanon. When Khal launched his Precious Books series, published by An-Nahar in Beirut, Azzawi’s work featured in the inaugural title, Drawings for Epics and Legends in Sumerian Literature (1967).

A pivotal turning point manifested itself in 1968 when Azzawi embarked on a series of drawings centred around the Martyrdom of al-Husayn, deeply influenced by cassette recordings of Sheikh Ahmad al-Waeli. This period found Azzawi entrenched in the ethnographic realm, delving into the rich tapestry of Iraqi folklore. Inspired by the Precious Books series, Azzawi envisioned these drawings within the context of a publication, a transformative moment that would significantly impact his future artistic approach.

The aftermath of the crushing defeat of the 1967 Arab-Israeli War had a profound impact not only on the region but on Azzawi’s creative vision, eventually leading to his penning of the Towards the New Vision manifesto in 1969, advocating for Arab unity across cultural spheres, under the belief that art held the power to transcend failed political efforts. Signed by six Iraqi artists, this manifesto birthed the New Vision group. This period saw Azzawi’s immersion in the Iraqi Artists’ Society, where he took on the role of secretary, igniting a dynamic era of collaboration and exchange among artists across the Arab world.

In 1968, Azzawi first met Iraqi poet Muzaffar al-Nawab, the latter having only recently escaped from prison. In an unusual move for the time, Nawab sought Azzawi’s creative touch for the cover and illustrations of his poetry collection For the Railway and Hamad, published in Beirut, a city in which Nawab would soon find refuge.

There, Azzawi was reunited with fellow Iraqi political dissidents, including his friend Buland al-Haidari, editor of the magazine al-’Ulum, who published an interview between Nawab and Azzawi on the occasion of his second solo exhibition in Beirut in 1969.

Through exhibitions, collaborations, and friendships, Azzawi’s artistic odyssey intertwined with Lebanon’s vibrant cultural scene throughout the late 1960s [and early 1970s], leaving an indelible mark on both his career and the larger Arab artistic landscape.

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(Clockwise from top left) Dia al-Azzawi with Polish teacher of Ancient Mesopotamian languages and two fellow students, College of Art studio, Baghdad University, 1961 Dia al-Azzawi with fellow university students, group trip to Babylon, 1960

EARLY CAREER

Dia al-Azzawi with fellow student Shams al-Din, Institute of Fine Arts, Baghdad, 1964 Dia al-Azzawi with Hafiz Druby and director Jaafar Ali, College of Science studio, 1964

(Clockwise from top) Poster designed by Dia al-Azzawi for his first solo exhibition at al-Wasiti Art Gallery, 1965 Poster designed by Dia al-Azzawi for the Baghdad Fair, 1965 Poster designed by Dia al-Azzawi for the seventh annual exhibition of the Iraqi Artists’ Society, 1964

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(Opposite, from top) Poster designed by Dia al-Azzawi in memory of Yusuf Al-Khal, 1987 Prayers in a Temple: Yusuf Al-Khal, 1990 Gouache on paper; acrylic on fabric-covered paperboard, 39.5 x 29.5 x 2.5 cm (Above) Catalogue for group exhibition Iraqi Paintings, Gallery One, 1965 (Right) Newspaper coverage of Iraq: Travelling Art Exhibition, shown at the Sursock Museum, Beirut, November 1965

AZZAWI AND YUSUF AL-KHAL In the mid-1960s, the Lebanese poet Yusuf Al-Khal, who had founded the literary journal Shi‘r (1957) and – with his wife Helen – Gallery One (1963) in Beirut, visited Baghdad to see his friend Jabra Ibrahim Jabra (1919–94), the foremost critic of modern Arab art of the time. Together, they developed two group exhibitions of Iraqi art, the first of which was held at Gallery One (March 1965) and the second was shown at the Nicolas Sursock Museum in Beirut (November 1965), before travelling on to several European cities. As a new graduate who was embedded in the Iraqi art scene, Azzawi’s work was included in both exhibitions.

Khal subsequently invited Azzawi to have his own solo exhibition at Gallery One in Beirut in 1966. Azzawi thus became one of the first Iraqi artists to have a solo exhibition not only outside of Iraq but also in Lebanon itself. Azzawi went on to exhibit with Khal on several occasions and would remain friends with him until the latter’s death in 1987.

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PRECIOUS BOOK SERIES In 1967, Yusuf Al-Khal launched his series of Precious Books, which was published with An-Nahar and ran until 1970. The inaugural Precious Books publication, entitled Drawings for Epics and Legends in Sumerian Literature, featured Azzawi’s drawings alongside a text by Anis Freiha (1903–93). These drawings had originally been developed for and published in the Iraqi magazine Al Amiloon fi Naft, edited

by Jabra Ibrahim Jabra, for an article about The Epic of Gilgamesh.

Epics and Legends in Sumerian Literature, Precious Book series, 1967: text by Anis Freiha; illustrations by Dia al-Azzawi.

Al Amiloon fi Naft [‘Oil Workers’], edited by Jabra Ibrahim Jabra, number 45, November 1965: article about The Epic of Gilgamesh by Taha Baqir; illustrations by Dia al-Azzawi.

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THE BLOOD OF HUSSEIN In 1968, Azzawi made a series of drawings about the Martyrdom of al-Husayn, based on cassette recordings by the famous cantor Sheikh Ahmad al-Waeli. At the time he was working at an ethnographic museum and his work focussed on folkloric motifs from popular Iraqi culture. Inspired by the Precious Books series, Azzawi ordered and numbered the drawings in preparation for publication.

Although this never happened, it marks a shift in the way Azzawi thought about books and artworks, which would have a huge impact on his later practice.

The Blood of Hussein, 1968 China ink and ink on paper, 36 x 46.5 x 7 cm, (open 36 x 90 x 7 cm; slipcase 38 x 48 x 8 cm)

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TOWARDS THE NEW VISION MANIFESTO After the Arab defeat in 1967, Azzawi drafted the Towards the New Vision manifesto, calling for Arab unity and cooperation across all cultural spheres. The hope was that art could succeed where politics had failed. It was signed by six Iraqi artists, who were all affiliated with the emerging art scene in Baghdad, and they therefore became known as The New Vision group. They were among the young Iraqi artists who took over the running of the Iraqi Artists’ Society in 1971 (Azzawi was made secretary), which ushered in an exciting era of events marked by collaboration and cultural exchange between artists from across the Arab World.

TOWARDS THE NEW VISION There is an internal unity to the world that places the human in a nonvisible position in relation to it. There is no doubt that contemporary consciousness is nothing other than a process of discovering the essential identity of the human on the one hand, and of civilisation on the other. If our current stage of civilisation is the inevitable outcome of humankind’s previous discoveries and surpassing of his external world, then actual existence will only be realised through a living movement that rejects any ultimate purpose for existence. The presence of an object lies in its continuing evolution and constant change. Since the continuity of exploration has become an intrinsic characteristic of the conscious man, the contemporary artist has refrained from presenting the world as something stagnant and incapable of change. As such, its mystery has driven him to take interest in discovering the true essence of things, and he has placed himself in confrontation with the great challenges of the external world, demonstrating his capacity to transgress the limits of appearances that nature and social relations force upon him in the domain of experience. If the primitive peoples endowed art with magic, and the Greeks ascribed to it the study of beauty, and the mediaeval ages expected art to reinforce the realm of faith, our civilisation makes of it a human practice undertaken by one who lives in constant contact with the world, using it to present a human existence laid bare before the truth, and thus bringing about a different form of relationship between the contemporary human and the world. Art is the practice of taking a position in relation to the world, a continual practice of transgressing and discovering human interiority from within change. It is a mental rejection of all that is wrong in the structure of society, and thus becomes a practice of constant creation, by which it offers to human existence its own independent world, composed of line, colour, and mass. In this way, rejection and resistance—not in their absolute form—become two indispensable presences for the continuous practice of innovation.

(Opposite, clockwise from top left) Ibrahim Zair, Youssef alSayigh, Sadiq al-Sayegh, Dia al-Azzawi and Rafa Nasiri, Iraqi Artists’ Society, 1966 Maki Hussein Maki, Rafa Nasiri, Saleh al-Jumaie (top row); Tariq Ibrahim, Dia al-Azzawi, Hashim Samarchi (bottom row), Baghdad, 1972 Dia al-Azzawi with Rafa Nasiri and Ismail Fattah, Museum of Modern Art, Baghdad, 1975 Dia al-Azzawi with unknown friend, Ala Bashir, Saadi alKaabi, Labib Abdulrahman Samarrai, Iraqi Artists’ Society exhibition, National Museum of Modern Art, 1964

The artist is a fighter who refuses to put his weapon down as he speaks in the name of the world, and in the name of the human. He lives in a state of constant sacrifice towards his world, expressing a burning desire to denounce the masks of falseness, and so he always owns what he wishes to say. The unity of artistic production throughout history places the artist at the centre of the world and at the focal point of the revolution. Change and transgression are two faces of a conscious challenge to all the regressive social and intellectual values that surround his world. A true artist is one who affirms his refusal to fall captive to a mummified body of worn-out social values. Instead, he must rise against the world so that he finds himself on the opposite side, from where he is able to judge it. At the centre of the revolution, he rises above any ready-made givens, transforming himself into another [Mansur] al-Hallaj standing against injustice and intellectual servitude.1 The artist is a critic and revolutionary, negating the world around him. The presence of the revolution confronts him with the spirituality of self-annihilation and sacrifice as he explodes the fallacies of the past and present, and seeks to restructure the world within a new artistic vision. The closure of the self, and the commodification of art, is the result of a superficial view of the world. The rejection thereof will not be realised except by continuous change so that man is rescued from the crushing effect to which his material and social relations subject him. As such the artist’s task is to place these relations in human terms, so that they develop and grow with new discoveries and successive modulation; his task is to bring a lasting end to previous forms of thought and relation, so he may grow anew. For the new always has its own vision, and its own voice. Unity with the new will not be achieved except by engaging it in terms of that vision and voice. An artist grounds his justifications for human existence in nature. Alongside the historical dimension of existence, he grants it a human one, such that, by the legitimacy of his existence, he acquires the

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possibility of creating history or inventing it once again. For when he brings his own unique world into existence, on a one-dimensional surface, he is presenting to the world a truth that appears at first not to exist. Through his creative capabilities he gives that truth a presence in the world of light so that it may help us uncover some of the hidden aspects of our lived experience—those that cannot otherwise be revealed in mental perceptions.

Artistic vision is only one of our modes of utilising our internal and external world, but an artist draws on that vision in order to secure the foundation of that world, which he wishes to build anew. Thus, the work of art is a manifestation of the emergence of the artist’s world into public existence. A good artist is one who realises the greatness of uniting with others through his artistic production. For an artist who relates to art as production only, and who produces work as a commodity, cannot be a historical witness to the human capacity to create. He cannot become an authentic artist so long as he is a Trojan horse carrying inside him the body of a dead society. The artist lives the unity of all periods of history, even while he lives in his time, and as a part of his own society. As much as he feels that he must change the past through contemporary vision, he also feels that the past orients the present, that between the past and the present there is unity and coexistence. For if artistic vision is presence realised in the painting, and this presence is a self that is anxious to search for a civilisational identity, then legend and historical sensibility are the means by which the artist will arrive at his new world. It is a return to the singular self, in which he may either live or die. For we die in the unity of our human and civilisational selves, and it is through the unity of that self that we begin the journey of change and creation. We find no artistic generation among the generations of our nation that lived its whole life demanding this, as we now do. No generation has been as immersed in the spirit of homeland and humanity, with such urgency, as ours is. We are continuously called to challenge and confront all the threats to the homeland. We live in the midst of a vortex of the military advances of a new Nazism. Our existence is always under threat. We work for the sake of focus and the call for an avant-garde art that integrates its humanist goals with a new artistic vision. And we shall continue to be a generation that brings its spirit to these challenges with urgency, making art not a means of seclusion in individual existence or immersion in one’s private world, but rather a vision directed to the world by a tacit language articulated by the artist in his own way. This rejects any mechanical understanding of art and its role in society, limiting the artist to what is readily available within the restrictions of existing relations. The processes of obliteration that social relations have enacted upon the artist, and which at times have made him a bearer of masks of falseness and subservience, and at other times a victim, cannot retain their legitimacy; nor can they prevent us from extending our perceptions beyond things. Let us be the vanguard of the challenge. We want to be nothing but the artists who carry the spirit of homeland and humanity. Be with us so that we unite the new vision of the world. Grant it the aggressiveness and rebellion of youth, transforming academic halls into strongholds of change, so that we may have an independent painting of transgression – painting that shakes our depths, tears through falseness, opens the river of life in our society. There shall be no presence of such painting, nor building of a new vision, except by a plunge, by a work of creation, by a civilisational, humanist, creative self – the repository of human creation. Let us remember our art in the lands of Mesopotamia, Syria, and the Nile, and let us reject the world of rigidity and imitation. Let us construct a permanent and honest relationship with our generation.

We must tear apart heritage so that we re-create it. We must challenge it in order to surpass it. We must recognise it, within the confines of its museum existence, and recognise the aggressiveness and fierceness of the encounter. Let us unite in

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We must tear apart heritage so that we re-create it. We must challenge it in order to surpass it. We must recognise it, within the confines of its museum existence, and recognise the aggressiveness and fierceness of the encounter.”

Towards the New Vision, original manifesto, published in 1969 (cover, frontispiece and page 1)

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our souls a desire to surpass. We will not be ripped from our roots, but rather extend them deep into the land—a depth of reach, of honesty, filled with vivid life. So long as we hold a free stance towards it, heritage is not dictatorial art that drags us in and locks us inside itself. It is that malleable dough worked by the hands of the creating artist. We will not traverse our heritage with fear of slavery; rather, we shall place it on our foreheads so that we may wade through the world, speaking in the new language of life, using its symbols, its new human. We carry the spirit of incursion, a spirit of rebellion that tears all ossified things apart, so that we may return from our journey bearing a new vision.

We are the generation that demands change, transgression, and innovation. We reject the embalmed past. We reject the artist of divisions and boundaries. We advance. We fall. But we will not retreat. We present to the world our new vision: • Modern art is the language of contemporary society. The artist is the human being in this society who is capable of transgressing the boundaries of the contemporary self, adhering to a purity that is free of all the prejudices of modern civilisation, in an effort to affirm the innovative existence of this national community through art. Those who reject this language are the living dead.

• Freedom of expression is the freedom of the revolutionary against everything that turns thinking into a muddy quagmire. It is freedom of vision, of rebellion against all of society’s false constructions.

• Art is every new innovation. It is incompatible with stagnation; is continuous creation. As such it is not merely a mirror of the artist’s lived reality, but also the spirit of the future.

• Good art criticism is that which delivers the artistic endeavour to the public and strengthens the features of the actual art movement, moving away from a spirit of appeasement and adulation. Between criticism and art there is a process of correlation and complementarity. As such, criticism’s failure to keep pace with developments is a severe blow to the evaluation of the plastic arts movement and its growth.

• The past is not a dead object that we study; rather, it is a stance that goes beyond time to produce comprehensive human evidence of both plastic and psychological aspects together. Thus, the significance of the past is seen and renewed in light of the present. To consider the past as a fixed vision is but a ruse aimed at freezing contemporary experience in moulds that history has already worn out. As such, the whole of national and human heritage becomes our tributary throughout our journey of change and innovation.

• The issue of the relationship with the public is a social one. Our artistic production is what interacts with the public, not us. As such, it is the street—and not the museum galleries—that is the true site of adhesion.

The English translation by Anneka Lenssen, Sarah Rogers and Nada

• We reject social relationships that lead to deceitful masquerades, and we reject things that are given to us as charity. We justify our existence through our journey of change.

Shabout was initially commissioned for Modern Art in the Arab World: Primary Documents, edited by

• We laud the generation of pioneers for their historic role in our artistic renaissance, and we reject academic guardianship and instructional thinking.

Anneka Lenssen, Sarah Rogers and Nada Shabout and published in 2018 as part of The Museum of Modern Art’s Primary Documents series.

• We defy the world. And we reject the military and intellectual defeat of our nation. We glorify the popular war of liberation in the chests of the martyrs, the glory of our nation.

(Below) Towards the New Vision, original manifesto, published in 1969 (pages 14–15) (Bottom) A Wolf Howls: Memories of a Poet, 1968 Oil on canvas, 84 x 104 cm Barjeel Art Foundation, Sharjah

•Revolution is the transgression of negative values and the crystallisation of the spirit of the future. As such, it is the maker of the new human – the liberated human who surpasses his own existence on the path to realising his individual human essence. Art is the bright face of that human, for revolution and art are two inseparable features of humanity’s development.

•The practice of art is contingent upon man’s practice of his human essence, and the best thing the revolution can do for the human artist is to provide him with the means to implement this essence, rejecting a lagging existence and dead relationships. For the revolution that transgresses and makes the revolutionary paradigm is also an astounding future-oriented art, through which the new vision is realised.

Hashim Samarchi, Mohammad Muhriddin, Rafa Nasiri, Dia al-Azzawi, Saleh al-Jumaie, Ismail Fattah Baghdad, October 1969

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(Opposite) Ashura Day, 1969 Oil on canvas, 97 x 80.5 cm Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art, Doha (Left) Towards the New Vision, original manifesto, published in 1969 (pages 16–17) (Bottom) The Martyr, 1967 Oil on canvas, 100 x 120 cm Omar Zaki Abdulwahab Collection, London

44 THE ARAB LEAGUE HOTEL, 1971

The Arab League Hotel, 1971 Oil on canvas, 160 x 160 cm (tetraptych, each panel 80 x 80 cm)

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THE NEW VISION BEARS FRUIT Towards the New Vision was originally printed for circulation at a conference of Arab artists in Cairo in 1969 that was cancelled; however, the goals outlined in the manifesto were ultimately successful, as Arab artists came together in meetings, group exhibitions and other collaborative cultural events across the region, including the first Arab Conference of Fine Arts in Damascus, and the consequent foundation of the Union of Arab Artists (1971); al-Wasiti Festival, Baghdad (1972); the first Arab art biennale, Baghdad (1974), which was followed by two more biennales (Rabat, 1976; Tripoli, 1980).

On a personal level, Azzawi became very active across the entire Arab world, showing his work in smaller group shows, including collaborations with other New Vision artists and others that created entirely new cultural connections, as well as solo exhibitions from Beirut to Kuwait to Casablanca.

Posters designed by Dia al-Azzawi for group exhibitions of Iraqi artists (Left to right) Seven Artists, National Gallery of Modern Art Baghdad, 1974 Three Artists, National Gallery of Modern Art Baghdad, 1975

Four Artists, National Gallery of Modern Art Baghdad, 1971 Five Artists, National Gallery of Modern Art Baghdad, 1972 (Opposite page) Alternative poster design by Dia al-Azzawi for Five Artists, National Gallery of Modern Art Baghdad, 1972

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(Opposite page) Pamphlet for al-Wasiti Festival, Baghdad, 1972 (Above) Dia al-Azzawi at a meeting of the Union of Arab Artists, Algeria, 1975 (Left) Dia al-Azzawi talking to Fateh Moudarres (centre), with Ali Talib (left), Mamdouh al-Kashlan (right), al-Wasiti Festival, Baghdad, 1972

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(Opposite, top) Pamphlet for Exhibition of Etchings, L’Atelier, Rabat, 1975 (Opposite, bottom, left to right) Posters for Dia al-Azzawi solo exhibitions: Galerie Nadar, Casablanca, 1976 Sultan Gallery, Kuwait, 1969 Sultan Gallery, Kuwait, 1971

(Clockwise from top left) Dia al-Azzawi with Ghazi Sultan at Sultan Gallery, Kuwait, 1969 Dia al-Azzawi with Ghazi Sultan at Sultan Gallery, Kuwait, 1971 Dia al-Azzawi with Saleh alJumaie and Latifa Toujani, Rabat, 1975

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AZZAWI AND MUZAFFAR AL-NAWAB In 1968, a year before the Towards the New Vision manifesto, Azzawi met the Iraqi poet Muzaffar al-Nawab after he had escaped from prison. A few months later, Nawab invited Azzawi to illustrate and design the cover for his famous collection of poetry For the Railway and Hamad, which was published in Beirut. This changed the way Azzawi thought about literature and his work, and he would go on to make artworks inspired by and based upon specific works of Arabic literature for the rest of his career, with a keen focus on modern poetry from across the region and beyond.

Nawab soon fled to Beirut to join fellow Iraqi political dissidents, including his friend Buland al-Haidari, editor of the magazine al-’Ulum, who published an interview between Nawab and Azzawi (reproduced below) on the occasion of his second solo exhibition in Beirut in 1969. Azzawi continued to develop the idea of including writing in his artworks, often using texts written by authors he met and befriended.

Muzaffar al-Nawab: Your art has emerged on the basis of an attempt to integrate the deep historical time of Iraq with its modern existence in the present world, and with a personal empathy you feel for the ongoing tragedy around you. Through this dialectic, “which unfolds in the space of the artwork”, is there something that you are trying to say, despite the prevalent fashion of not saying anything in particular about the human in the Arab world today?

(Opposite) Cover of For the Railway and Hamad by Muzaffar al-Nawab, published in 1968; cover and illustrations

by Dia al-Azzawi (Above) A Liar: Muzaffar al-Nawab, 2017 Gouache and ink on paper; fabric on foamboard with cutouts 27 x 15 x 3 cm (length 148 cm)

Dia al-Azzawi: It is not so much that there is something I want to say in my work as there is a fundamental precept that I want to establish, and that is that the human continues to be an answer to the worlds he inhabits, and the one who reveals those worlds, by taking up a position that is his own but without isolating himself from the intellectual movements of his time. It is by adopting [this] concept of transcendence that an artist’s interests are justified. Otherwise, he would be unable to offer anything that could be accepted in the future. The moment of creativity would just as soon pass.

MN: The figure of the woman in your paintings is active even when waiting for the groom. In this regard, she always appears as an entity that has been revealed, or we might say that you work with her in a way that reveals her in the form of a very particular kind of nakedness, tattooed, but still soft and virginal, and full of the mystery of discovery

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itself – if you agree with me that in discovery there is a discovery of mysteries to come. She does not represent cheap sex, even if her thigh is bitten or stained with the colour of blood. Even then we empathise with her and respect her nakedness.

In her wedding bed, in her dream of a lion, in her control over man, in the bite marks on her thigh, she retains a certain innocence that marks the threshold of sexual maturity. In the end, what is it that you are trying to tell us, through her eyes, wide with the awe of a Sumerian devotee, through her flesh and through her tattoos? Or do you hate that anything be said at all?

DA: It is only when the figure of the woman is revealed that she becomes a symbol, and that uncovering happens by making her an object of artistic practice, or by working with her in the context of her interaction with the world. I would refuse any definitive statements because they would not allow full scope for that interaction. The continuous nature of that interaction means that something new is constantly being revealed, and so the figure of the woman will never be fully revealed, because revealing her in her totality, or rendering her completely present would mean her end.

MN: There is the sense of a victim in the colours you use, even when there are no [figurative] forms. In some paintings, the victim has a real, material presence, as in ʿAbbās, The Second Husband, or Coffin. In others, the victim takes on a decorative form, like a wedding chest, or the shape of an ancient animal. Often, this victim is in a state of approach, you feel that it will come; it is not in the past. This is where your work with cultural history appears as very contemporary. Perhaps it is that you are anticipating tragedy or have revealed its coming; or perhaps it means that you are trying to kill tragedy by constantly invoking its presence, cultivating such sorrow in people that it is forestalled.

DA: The figure of the victim is not unfamiliar to the historical traditions of Iraq nor to its modern experience. It is easy for the wedding chest to turn into a coffin, for the words of an amulet to become a lamentation, and for decorative forms to become a tattoo on the arm of the victim. There is a persistent tragic element in ancient Iraqi heritage, both socially and religiously, and it asserts itself directly in my works, such that the artwork can turn into a gravestone or into the flowers placed at the feet of the martyr who rejects his own death. For the transformation of the human into a victim means its transformation into its opposite, and the acceptance of the human to become a new al-H ̇ usayn is the issue of our time. The victim is no longer kneeling unshackled under the executioner’s sword, but has become the tearing apart of falseness even in death.

MN: In your previous work – the exhibition of 1965 – we could sense traces of the museum, and of Sumerian and Assyrian history, and even of Islamic history, such that we were led towards a certain aesthetic, one that undeniably draws our attention, but to the past, like a dream that we do not want to have. That is to say, you took us to the past. In your current work, however, you offer us a dream that we want, and do not want at the same time, because like lust, it is mixed with the smell of death, and the smell of a tree, alive and wet with rain and the blood of al-Husayn.

Could you tell us what you do to achieve that combination of different elements?

DA: From the beginning I have tried to work with the figure of the Iraqi in civilisational terms, because the human in my country cannot be separated from his history. By history, I do not mean the factual side, but the mythological side—the symbols, tales, and traditions inherited by Iraqis from their earliest ancestors. By using that heritage in a contemporary form, in ways that are neither mechanical nor imitative, we can gain a world of our own, and that would make itself available to be revealed through local forms of subjectivity. We cannot deny the importance of living in our time, but that does not have to come at the price of truth in regard to what it is to be a human being.

The Falling Dot, 1972 Oil on canvas, 120 x 120 cm The Dubai Collection (private collection of HH Sheikh Mohammad bin Rashid Al Maktoum)

It would be a mistake to think that we can keep pace with the world by adopting a fake position towards ourselves, as individuals and as a nation; and it is a mistake to try to do work that looks to the West and derivative rather than work that is original and true [to who we are]. Being international does not mean rejecting the specific forms of our existence, but rather it is the very discovery of this existence and its reconstruction as a new creation, so that it can reflect the concerns and aspirations of this historical moment. That is our significance to this world.

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BAGHDAD TO BEIRUT: THE ITINERARY OF A YOUNG ARAB ARTIST IN THE SIXTIES ZEINA MAASRI Dia al-Azzawi belongs to the generation of Arab artists who came of age both artistically and politically in the sixties. The ‘sixties generation’, as it came to be known in Iraq (as elsewhere in the Arab world) represents a radical turn in postcolonial artmaking that is marked by the ebbs and flows of the long sixties’ social and political vicissitudes. These were great times of national liberation, social emancipation, revolutions and disenchantments. But most importantly, for artists of this generation, these were utopian times of great faith in art’s revolutionary potential. Beirut was emerging as a nexus for intellectual debate, political contestation and aesthetic experimentation, which was invigorated by a transnational flow of Arab artists and intellectuals and enriched by the encounters between them: Egyptians, Iraqis, Lebanese, Palestinians and Syrians who crossed paths in Beirut, meeting together and weaving in and out of the city’s flourishing art galleries, publishing industry and political movements. For a young artist like Azzawi, Beirut was pregnant with promise. The Iraqi artist’s connections with Beirut developed along two distinct circuits that converged and diverged during the sixties.

FROM BAGHDAD TO BEIRUT BY WAY OF ANCIENT SUMER In Azzawi’s own words, Beirut was a ‘second capital for Iraqi artists’ during the sixties. The city’s thriving art galleries regularly put on show Baghdad’s pioneering modern art. Recalling his artistic debut, Azzawi notes how Beirut was more than just a chance for him to exhibit, but also, crucially, a space of encounter and exposure to art from across the Arab region. His first solo exhibition outside Iraq was held in 1966 in Beirut’s leading art venue, Gallery One. Established in 1963 by the poet Yusuf Al-Khal (1917–87) with his first wife, artist and critic Helen Al-Khal (1923–2009), this pioneering gallery space played a pivotal role in introducing Iraqi modern art to a Lebanese public of modern art enthusiasts. Gallery One’s Baghdad connection built upon Yusuf Al-Khal’s transnational network of Arab poets affiliated to his avant-garde journal Shi’r (1957–64; 1967–70). In particular, his friendship with the Palestinian-Iraqi poet, artist and critic, Jabra Ibrahim Jabra (1919–94), who was also active in the Baghdad Modern Art Group, introduced him to the country’s burgeoning modern art movement. It was during a trip to Baghdad in 1965 that Khal encountered the work of the young and emerging Azzawi.

Azzawi’s art at the time was thematically inspired by the epic of Gilgamesh and aesthetically referenced ancient Sumerian material culture. His early work was informed by his initial studies in archaeology and shaped by the artistic approach of his predecessors in Iraq, most notably Jewad Selim (1919–61) and the Baghdad

(Left) Study for The Epic of Gilgamesh: Gilgamesh’s Quest for Immortality, 1966 Gouache and China ink on paper, 52 x 32 cm (Right) Study for The Epic of Gilgamesh: Gilgamesh’s Struggle with the Wild Beasts, 1966 Gouache and China ink on paper, 52 x 32 cm

Modern Art Group. While working within contemporary conceptions and techniques of modern art, Azzawi sought to recuperate an indigenous aesthetic, inspired by a local heritage of visual and material culture that dates as far back as Mesopotamian art. This revivalist aesthetic was commensurate with struggles for cultural decolonisation that have preoccupied artists and intellectuals in the Arab region, and in Asia and Africa more widely, from the mid-twentieth century onwards. In this fraught historical conjuncture, artists sought to reclaim a cultural identity in and through their practice – a sense of locality and pride in heritage suppressed by decades of European colonisation and Western hegemony. Azzawi’s artwork also intersected with contemporaneous endeavours in modernist Arabic poetry. Most relevant here is the revival of ancient Mesopotamian myths and symbols by the Tammuzi poets, especially as foregrounded in Shi‘r by Khal. Thus Azzawi’s artistic approach caught the interest of Khal, who invited him to exhibit at Gallery One on more than one occasion. The Lebanese poet also published a selection of drawings by Azzawi, taken from his Studies for the Epic of Gilgamesh (1965–66), as companions to the book Epics and Legends in Sumerian Literature, which launched Silsilat al-Nafa’is by Dar an-Nahar in 1967. This short-lived, deluxeeditioned, book series – edited and curated by Khal – consisted of carefully revisited and illustrated Levantine classics of world literature, involving several prominent artists, including Paul Guiragossian (1926–93) and Shafic Abboud (1926–2004).

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FROM BAGHDAD TO BEIRUT BY WAY OF THE LIBERATION OF PALESTINE The second transnational circuit that connected Azzawi to Beirut was his solidarity with the Palestinian Resistance and the political turn that his art had taken at the close of the 1960s. The rise of the Palestinian liberation movement as a revolutionary armed struggle in the aftermath of the 1967 Arab Defeat would give an impetus to hope among an Arab population disenchanted by its political leaders and humiliated by the devasting losses of the war. The late sixties revolutionary turn in Palestinian and Arab affairs intersected with anti-imperial liberation movements that stretched their contours across the Global South, from Vietnam all the way to Cuba, and converged with New Left politics and radical civil rights and student movements globally. Beirut was in the eye of this globally interconnected storm. Aesthetic practices in the everyday life of the city’s cosmopolitan cultural and intellectual scene – in the form of literature, poetry, films, songs, art exhibitions, posters and other printed media – gave the Palestinian revolutionary momentum visual and material resonance in and outside Beirut through different circuits of transnational solidarity.

Palestinian revolutionary promise thus galvanised artists of Azzawi’s ‘sixties generation’ and politicised their artmaking. In 1969, Azzawi formed, with five other Iraqi artists, a collective under the name of the New Vision Group and proclaimed in a manifesto that modern art realises its revolutionary promise ‘towards a new vision’ by responding to political conditions with renewed aesthetic sensibility premised on a cosmopolitan framework of humanity and progressive Arab futurity. Shifting from the artistic framework that preoccupied the preceding generation, the group rejected what they saw as an ossification of cultural heritage in contemporary Arab pursuits in art.

(Opposite page, left to right) And How Beautiful…, 1972 China ink on paper, 30 x 24.5 cm This is the Age of Heroism, 1972 China ink on paper, 30 x 24.5 cm O Home, 1972 China ink on paper, 30 x 24.5 cm

The circulation of ideas about art and politics between Beirut and Baghdad was made possible in and through Arabic cultural periodicals and the mobility of artists and intellectuals across borders of Arab nation-states. Shi‘r published the manifesto, Towards the New Vision, while Mawaqif – then newly founded by the leading poet, Adonis – ran interviews with and essays by Azzawi. In particular, the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine’s periodical, al-Hadaf, provided a platform for the politicisation of art and, crucially, became a node in transnational circuits of solidarity. Its founding editor, Palestinian novelist, literary critic and activist Ghassan Kanafani (1936–72), acted as conduit, bringing on board an emerging generation of Arab militant artists. Kanafani met Azzawi at the opening of his second solo show at Gallery One in 1969 and invited him to contribute to al-Hadaf just as the magazine was beginning to set sail.

By the turn of the decade, the city that exhibited the Iraqi artist in its elite art galleries and burgeoning art market, summoned him again through its radical imprints. Azzawi would join a host of contemporary Arab artists, including Kamal Boullata (1942–2019), Raf ic Charaf (1932–2003) and Mona Saudi (1945– 2022), in giving the periodical an especially radical modern aesthetic feel.

Following the assassination of Kanafani in 1972, Azzawi was invited to contribute drawings to a commemorative booklet published a year later. In Drawings for the Land of [Sad] Oranges, as the booklet was entitled, Azzawi abandoned the Sumerian myths that had inspired his early artwork and drew inspiration instead f rom the contemporary literature of Kanafani. Palestine’s liberation struggle and the poetry written of its plight now occupied his artistic vision and displaced the ancient myths and artefacts he had contemplated in the Iraqi National Museum. With this politico-aesthetic transformation, a shift in media and form also ensued. Azzawi set about new artistic experiments with image and text and explored the reproducibility of printed media, f rom posters to artist books, in articulating the new sensibility of this Arab revolutionary conjuncture.

Azzawi’s Baghdad-Beirut artistic itinerary and the circuits he traversed have shaped – and indeed have been shaped by – Beirut’s nodal configuration at the time. His itinerary carries more than a story of artistic beginnings. It elucidates how postcolonial artmaking developed beyond national borders and unravels the ways in which a city’s history is made by the transnational circuits through which artists and their artworks have journeyed.

02 Drawing by Dia al-Azzawi for al-Hadaf number 115, 28th August 1971, p. 18 (detail)

THE ARAB CAUSE The years spanning 1970 to 1989 were marked by tumultuous events in the Middle East, which continued to shape Dia al-Azzawi’s art and highlight his commitment to depicting the struggles, hopes, and resilience of the Palestinian people. As an artist, Azzawi believed in the power of representation, and his presence in individual or group exhibitions reinforced his conviction that the experiences of the Arab world needed to be portrayed not just within the region but also on a global stage. Beirut, for him, held a special priority in this mission.

connection to Lebanon remained steadfast, despite the geographical distance. The harrowing Tel alZa‘atar massacre in 1976 served as a grim reminder of the ongoing struggle faced by Palestinians.

Azzawi’s visceral response was manifested in a series of drawings that captured the horror of the event and expressed solidarity with the Palestinian cause.

The profound impact of this event culminated in the creation of The Body’s Anthem (1979), a compilation of his drawings accompanied by texts that aimed to raise funds for the survivors of the tragedy.

The decade began with the reverberations of the Black September conflict in 1970, an event that left an indelible mark on Azzawi’s consciousness. The tragic and bloody struggle for Palestinian liberation during this period deeply resonated with him, inspiring a series of poignant drawings that captured the spirit and sacrifice of those involved. This series, titled A Witness of Our Times (1972), not only commemorated the fallen but also marked Azzawi’s transition towards more explicitly political themes.

The Palestinian Solidarity Exhibition in Beirut in 1978 further underscored Azzawi’s commitment to championing the Palestinian narrative through his art. This exhibition not only showcased his artistic prowess but also emphasised the interconnectedness of creative expression and political activism.

A pivotal encounter occurred in 1969 when Azzawi met Ghassan Kanafani, an influential Palestinian writer and activist. Kanafani’s tragic assassination in 1972 abruptly truncated their collaboration, but the impact of their interaction was profound. Azzawi’s drawings were published in al-Hadaf, the magazine edited

by Kanafani, and their shared vision for advocating Palestinian rights would influence Azzawi’s work for years to come.

Lebanon continued to play a role in shaping Azzawi’s artistic trajectory through his friendship with Waddah Faris, an influential figure in Beirut’s art scene. The tumultuous yet enduring bond they shared led to Azzawi’s significant presence in Contact magazine and a solo exhibition at Faris’s gallery in 1974. This engagement with Beirut’s artistic community facilitated the exchange of ideas and perspectives, further fuelling Azzawi’s creative endeavours.

In 1976, Azzawi transitioned to a new life outside Iraq. The eruption of civil war in Lebanon in 1975 had robbed him of this choice of country as his destination.

Settled in his new home in the UK, however, his

The Sabra and Shatila massacre of 1982 was a turning point that shook Azzawi to his core. The depth of his anguish and empathy for the victims was reflected in the famous monumental drawing and a set of etchings that documented the atrocity. Inspired

by Jean Genet’s poignant account, the latter work titled We are not Seen, but [as] Corpses (1983) was a haunting tribute to the lives lost, published to raise awareness and support survivors.

Azzawi’s bond with Naji al-Ali, the renowned Palestinian cartoonist, exemplified his enduring connection to the Arab world despite his distance from it. Their friendship, initiated in 1983, bore fruit in the form of Azzawi’s incorporation of Handala, Ali’s iconic creation, into his art. The presence of Handala in Azzawi’s works pays homage to his friend’s legacy while continuing to amplify the Palestinian narrative.

Despite his residence in London, throughout this period Azzawi remained deeply and psychologically connected to the tumultuous region of the Middle East. This enduring connection, even from afar, played a pivotal role in shaping what would eventually become some of his most iconic and emotionally charged works, infusing his art with a powerful sense of purpose and resonance that transcended geographical boundaries.

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Dia al-Azzawi with the Iraqi poet Youssef al-Sayigh, 1970s

AZZAWI AND YOUSSEF AL-SAYIGH Over the course of the 1970s, Azzawi’s increasing engagement with text expanded from literary and ethnographic themes to newspaper reports and political subjects. In 1971, Azzawi designed the first edition of Iraqi poet Youssef al-Sayigh’s poem Wait for me by the Edge of the Sea (1971) from cover to cover, even writing out the entirety of the text in his own hand. For al-Marbid Poetry Festival (held in Basra in April of that year), the poet and artist collaborated on a poster using Confessions of Malik in al-Rayb, a poem in which Sayigh reframed the historic eulogy as a criticism of political leaders after Black September. Similarly, Azzawi created drawings to evoke the writings of Ghassan Kanafani (see below) and the imagined diary of a fedayee killed in Black September, which was published alongside the diary text and other material such as Palestinian resistance songs in 1973 as A Witness of Our Times.

(Left and above) Wait for Me by the Edge of the Sea by Youssef al-Sayigh, published in 1971; complete layout (cover design, lettering and illustrations) by Dia al-Azzawi (Opposite page) Poster designed by Dia al-Azzawi for al-Marbid Poetry Festival, 1971; poetry by Youssef al-Sayigh

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AZZAWI AND GHASSAN KANAFANI In 1969, at his second solo exhibition in Beirut, Azzawi met Ghassan Kanafani, who bought one of his works (opposite left). Kanafani was the editor of a magazine published by the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine called al-Hadaf [‘The Target’]. Kanafani was keen to work with Azzawi and published some of his drawings in al-Hadaf but their collaboration was tragically cut short by Kanafani’s assassination in 1972.

Azzawi was invited by the Ghassan Kanafani Memorial Committee to create some drawings inspired by Kanafani’s short stories, which were published as Drawings for the Land of [Sad] Oranges (1973). Azzawi also painted a rare portrait and continued to work with al-Hadaf in his friend’s memory.

Poster designed by Dia al-Azzawi for the Baghdad International Poster competition, 1979

(Right) Al-Hadaf (‘The Target’), number 404, 16th, September 1978; cover, illustration by Dia al-Azzawi (Bottom right) Portrait of a Friend, 1972 Oil on canvas, 102 x 100 cm Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art, Doha (Below) Martyr, 1968 Oil on canvas, 100 x 84 cm Kanafani Collection, Beirut

(Bottom) Dia al-Azzawi with Anni and Laila Kanafani, Beirut, 2021

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(Left) Cover of Drawings for the Land of [Sad] Oranges

by Dia al-Azzawi, published in memory of Ghassan Kanafani in 1973 (Opposite page, clockwise from top left) Three Papers from Palestine: a Paper from Ramla, 1973 Ink on paper, 30 x 26 cm Kaissar Rizkallah Collection, Beirut The Death in Bed No. 12: Nothing Goes in Vain, 1973 Ink on paper, 30 x 26 cm Kanafani Collection, Copenhagen The Death in Bed No. 12: The Man Who Died Not, 1973 (lost) Ink on paper, 30 x 26 cm Original lost during the printing process The Land of Sad Oranges: The Forbidden Weapon, 1973 Ink on paper, 30 x 26 cm Kanafani Collection, Copenhagen

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(Above) Original cover designed by Dia al-Azzawi for Witness of Our Times: The Journal of a Fedayee Killed in the Jordan Massacre of [September] 1970, published in 1972

A WITNESS OF OUR TIMES, 1972

(Opposite page) Witness of Our Times: The Journal of a Fedayee Killed in the Jordan Massacre of [September] 1970, published in 1972; cover and illustrations by Dia al-Azzawi

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AZZAWI AND WADDAH FARIS Dia al-Azzawi first met Waddah Faris in Beirut in 1970, where he ran Contact Gallery and an accompanying arts publication. The two formed a lasting but chaotic friendship and Azzawi’s works were often published in Contact magazine. In 1974, Azzawi had a solo exhibition at Contact Gallery, his last in Beirut before he moved to Britain in 1976. At the start of Azzawi’s residence in the UK, Azzawi lived with Faris for a time and went on to exhibit at Faris’s eponymous gallery in Paris during the 1980s.

(Opposite page) Poster designed by Dia al-Azzawi for solo booth, Galerie Faris, Basel Art Fair, 1981 (Above) Eminent Arab artists Adam Henein, gallery assistant, Waddah Faris, Mohamed Melehi, Dia al-Azzawi, FIAC, Paris, 1980 (Right) Poster designed by Dia al-Azzawi for solo exhibition, Arslan Raad Gallery, Tripoli, 1973 (Far right and below) Contact magazine, edited by Waddah Faris, 1972

1980/81 Exhibitions with Galerie Faris, Paris

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THE BODY’S ANTHEM Having just moved to the UK, Azzawi learned about the tragic siege of the Tel alZa‘atar refugee camp in northeastern Beirut through Western media coverage, which only emphasised his remoteness f rom the region. He was haunted by what he saw and made a series of drawings in response to this massacre, based on news footage, witness statements and poetry. In 1978, Azzawi’s work featured in an exhibition at the American University of Beirut expressing solidarity with the Palestinian struggle and, the following year, a publishing house in Beirut published Azzawi’s drawings and the texts that inspired him as The Body’s Anthem (1979) to raise money for the survivors. In the same year, while working for the Iraqi Cultural Centre in London, Azzawi organised the Baghdad International Poster Exhibition (1979), which featured global artists’ designs on the central themes of Palestine and the struggle for liberation and which was shown in London and Baghdad.

The Bodyʼs Anthem, 1979 Silkscreen on paper, 65 x 65 cm (images 50 x 50 cm), edition of 100 + 10 AP

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SABRA AND SHATILA In 1982, the horrific massacre in the Palestinian refugee camps of Sabra and Shatila in Beirut was reported across Western media. Azzawi’s immediate reaction was to start documenting the reports in an ever-growing work on paper. He did not know at the time that the result, Sabra and Shatila Massacre, would become one of his most famous works.

When Azzawi later read Jean Genet’s account of entering Shatila after the massacre, he made a set of eight etchings under the title We are not Seen, But [as] Corpses.

This limited edition included an extract from Genet’s text and was published by the Sabra and Shatila Society in London in 1983 to raise awareness and funds for the survivors.

Sabra and Shatila Massacre, 1982–83 Ink and wax crayon on paper mounted on canvas, 300 x 750 cm Tate: Purchased with funds provided

by Tate Members, Tate International Council, Tate’s Middle East North Africa Acquisitions Committee and the Basil and Raghida Al-Rahim Art Fund 2014

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EXTRACT FROM

FOUR HOURS IN SHATILA

BY JEAN GENET

[...]

A photograph has two dimensions, so does a television screen; neither can be walked through. From one wall of the street to the other, bent or arched, with their feet pushing against one wall and their heads pressing against the other, the black and bloated corpses that I had to step over were all Palestinian and Lebanese. For me, as for what remained of the population, walking through Shatila and Sabra resembled a game of hopscotch. Sometimes a dead child blocked the streets: they were so small, so narrow, and the dead so numerous. The smell is probably familiar to old people; it didn’t bother me. But [there] were so many flies. I lifted the handkerchief or the Arab newspaper placed over a head, I disturbed them.

Infuriated by my action, they swarmed onto the back of my hand and tried to feed there. The first corpse I saw was that of a man fifty or sixty years old. He would have had a shock of white hair if a wound (an axe blow, it seemed to me) hadn’t split his skull. Part of the blackened brain was on the ground, next to the head. The whole body was lying in a pool of black and clotted blood. The belt was unbuckled, a single button held the [trousers]. The dead man’s feet and legs were bare and black, purple and blue; perhaps he had been taken by surprise at night or at dawn.

Was he running away? He was lying in a little alley immediately to the right of the entry to Shatila camp which is across from the Kuwaiti Embassy. Did the Shatila massacre take place in hushed tones or in total silence, if the Israelis, both soldiers and officers, claim to have heard nothing, to have suspected nothing whereas they had been occupying this building since Wednesday afternoon?

A photograph doesn’t show the flies nor the thick white smell of death. Neither does it show how you must jump over bodies as you walk along from one corpse to the next. If you look closely at a corpse, an odd phenomenon occurs: the absence of life in this body corresponds to the total absence of the body, or rather to its continuous backing away. You feel that even by coming closer, you can never touch it. That happens when you look at it carefully. But you should make a move in its direction, get down next to it, move an arm or a finger, suddenly it is very much there and almost friendly. Three young men led me down an alley.

“Go in, sir, we’ll wait for you outside.”

The first room was what remained of a two-storey house. The room gave an impression of serenity and even friendliness, of near happiness; perhaps real happiness had been created out of others’ throwaways, with what survives from a destroyed piece of wall, with what I first thought were three armchairs, actually three car seats (perhaps a Mercedes from a junkyard), a couch with cushions covered with gaudy flowered material with stylised designs, a small silent radio, two unlit candelabras. A fairly quiet room, in spite of the carpet of spent shells. The door swung, as if there were a draft. I walked on the spent shells and pushed the door, which opened towards the other room, but I had to push hard: the heel of a boot blocked the way, the heel of a corpse lying on its back, near two other corpses of men lying face down, all of them resting on another carpet of spent shells. I nearly fell several times because of them.

We Are Not Seen, But [as] Corpses: The Massacre of Sabra and Shatila Camps, 1983 Etching on paper, 98 x 76 cm (images 88.5 x 69 cm) Edition of 60 + 2AP

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At the back of the room another door was open, without lock or latch. I stepped over the bodies as one crosses chasms. The room contained the corpses of four men, piled on top of each other on a single bed, as if each one has taken care to protect the one under him, or as if they had been caught in a decaying orgiastic copulation. This pile of shields smelled strongly, but it didn’t smell bad. The smell and the flies had, so it seemed, gotten used to me. I no longer disturbed anything in these ruins, in this quiet.

During the night from Thursday to Friday, and during those from Friday to Saturday and Saturday to Sunday no one had kept vigil with them, I thought.

In the narrow street, in the shadow of a wall, I thought I saw a black boxer sitting on the ground, laughing, surprised to have been knocked out. No one had the heart to close his eyelids, his eyes as white as porcelain and bulging out, were looking at me. He seemed crestfallen, with his arm raised, leaning against this angle of the wall. He was a Palestinian who had been dead for two or three days. If I mistook him at first for a black boxer it is because his head was enormous, swollen and black, like all the heads and all the bodies, whether in the sun or in the shadow of the houses. I walked near his feet. I picked up an upper dental plate in the dust and set it on what remained of the window ledge. The palm of his hand open towards the sky, his mouth open, the opening of his pants where the belt was missing: all hives where flies were feeding.

I stepped over one corpse, then another. There in the dust, in the space between the two bodies, there was at least a very living object, intact in the carnage, a translucent pink object which could still be used: an artif icial leg, apparently in plastic, and wearing a black shoe and a grey sock. As I looked closer, it became clear that it had been brutally wrenched off the amputated leg, because the straps that usually held it to the thigh were all broken.

This artif icial leg belonged to the second body, the one on which I had noticed only one leg with a foot wearing a black shoe and a grey sock. In the street perpendicular to the one where I left the three bodies, there was another. It was not completely blocking the way, but it was lying at the entrance of the street so that I had to walk by it and turn around to see the sight: seated on a chair, surrounded by fairly young and silent men and women, a woman—in Arab dress—was sobbing; she could have been sixteen or sixty, She was crying over her brother whose body almost blocked the way. I came close to her. I looked more carefully. She had a scarf tied around her neck. She was crying, mourning the death of her brother next to her. Her face was pink, a baby pink, the same colour all over, very soft, tender, but without eyelashes or eyebrows, and what I thought was pink was not the top layer of skin but an under layer edged in grey skin. Her whole face was burned. I don’t know by what, but I understood by whom.

With the f irst bodies, I tried to count them. When I got to twelve or f ifteen, surrounded by the smell, the sun, stumbling over each ruin, it was impossible; everything became confused.

We Are Not Seen, But [as] Corpses: The Massacre of Sabra and Shatila Camps: Preliminary Sketches, 1983 Lithograph on paper, 98 x 76 cm Edition of 60 + 2AP

I have seen lots of crumbling buildings and gutted houses spilling out eiderdown and have not been moved, but when I looked at those in West Beirut and Shatila I saw fear. The dead generally become very familiar, even f riendly to me, but when I saw those in the camps I perceived only hatred and joy of those who had killed them. A barbaric party had taken place there: rage, drunkenness, dances, songs, curses, laments, moans, in honour of the voyeurs who were laughing on the top floor of Akka Hospital.

Text f rom We Are Not Seen, But, Corpses taken f rom the article by Jean Genet, “Four Hours in Shatila”, originally published in the Journal of Palestine Studies (Washington), Spring 1983.

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(Opposite) Invitation designed by Dia al-Azzawi for the preview of Naji al-Ali, Kufa Gallery, London, 1987 (Below) Dia al-Azzawi with Naji al-Ali, 1986 (Bottom) Details for the preview of Naji al-Ali, Kufa Gallery, London, 1987 (Right) Homage to Naji al-Ali, 2002, digital design

AZZAWI AND NAJI AL-ALI Dia al-Azzawi met Palestinian cartoonist and political activist Naji al-Ali in Kuwait in 1983 and they instantly became friends. Ali’s most famous creation was Handala, a young barefoot Palestinian boy, always with his back turned to the viewer, as a witness to events and becoming a symbol of Palestinian resistance. Since Ali’s assassination in London in August 1987, Azzawi has often returned to the figure of Handala, appearing in his work in a range of media across a number of decades to pay homage to his friend. By taking him off the page in a series of sculptural works, Azzawi allows the viewer to look into Handala’s face at long last (see pages 80-83).

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(Opposite) Martyr’s Signature, 2011 Bronze, 29 x 17 x 10 cm Edition of 9 (Below) Cartoon by Naji al-Ali, Good Morning Beirut, As-safir, 5th August 1982

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Handala: Good Morning Beirut, 2011 (cast 2016) Stainless steel, 400 x 300 x 140 cm Nabu Museum, El-Heri, Lebanon

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We Remain Kids for a While and other poems: Charbel Dagher, 2016 Ink and watercolour on paper and foamboard; acrylic on plaster and wood, 10 x 12 x 2 cm (length 156 cm; box 27 x 14 x 5 cm)

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THE LITERARY ARTIST

The transition into the 1990s saw Dia al-Azzawi embark on a remarkable journey that bridged the gap between visual and literary art forms. This transformative period witnessed Azzawi’s immersion into the daftar, a unique artist’s book that amalgamated visual art with the written word, predominantly drawing inspiration from contemporary Arabic poetry.

As the 1990s unfolded, Lebanon’s influence on Azzawi’s work became even more pronounced. The country’s vibrant artistic scene provided him with a platform to showcase his fusion of literature and visual art, such as his solo exhibition at the 50x70 Gallery in Beirut in 1991, later followed by a travelling solo exhibition in 1994 hosted by the same gallery.

Lebanon, a nation with its own complex narrative and a rich tradition of artistic expression, naturally found its way into Azzawi’s art. The palpable aura of resilience amidst adversity, a hallmark of Lebanon’s spirit, resonated deeply with Azzawi’s own exploration of themes like injustice and the human condition. The works of poets who emerged from or wrote about Lebanon became the threads that interwove his artistry with the country’s essence. The stirring verses of Lebanese poet Khalil Hawi’s The Bridge found an echo in Azzawi’s creations, as he captured the spirit of connection and the yearning for unity even in the face of divisions.

Through his dafatir, Azzawi’s compositions embodied a unique form of storytelling, drawing inspiration from Lebanese literary luminaries like Nadia Tuéni and Salah Stétié, who transcended borders and languages. Their words, intricately woven into his creations, showcased the universality of human emotions and the shared narratives that transcend geographical confines.

This journey through Azzawi’s transformation into a literary artist during the 1990s to the present is as much a tribute to his creative genius as it is a testament to Lebanon’s enduring influence on his oeuvre.

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Untitled/ The Bridge: Khalil Hawi, 1989 Gouache on paper; acrylic on paperboard 39.5 x 29.5 x 3 cm Private collection, KSA

THE BRIDGE: KHALIL HAWI, 1989

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THE BRIDGE: KHALIL HAWI, 2014 It is enough for me to/ have the children of my comrades. Their love is bread and wine.

From the harvest/ I have provisions equal to the day and can anticipate the feast of harvest whenever a new light shines/ in my village.

I have never been in love/ with the dead.

Neither with perfumery, gold,/ wine and treasures.

A wizened bat is born/ out of such love.

Where is He who destroys, and gives life?

Translated into English by Diana Der Hovanessian and Lena Jayyusi (1987)

(Right) Homage to Khalil Hawi, 2014, acrylic on wood, 260 x 85 x 60 cm (Above) The Bridge: Khalil Hawi, 2014, gouache, watercolour and ink on paper; acrylic on fabric-covered paperboard 47 x 37 x 2 cm

‫وكفاين أن يل أطفال أترايب‬ ‫ويل يف حهبم مخر وزاد‬ ‫من حصاد احلقل عندي ما كفاين‬ ،‫وكفاين أن يل عيد احلصاد‬ ‫أن يل عيدًا وعيد‬ ّ ّ ‫لكام‬ ‫ضوأ يف القرية مصباح جديد‬ ّ ‫غري‬ ‫أيّن ما محلت احلب لملوىت‬ ‫ مخرًا كنوز‬،‫ ذهبًا‬،‫طيوبًا‬ ‫طفلهم يولد خفاشًا جعوز‬ ‫أين من يفين وحييي ويعيد‬ ً ‫يت ّوىل خلقه طف‬ ‫ال جديد؟‬

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(Above and opposite, bottom) Le Rêveur de Terre (Dreamer of the Earth): Nadia Tuéni, 1990, gouache on paper; acrylic on paperboard 39.5 x 29.5 x 3 cm

DREAMER OF THE EARTH: NADIA TUÉNI 1990

(Opposite, top) Untitled (Nadia Tuéni), 1990, gouache on paper, 60 x 112 cm

‫ يصري‬،‫ احلجر يصري خزبًا‬.‫احلجر ينطق‬ .‫ هنيائ ملن له أجنحة‬،‫ يصري احلجر مساء‬،‫نبيذًا‬ .‫ ملرة أوىل أمضك هكذا‬.‫ مك أحبك الليلة‬،‫آه‬ ‫ أكون ملرة أوىل‬،‫أتعرى فيك‬ .‫أنا هذا احلجر– المساء‬ ّ ‫ جسدك‬،‫عيناك‬ .‫لكه طفل يسبح يف املاء‬ .‫ املاء والطفل‬،‫أحب الطفل واملاء‬ ،‫ويف القفر من سوى احلجر يؤنس‬ ‫ورمغ قساوته يسند ويرحي‬ .‫فلتكن لنا هذه اللحظة‬ ...‫ جناحاها حنن‬،‫احلجر مساء‬ Translated into Arabic by Henri Farid Saab (1983)

That you say simply [earth] so I listen head hung low in your words frail Earth fava bent to spring colour of colour infinitely [earth] Translated into English by Yasser Elhariry (2023)

Que tu dises Simplement la [terre] Moi j’écoute La tête enfouie dans tes mots Terre fragile Fève bossue au printemps couleur de couleur infiniment [terre]

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PRAYERS IN A TEMPLE: YUSUF AL-KHAL, 1990

Prayers in a Temple: Yusuf Al-Khal, 1990 Gouache on paper; acrylic on fabric-covered paperboard 39.5 x 29.5 x 2.5 cm

The stone speaks. The stone becomes bread, becomes wine, becomes. The stone is the sky, lucky is the one who has wings.

Ah, how much I love you tonight.

For the first time I’ve embraced you like this.

I strip naked inside you - I am.

For the first time I am the stone - the sky.

Your eyes ... Your body is a child swimming in the water. I love the child and the water, the water and the child.

In the wilderness nothing is friendly except the stone, in spite of its roughness One lies on and is comfortable.

Let this moment be for us.

The stone is the sky and we are its wings...

Translated into English by Abdullah al-Udhari (included in artwork)

‫ يصري‬، ً ‫ احلجر يصري خزبا‬.‫احلجر ينطق‬ .‫ هنيائ ملن له أجنحة‬،‫ يصري احلجر مسا ًء‬،‫نبيذًا‬ .‫ مك أحبك الليلة‬،‫آه‬ .‫ملرة أوىل أمضك هكذا‬ .‫ أكون‬،‫أتعرى فيك‬ .‫ المساء‬-‫ملرة أوىل أنا هذا احلجر‬ ّ ‫ جسدك‬،‫عيناك‬ .‫لكه طفل يسبح يف املاء‬ .‫ املاء والطفل‬،‫أحب الطفل واملاء‬ ،‫ويف القفر من سوى احلجر يؤنس‬ ‫ورمغ قساوته‬ ‫يسند ويرحي‬ .‫فلتكن لنا هذه اللحظة‬ ...‫ جناحاها حنن‬،‫احلجر مساء‬

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EXCURSION ACROSS TIME: TALAL HAIDAR 1991

‫حلوة‬ ‫متل طلّوا العرب‬ ‫رح يوصلوا ع الشام‬ ‫وجك قبيلة بيعدت‬ ّ ‫ما وصال االسالم‬

Cute like Arab drives Coming to the Levant Your face Bai‘adat’s tribe Ain’t no Islam here Translated into English by Yasser Elhariry (2023)

Excursion Across Time: Talal Haidar, 1991 Hand-coloured lithograph on paper; acrylic and silkscreen on fabric-covered paperboard 39.5 x 29 x 3 cm, edition of 10

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DIA AL-AZZAWI: THE AVANT-GARDE OF THE BAGHDAD MODERN ART GROUP

BY CHARBEL DAGHER Dia al-Azzawi was twelve or thirteen years old when Jewad Selim launched the Baghdad Modern Art Group. The group’s artistic works, alongside the emergence of the “free verse” movement (as it was called), were the first cultural and artistic representations that captivated his interest in the world of art and culture. His connection with the group is certain, but this relation eventually led to separation, to another beginning: as soon as Azzawi’s artistic influence grew, along with his peers from the same generation he launched the New Vision Group, stressing that art in Iraq needs a different vision.

While the vision of the Baghdad Group was “cultural” (“civilised” and “modern” according to their initial statement), Azzawi was closer to its essence: presence and effectiveness in the present. His presence as an artist was closer to the one found in artists worldwide from the first half of the twentieth century, such as Picasso, Giacometti, Dubuffet, and others.

The artists of the Baghdad Group drew inspiration from the remnants of Mesopotamian arts (which have now come together in the first Iraqi Museum of Archaeology), while Azzawi studied archaeology at university and experienced archaeology just like a potter would with clay. Nevertheless, he was closer to the “leaps” of Iraqi aspirations towards liberation and closer to the fervent politics, with his approaches resembling Assyrian sculpture in form.

He would express, react, and engage with the pulse of the times, forming close friendships with those who seek the hidden voices of contemporary Iraq, like Muzaffar al-Nawab and Youssef al-Sayigh, among others.

To this dynamic Iraq, Azzawi’s attraction remained strong. He approached the poetry of friends to blend the angry anthem with the tormented scream: in the Land of Darkness, or the dispersion of Palestinian blood, or in The Martyr, which he elevated to the ranks of a legendary hero... he brought forth contemporary features from Ur, Sumer, and the side profile contours of Assyrian art...

We Remain Kids for a While and other poems: Charbel Dagher, 2016 Ink and watercolour on paper and foamboard; acrylic on plaster and wood 10 x 12 x 2 cm (length 156 cm; box 27 x 14 x 5 cm)

His pen, or his brush, never hesitate to shape what he believes is the duty of presence, the duty of representation, in the tragedies, crimes, and wars that obliterate the faces of the oppressed under the tanks of oppression and occupation, especially those whose features vanish in silenced crimes.

Azzawi has resided in London for over 45 years, without being in exile, as he carries his homeland (both in a narrow and expansive way) with him wherever he goes, wherever he paints. In this homeland he has crafted for himself, he leaves no friend in their prison, no convict in front of an execution platform, no girl waiting for her distant lover’s arrival in Baghdad every day...

This is the power that art bestows upon humans, history, and the present. For art, regardless of its subject, is a celebration of life; it is undeniably an elevated life.

It is the power nourished by experiences and hopes. It feeds off its ability to generate form and the emergence of colour that captivates the eye, making the human scene in the painting a beautiful sight.

Even pain, in art, can be beautiful!

Even the scream, in art, can be aesthetic!

So how can life not have its celebrations, joys, and banquets, in the expanses of bright colours and in the melodies of musical forms!

With Azzawi, in his art, there is an invitation to life from beneath the bloody rubble, and a scream for freedom in the clarity of sculptural construction.

It is a world of eternal passions.

It is the world of Dia al-Azzawi.

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‫حىت حني نكون صغارًا‬ ‫حيلو لنا أن نتصفح صور األمس‬ ‫ ونروي ما حصل لنا فهيا‬،‫نتذكر‬ ‫حني نكون صغارًا‬ ،‫حيلو لنا أن نكرب‬ ،‫أن من ّثل أدوارنا‬ ‫وما يفعله الشاعر‬ ‫يف طفوالت اللغة‬

We Remain Kids for a While and other poems: Charbel Dagher: We remain kids for a while We enjoy perusing the pages of yesterday: We remember, and recount what happened to us in them... …

When we are kids We enjoy growing up, Playing our roles, And that is what the poet does in the childhoods of language.

Translated into English by Frank Darwish (2022)

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Selections from the Poetry of Salah Stétié, 1995–1996 Gouache and ink on paper; acrylic on paperboard with cutouts 37.5 x 26 x 3.5 cm

SELECTIONS FROM THE POETRY OF SALAH STÉTIÉ, 1995-96

With a bird [...] passing And burning what Ruins remain Translated f rom Arabic into English by Yasser Elhariry (2023)

‫ مييض‬...‫مع طائر‬ ‫وحيرق ما‬ ‫ختلف من أثر‬

04

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Desert Rose, 2000–01, Acrylic on wood, 279 x 365 x 100 cm Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art, Doha

4

THE ARTIST BEYOND THE GALLERY

Today, Dia al-Azzawi remains deeply engaged with the heart and soul of Lebanon just as he is with the wider region. His recent works bear witness to his steadfast commitment to giving a voice to the voiceless as catastrophic events have continued to play out in cities in the Middle East, from Baghdad to Beirut and beyond. The Black Book of Beirut (2020), for example, is a moving reflection on the devastating 4th August Beirut Port explosion, an event that shook the nation to its core. The limited use of colour – a sombre black palette with a red handprint – echoes the artist’s much earlier work A Witness of Our Times (1972), as if reminding us of tragedy’s power to haunt us through the ages and across borders, and of mankind’s inability to learn from the past.

As an artist that believes in the importance of being present and engaged with the now, Azzawi is naturally a relentless experimenter with an openness to innovation. The artist’s journey into the world of wooden sculpture and furniture design, which began in the early 1990s, is the fruit of this. His first foray into this medium saw him collaborating with an Egyptian carpenter in Doha, resulting in the creation of Azzawi’s earliest wardrobes and a large sculpture called Desert Rose (2000–01), both made from painted wood. This experience marked the beginning of his exploration of the intricate relationship between art and utility. In 2006, the introduction of polyester resin into his artistic toolkit marked a significant milestone. This versatile medium, which he used to create monumental sculptures and a wide range of design objects, including chairs, became a hallmark of his work, encapsulating the intersection of form, function, and aesthetics.

The next chapter in this artistic journey unfolded in Lebanon. A meeting with Michel Kurban, facilitated by mutual friend Badr El-Hage, at the former’s residence in Dhour El Choueir. Kurban, an artisan who thrived away from the limelight, resonated with Azzawi’s vision. Together, they embarked on a creative collaboration that birthed not only painted sculptures, but also limited-edition furniture marked

by Azzawi’s trademark palette and abstract shapes.

These functional artworks were a visual embodiment of Azzawi’s dedication to experimentation and his belief in bridging the past with the contemporary.

Azzawi’s move into functional objects was not only about pushing artistic boundaries, but also about reaching people, touching their lives, and even shaping their taste. This belief in art as a medium to connect with people beyond gallery walls is also reflected in the artist’s series of posters related to the October Revolution in Baghdad (2019). In contrast to the poster art in the 1960s and 1970s, today’s digital age automatically carries such images beyond the streets to a ready audience of smartphone and computer users.

A monument designed for the public and a permanent testament to Azzawi’s relationship with Lebanon are combined in Nabu Museum, located near Batroun to the north of Beirut. Amid this inimitable Azzawi-designed structure, echoes of the past harmonise with the present, reflecting the artist’s own journey as he continues to push the boundaries of artistic expression, preserve memory and inspire dialogue beyond borders.

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BEING DIA AL-AZZAWI AN EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH SELECTIONS MAGAZINE From his early artistic influences to his enduring commitment to the power of the arts, through which he shines a light on injustice and creates cultural dialogue beyond borders and gallery walls, Selections magazine asked Dia al-Azzawi to share personal memories and reflections from his decades-long career as a pioneer of Arab art.

Dia al-Azzawi photographed by Alejandro Arango, 2016

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Plenty has been written about your life as an artist, but what can you share of your personal life?

After I lost my wife in 2008, my daughter moved outside of London, so I became very occupied with my work. For example, I use my home as if it was a hotel, just as a place to sleep, and even at the weekend I would do the same. Normally, I prefer to leave the house very early. In summer, by six or seven o’clock in the morning, I’m in the studio and I spend most of my time there. I have also been travelling a lot more.

During the summer I spend time in Lebanon in the mountains with my friend Badr, or I go to Jordan, where I work in my studio there.

Can you share a moment from childhood when your passion for drawing was first ignited?

I was very interested in copying work from the Egyptian magazine Rose al-Yusuf, which always had a lot of nice illustrations by various Egyptian artists. In 1956 I began attending al-Markaziyya school, which had a large art studio. I showed the teacher my work and he liked it.

And then he said, “Why do you draw these kinds of things? I would prefer it if you could do some drawings from your surroundings, for example, of your family.”

So, I started doing that kind of work. I used to go to the studio a lot and I began working with watercolours, mainly, during that period. That year, there was a big demonstration because of the Suez Canal crisis, and I was part of a group of students that was expelled because of our involvement in it. Two months later, the government decided to quieten things down by suggesting that King Faisal II would visit two schools, one of which was al-Markaziyya. That was when the school asked me to come back because it was known that the king loved painting and they wanted me to be present during his visit. The king came with three

or four of his people, and he admired my painting of Arabs in everyday attire. He shared some comments on it with the headmaster and left. One month later, the headmaster told me that the Ministry of Culture had decided to give this painting as a gift to the king and that we would go together to present it. On the way to the palace, the headmaster kept nagging me, telling me not to address the king as ‘Ustadh’ (sir) but to use his correct title. We arrived and entered a very small room. The king said to me, “I like your work, and I suggest that after you finish your schooling, you go to Rome [to study art]”. I said, “Thank you, Ustadh!”, and I left with a gift of a watch with his photo. And of course, the next year, the revolution happened, the king was executed, and the dream to go to Rome was over.

What can you share about your university years?

At university, I became part of the studio for Hafidh Druby, one of the very well-known artists of that time.

In my first year, I participated in a student union exhibition, which was how I met Mahmoud Sabri. He liked my work, which at that time was very obviously influenced by his own work, and said, “I hope you will continue”. In my second year, I decided since I was studying archaeology only in the morning, that I would register with the Institute of Fine Arts in the afternoon.

And that’s what I did. What I really feel is important is that in the morning I learned a lot about the history of Iraq, and all its civilisations, and in the evening I studied something in contrast, which was European. At the institute, I was a student of Faeq Hassan for five years.

What was the background to your Towards the New Vision manifesto?

It was a time when many young Iraqi artists returned from abroad and when many government-sponsored cultural centres opened. This created opportunities for these artists to have exhibitions. Maybe it was my generation who started the one-man show because society was not really open to art before this. When I saw Rafa Nasiri’s exhibition of prints he had done while he was in China, the fantastic exhibition by Ismail Fattah, who had been in Italy, or Kadhim Haidar who had returned from London, it was completely different to what we knew in Iraq at that time. All of this pushed us in a way to become dreamers more than our teachers had been.

(Clockwise from top) Dia al-Azzawi with his daughter, Tala Azzawi-White, Scrubs Lane Studio, 2014 Kerstin al-Azzawi photographed by Waddah Faris, London, 1983 Dia al-Azzawi with his eldest grandson, Freddie Azzawi-White, Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology, 2022

I heard that there would be a cultural conference in Cairo, and I suggested to my artist friends to take part in this conference and to draft a manifesto.

Even though the conference didn’t happen, I don’t like to cancel anything, so we thought to publish it in Baghdad and arrange a small group exhibition.

I think my idea was to be very clear on our stand towards Palestine – this was very important for us – but also to talk about our civilisation and how to use our heritage in a way that we can build a movement which belongs to us at the same time as being part of the world. I felt that Iraqi art was not the right term; we had to talk about Arab art, because Iraq was very small. Maybe this was partly influenced by the open society of Beirut and the knowledge of other artists, as well as the Ba‘ath party being replaced by a new government that was very tolerant.

What memories do you have of Yusuf Al-Khal, who played a pivotal role in your first exhibitions in Beirut?

I think Yusuf was open-minded and intellectual. He was a pioneer in supporting Arab artists, not because of their flag and their passport but for their art. I can also say this about the Kuwaiti gallerist Ghazi Sultan. He was a young architect who had a very small space and he managed to have exhibitions featuring many Arab artists, almost like a club. He had a lot of f riends, but even if they weren’t there on the opening night, he would reserve the paintings for them, with all their names. Today in Kuwait, there are many families that have an incredible collection of Arab artists f rom the end of the 1960s and beginning of the 1970s. Nowadays, everyone talks about Arab art, but most of them were not even born when Sultan and Khal suggested this.

My relationship with Yusuf Al-Khal was limited because my visits to Beirut were not long, and I chose instead to spend these days with Waddah Faris, who

was an interesting cultural and artistic activist. He was an instigator on more than one level, especially in art. He was the first to contribute to introducing the Lebanese artistic and cultural community to other Arab artists through his writings in Hiwar magazine and his exhibitions at Contact Gallery. He was an amazing graphic designer, who disagreed and quarrelled with many Lebanese and Arab artists, especially the Iraqis. Still, this rivalry did not lead to a rift; he creatively transformed Arab artists into a part of the diverse Lebanese milieu. After many years, my relationship with him returned to what it had been in Beirut, when I was a major contributor to the exhibitions he held for Arab artists in the gallery he opened in Paris. He is the epitome of the creativity and richness of Lebanon in the 1970s.

How did you become interested in posters as an art form?

At the beginning of the 1970s, I became aware of Polish art through the art magazine Projekt (founded in 1955); their posters movement had a great impact on me and many of my generation. This was helped at the time by the Ministry of Information, through the design department, which was supervised by well-known artists, including Hashim Samarchi, Yahyha al-Sheikh and others, who produced a wonderful collection of posters during al-Wasiti Festival, which was the first group gathering in which artists from different Arab countries met. Credit goes to the minister at the time, Shafiq al-Kamali, who suggested the meeting in 1972 that brought me together as secretary of the Iraqi Artists’ Association and Ismail Fattah as its president.

We presented him with a vision for an artistic festival like al-Marbid Poetry Festival, which was held locally in Basra. We sent him the proposal, but the arts department asked for a year to achieve it, so he had no choice but to ask me and a group of artists from my generation to achieve it in a shorter time, which is what happened. This turned out to be the first support for Arab art, followed by other activities later.

110 In 1976 you moved to London. How did this come about?

The year before I moved to London, I was in Salzburg for one month. At that time, I learned fantastic information about printmaking, and I managed to produce around 20 prints in one month. I was awarded the first prize by the academy, so they sent me to Rome for one month. The following year, I visited London because they had the World of Islam Festival, and my brother was studying in Manchester, so that also encouraged me to go. At that time, I was already thinking of leaving Iraq. However, I went back to Iraq and had to join the army for national service, for which I spent about six months in the north of the country. When I returned to Baghdad, I had an exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art. At that time, I was also supervising the Ethnographic Museum, formerly the house of Gertrude Bell, but I was in conflict with the head of the Department of Antiquities and Heritage – a close relative of Saddam Hussein – because we couldn’t get the money as

(Top) Catalogue designed by Dia al-Azzawi for the Baghdad International Poster Exhibition, 1979 (Above) Tale of a Memory No. 6, 1975 Etching on paper, 69.5 x 50 cm, AP3 (experimental print)

quickly as we wanted to finish the job. And because of this, I felt he was not happy with me. I told him I would like to leave Iraq to study abroad and, maybe because he didn’t like me that much, he said, “Okay, get the university acceptance, and then I can assure you that I will arrange this for you”. I managed to get the papers I needed and went to the department responsible for overseas education, the head of which had been an archaeology student in the same year as me. After he signed my documents, I persuaded him to give me the file, and I happily left. This way I managed to avoid paying the 2000 dinars that was the contract for leaving Iraq. At that time, I was part of the group responsible for following up on a government project to build an opera house. We used to have an official meeting with the Ministry of Information every three weeks. I left Iraq on a Friday, and I was supposed to take part in a meeting the next day. The minister at that time, Tariq Aziz, asked after me and was told I had resigned and left Iraq. He couldn’t believe it because in those days the government was not accepting any resignations, and it was not easy to leave.

When I arrived in London, I stayed in a student hostel.

Tariq Aziz later visited London in an official capacity and managed to get my address and asked me to meet him at his hotel. I went there and he was furious.

“Why did you resign? What are you doing here?” he asked me. My excuse was that I wanted to study. He said, “Would you like to work in the new Iraqi Cultural Centre that we are going to open in London as you are good at this kind of thing?” I said, “Fine, but I want to work in my own way without any involvement with the government”. He said, “Do what you want.” This is how I became part of a fantastic four years, during which I managed to use my involvement in the Iraqi Cultural Centre to arrange a lot of exhibitions with Arab artists.

I was also keen to promote Arab art internationally, which led to the Baghdad International Poster Exhibition (1979), which included two categories: the Struggle of the Third World for Cultural and Political

Liberation; and Palestine – a Homeland Denied, and the Third World Graphic Biennale (1980). Both exhibitions had an international impact: a trilingual article about the poster exhibition was featured in the Swiss magazine Graphis (203, 1979/80, pp. 242–49) and the Polish magazine Projekt, and the Museum of Modern Art in New York requested to purchase the winning posters; however, their acquisition request did not happen because the exhibition went to Baghdad and the posters never returned.

In those days did you think you would be going back to Iraq?

No. In a way, I was living between the two countries, hoping that I could come and go without any problem. But the last time I visited Iraq with a group of artists that included the Algerian [Rachid] Koraichi to attend the opening of the Third World Graphic Biennale [see above], I arrived on a Friday and by Monday the war with Iran had started. I thought that this was a disaster because it meant I would have to go back into the army. I managed to convince the ministry that I had to return with these artists to escort them to Jordan and that I would be back after that. They accepted, so I left, and since that time I have been living joyfully in London!

How has your work been influenced by moving to London?

I began working in acrylic because of the weather here. I hate it, but what can I do? With oils, you cannot continue working until they’re dry, and this could take one month here. It became too difficult.

Whereas in Baghdad, you could take an oil painting onto the roof, and it would dry in a couple of days.

When I came to London, I also had the opportunity to do a lot of printmaking. I started working with a studio in Chelsea and produced the first collection of The Seven Golden Odes (1978). This was my first experience of silkscreen; previously, I had known only etching. During that period, I met Hugh Stoneman, who became a very dear friend and who had a big printmaking studio. I produced many works with him, including We Are Not Seen, But [as] Corpses: The Massacre of Sabra and Shatila Camps (1983) and The Thousand and One Nights (1986).

Can you recall a particular moment when you had a creative breakthrough?

No, but maybe something very important for me was that, when the Ba‘ath party came to power in June 1963, I went to prison for three months. At that time, most intellectuals and artists were either communist or on the left side politically. For the Ba‘ath party, anyone who was on the left was considered a

(Above) Dia al-Azzawi in his London studio, 1981 (Below) Dia al-Azzawi at Hugh Stoneman Print Studio, London, ca. 1980s

112 communist. When I left prison, an unbelievable moment, I changed my birthday to that date (24th April). During those years, life was so harsh, a lot of my generation left: some came to Beirut, some became involved with the PLO, others with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. Through contact with friends who were with the PFLP, I produced some drawings for al-Hadaf magazine, and I become more involved with the Palestinian issue. Maybe part of this was a reaction to what had happened to me in Baghdad during those three months, but also people I knew from Beirut, such as Waddah Faris, who was an activist. I met Ghassan Kanafani only two months before he was killed. This is how I become more aware of the Palestinian cause, because of my relationships with a lot of Palestinians. Even when I was in Kuwait for my exhibition, the most active intellectuals were Palestinian at that time. This is why when I had the opportunity to do silkscreen printing, I did the Tel al-Za‘atar collection (The Body’s Anthem, 1978, published in 1979) on the assumption that we would do an edition of 100 and try to raise money for the camps at that time. And I did the same for the Sabra and Shatila etchings in 1983.

“I feel very lucky when I compare myself with others in my generation, particularly from Iraq. I had a lot of opportunities to challenge myself and do something different.”

Naji al-Ali was another Palestinian who had an impact on your work. What do you recall of him?

I met Naji al-Ali, whose work I knew well, when I held my solo exhibition in Kuwait in 1983, where I displayed Sabra and Shatila Massacre. The Palestinians were the focus of the artistic and cultural climate at that time. I spent many beautiful days with him: he was f riendly and sincere in his feelings and in his criticism of the PLO. Through this harsh criticism, he tried to bring attention to the catastrophe surrounding the Palestinian issue. Later I saw him when he first arrived in London, exiled f rom Kuwait under pressure f rom Palestinian politicians. His assassination was a shocking image of the violence of a leader who had very bad judgement of the events around him.

Many years later, I was very happy to transform his hero Handala into a monumental sculpture. In my Doha retrospective (2016–17) I took the opportunity to give him a unique presence with a sculptural work four metres high, displayed next to Sabra and Shatila Massacre.

Comparisons have been drawn between Picasso’s monumental work Guernica and your Sabra and Shatila Massacre. What is your take on this?

I started working on the original work straight away when I heard the unbelievable news. I did not think about the size or about the material. I used paper I had bought f rom Paris backed with linen, which meant it had strength. I used felt-tip colour, which was not really practical, but I didn’t think about this.

I just kept working and it ended up around the scale of Guernica, even though I didn’t have Guernica as an image or as a size in my mind. I was just very active because I knew the area [of the massacre], and somebody had sent me a recording of a nurse talking about the aftermath of the killings.

How has solidarity with the Palestinian cause impacted your career – and does the cause need art now more than ever?

The issues related to Palestine, first, are a moral attitude that rejects injustice, not only in its political dimension, but also in terms of cultural distortion and the aggressive work to transform components of society into divided colonies fighting among themselves, which is what we see every day in Palestine. The impact of this stance often makes me reluctant to compromise and take neutral positions towards what is going on around me. Iraq, post2003, is another example of this: there is an urgent need for art to be present in the face of programmed destruction, distortion of national identity, theft or falsification of heritage, and the sectarian rewriting of history.

What inspired your unconventional approach to illustrating poetry?

When I was studying archaeology, my teacher, Taha Baqir, a prominent archaeologist who translated The Epic of Gilgamesh from Akkadian into Arabic, gave me some old texts to read and I thought they were fantastic. I did some drawings about Gilgamesh and that opened the way for me to do something else, to look to the Sufi poets and do illustrations rather than creating something in parallel. As I have said before, I prefer to listen to poetry rather than read it, and particular poetry actually creates a kind of fantastic music. For example, when I did the work of Tel al-Za‘atar, the text of Mahmoud Darwish was amazing, and this gave me the opportunity to go further visually, to create something related to sound rather than to text.

However, our institutions are not very creative. About 15 years ago, I met with The Sultan Bin Ali Al Owais Cultural Foundation and suggested, “Since you have a yearly poetry prize, why don’t you ask artists each year to work with the poem and publish it in a limited edition?” They started laughing and said, “We are Bedouin and not sophisticated enough”. I thought, “For God’s sake, start being sophisticated!” This is the main problem: without creativity, there is a kind of border between poetry, literature and the visual arts.

For example, my experience with Hashim Samarchi and Rafa Nasiri, when we produced three poetry posters on the occasion of the Mirbad Poetry Festival (1971), should have been transformed into an event that accompanies any poetry event. In our day, poetry was not read in closed halls for a specific group of society but was rather a manifestation of rich imagination linked to the most important cultural history in Arab civilisation and to daily events. I regarded the poster as the greatest tool that Arab art needed for two reasons: the first is to be close to its community through an inexpensive means by which it can change and develop society; secondly, it is a daily challenge to create topics capable of influencing society in general. However, this experience did not find artistic and cultural institutions capable of accepting it due to the creative limitations of their supervisors.

How does your move into furniture design fit into your artistic vision?

I feel very lucky when I compare myself with others in my generation, particularly from Iraq. I had a lot of opportunities to challenge myself and do something different. It is important to put more emphasis on these kinds of things because we need to have a society in which more than one person creates something beautiful. An architect cannot create a very joyful city [alone]; he needs to have other designers be involved and different kinds of work.

Otherwise, it would be like a prison. When I came to London, I started seeing a lot of exhibitions of design.

I thought, “Why not create something which can be used?” When you look back at Arab art history, we don’t have that many artists who managed to create something that can be used. Also, this can be part of changing society’s taste, in a sense.

Arabic Notes No. 3, 1979 Acrylic on canvas, 120 x 100 cm Delair Shaker Collection, Amman

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Can we draw a parallel between the furniture and posters as the artist connecting with his audience beyond the gallery walls?

For me, the poster was the most important tool to create a dialogue with society while trying to influence their taste and include them in something joyful. In Iraq, at the beginning of the 1970s, encouraged by the government’s willingness to spend money and to print, we managed to produce an incredible amount of posters by different artists. In Beirut, however, when you go back to the older posters about Palestine, these were more political tools and less creative. Waddah Faris, on the other hand, had five beautiful posters using an image by other artists, including one of mine and one of Mohammed Ghani Hikmet. This work would be worth a fortune today if somebody can manage to find one of them, as posters are normally produced in a quantity of 50, 80 or 100, but then they disappear because nobody kept these posters and in Arab countries nobody cares about archives.

We cannot change the world. That’s a fact. But at least we were very satisfied with what we had as a tool. We were proud to meet other artists, to be Arab artists, not simply Iraqi. And the nice thing nowadays is that when everyone talks about being a collector, they have become a collector of Arab art. This is a move in the right direction.

(Opposite page) Dia al-Azzawi making Ruins of Two Cities: Mosul and Aleppo at Enki Ceramics Atelier, Amman, 2020 (Above) Dia and his London studio manager, Sargon Gewargis, standing in front of Mission of Destruction, 2007 (Below) Emigration, 1981 Oil on canvas, 180 x 200 cm (tetraptych, upper panels 90 x 100 cm; lower panels 90 x 90 cm)

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WOODEN SCULPTURE In the 1980s, Dia al-Azzawi ventured into creating painted wooden sculptures, marking a significant shift in his artistic practice. These sculptures were characterised by their fusion of traditional craftsmanship with contemporary artistic expression. This innovative phase in his career showcased his versatility as an artist, bridging the gap between painting and sculpture while continuing to convey powerful narratives through his unique artistic language.

(Left) Dia al-Azzawi with Obelisk, 1982, acrylic on wood, 220 x 60 x 40 cm (approx.)

(Opposite, top right) Window, 1996 Acrylic on wood, 33.5 x 32.5 cm

(Below) Lonely Man’s Dream, 1991 Acrylic on wood, 6 x 9 x 12 cm

(Opposite, bottom) Desert Rose, 2000–01 Acrylic on wood, 279 x 365 x 100 cm Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art, Doha

(Opposite, top left) The Crane, 1992 Acrylic on wood, 58 x 48 x 31 cm

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THE ART OF FURNITURE In 2000, Azzawi met an Egyptian carpenter who worked in the court of Sheikh Hassan in Doha, whom he asked to realise designs for a wooden artwork (Desert Rose, see previous page) and tall cupboards. Azzawi then painted the wooden designs, thereby blurring the line between his artwork and design practices. Azzawi moved from wood to polyester resin for colourful sculptures in the mid-2000s, which was also reflected in his furniture design.

Two cupboards designed by Dia al-Azzawi, 2000 Acrylic on wood 220 x 50 x 50 cm (approx.)

(Top left) Dia al-Azzawi making the model for O Blessed Tigris, 2006 Terracotta, 52 x 12 x 12 cm (Bottom left) O Blessed Tigris (small), 2006 Polyester resin, 58 x 13 x 14 cm (Right) O Blessed Tigris (extra large), 2006 Polyester resin, 600 x 140 cm On display in the Great Court of the British Museum during the exhibition Word into Art, 2006

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A STORY OF CRAFT In 2018, Mark Hachem Gallery in Beirut hosted an exhibition of furniture design

by Dia al-Azzawi at Beirut Design Fair. The limited-edition creations on show were crafted in Lebanon in collaboration with Michel Kurban, based on Azzawi’s digital designs produced with Illustrator software.

Bird Obelisk, 2015, acrylic on wood, 300 x 70 x 40 cm

(Above) Michel Kurban workshop, Lebanon, 2015 (Below) Credenza, 2016/2017, acrylic on wood, 90 x 140 x 50 cm, edition of 2

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REFLECTIONS OF A REGION In more recent years, due to the brain drain, instability and interruption of supply chains in Lebanon, Azzawi found himself compelled to change the location of his manufacturing of furniture and wooden design objects to Italy. This was not a decision taken lightly and can be seen as emblematic of the issues faced across the region, where individuals and businesses grapple with adversity and the constant search for stability in an ever-changing world.

(Opposite, top) Minibar No. 2, 2022 Marquetry on wood, 165 x 120 x 55 cm, edition of 3 (Opposite, bottom) Credenza No. 2, 2021 Marble and marquetry on wood, 74 x 280 x 50 cm, edition of 2 (Right) Humidor No. 1, 2022, marquetry on wood, 16 x 40 x 25 cm, edition of 3

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FROM FURNITURE TO ARCHITECTURE In 2018, Nabu Museum opened in north Lebanon, featuring a structural design by Mahmoud Obaidi with a façade by Dia al-Azzawi. According to Nabu Museum cofounder Jawad Adra, “Dia al-Azzawi and Mahmoud Obaidi’s collaboration resulted in the creation of Azzawi’s most monumental sculpture, a landmark which will serve a communal and educational role.”

(Top right) Dia al-Azzawi, Mahmoud Obaidi and Jawad Adra during construction of Nabu Museum, 2018 (Bottom) Preliminary ideas for Nabu Museum featuring image of exisiting wooden door designed by Dia al-Azzawi for Bayt al-Salam, Amman, 2014

Invitation for the opening of Nabu Museum in September 2018, featuring the Nabu logo and façade of the museum designed

by Dia al-Azzawi, topped by the sculpture Ford 71 by Mahmoud Obaidi, 2016

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A NEW HORIZON FOR CULTURE (Left) Façade designed by Dia al-Azzawi for Nabu Museum (Right) Badr El-Hage and Dia al-Azzawi, 1980s

In an exclusive interview with Selections, Badr El-Hage, co-founder of Lebanon’s Nabu Museum, shares the pioneering vision behind one of Lebanon’s newest cultural landmarks and its enduring partnership with renowned artist Dia al-Azzawi.

What inspired you to establish Nabu Museum, and what was your vision for the museum?

The idea of establishing a museum was discussed for several years among myself, Jawad Adra, and Fidaa Jdeed. Initially, we considered the possibility of constructing the museum in Beirut or on a hill near Balamand University. However, due to the high cost of land and the saturation of museums in Beirut, we decided to build Nabu Museum in the north, specifically in the al-Hiri area along the coast. The land was available, and the initial architectural design differed significantly from the structure we see today.

The entire North of Lebanon lacked a museum and had very few cultural activities. Consequently, we began preparations to obtain official approvals.

Can you share the story of Dia al-Azzawi’s involvement in the museum?

I have been friends with Azzawi since the mid-1970s, when he moved permanently to London. I had discussed with him the idea of a museum. He was very enthusiastic about the idea and suggested Iraqi artist Mahmoud Obaidi to work with him on designing the project, as the principal architects of the structure.

Both Azzawi and Obaidi collaborated closely and explored several design approaches. They mutually decided that the museum’s structure should harmonise with the surrounding landscape. Consequently, they determined that the structure should be constructed using metal, and after a few months of design work, they oversaw the construction process.

The museum’s design and execution involved the collective efforts of several engineers. The structure takes the form of a distinctive rectangular cuboid, easily recognisable for its structural clarity and its intrinsic connection to geometric principles and ideas of perfection. To set the museum apart from its surroundings, Azzawi treated the building as a sculpture, which had the most significant visual impact. His design was influenced by his interest in calligraphy as abstract semiotic elements. As a result, Obaidi’s decision to use weathering steel for the facade added to the building’s sculptural quality. Obaidi’s vision, which combined creativity with a practical understanding of architecture, led to the creation of such a distinctive building.

Initially, the intended material was stone, due to its widespread availability, and concrete as an alternative.

However, for the artist-architects, concrete and steel were unusual for the region and served as sculptural mediums, making their use much more intriguing than other materials. Weathering steel also had a connection to the sea, as its colour changed with relative humidity.

The final selection of materials, concrete and weathering steel, held both poetic and practical significance, as they defined the building’s form, shape, and colour simultaneously. The goal was to create a structure that would stand out from the surrounding landscape without disrupting it. Therefore, the main entrance features a glass facade that spans the entire length of the building, offering views through the museum to the sea and horizon.

How do Dia al-Azzawi’s artworks complement the museum’s collection of archaeological artifacts?

We have a collection of both Azzawi’s and Obaidi’s works from various points of their careers. Needless to say, Azzawi’s contribution to modern Arab art is huge. He mentored young Arab artists, particularly the Iraqi artists. Azzawi’s involvement in designing Nabu represents a significant milestone in his career, and his influence is deeply appreciated by young Iraqi artists who endured hardships before the occupation of Iraq.

Following the occupation and the emigration of most of the Iraqi artists to Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, Europe and the Gulf, he continued communicating with every one of them. He helped them in organising exhibitions throughout the Arab world. I want to confirm that Azzawi’s contribution to the design of Nabu is part of his activities throughout many decades in promoting modern Arab art that reflects the suffering and hopes of the Arabs. He dedicated a lot of his works to the cause of the Palestinian people, and in later stages to the sufferings of the Iraqis under the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein and the crimes of the occupation.

Nabu Museum has always been a collective vision that will continue to evolve and adapt to changing realities in the future. As stated by Azzawi, “It has the potential to create a programme that will promote a new kind of pan-Arab identity in art through regional dialogue and innovative residencies. At the same time, its activities could target a more global audience through joint ventures with international cultural institutions.

However, the primary objective is for it to generate original and dynamic ideas independently, which can then be shared with all those engaged in creative pursuits across the region and beyond”.

Collaboration between contemporary artists and museums can be a delicate balancing act. Can you describe how you’ve managed to maintain this balance while showcasing both archaeological treasures and contemporary art within the museum?

Nabu is a platform for different mediums of art: modern, archaeological, photographic, ceramics, to name a few. It is our aim to combine all these forms of human expressions and present them to the public.

Thus far, our vision has been successfully implemented.

We exhibited modern art, photography, old printed materials, and more. Our exhibits were positively received by the general public. Most of our exhibitions were produced in consultation with Azzawi.

Nabu’s permanent collection offers a glimpse into the rich and extensive history of the Levant and Mesopotamia, while the museum provides a vibrant space for practising artists. It fosters creative dialogue, cultivates a sense of social and political community, and promotes art created by regional artists who are deeply rooted in local histories or traverse various traditions, all with the intent of exploring shared histories and contributing to the development of their artistic expressions.

Which are your personal favourite highlights among the archaeological artifacts and contemporary art that the museum showcases?

From the Bronze Age to the Islamic era, each object tells a story and inspires modern artists; therefore, it is difficult to choose one object as a favourite. My preferred exhibition was Beirut 1840 - 1918, which was a survey of the city of Beirut during that period. We exhibited hundreds of photographs, maps and plans. The exhibition was a unique one, being the first of its kind in the region. It was accompanied by the publishing of two volumes that offer an immense quantity of information about the city and its development during the final period of Ottoman rule.

What has been the reception to the museum so far?

The museum received very positive feedback, and over time, the number of visitors has increased. Thousands of people from all over Lebanon, as well as many Arab and foreign expatriates, called their parents to encourage them to visit Nabu when they visited our country. Despite the very negative economic situation in Lebanon, where many have lost their savings and transportation costs are high, thousands still visited the museum. We implemented a policy of free entry, with the aim of disseminating knowledge and beauty in a country grappling with political and economic crises.

Looking ahead, what plans and strategies do you have in place to ensure Nabu Museum’s sustainability?

The future should be bright; we do not harbour feelings of despair. Life continues because our land has endured so much. Despair is not in our vocabulary.

We have a moral and national obligation to light a candle in this darkness. We are planning a significant exhibition, the first of its kind, featuring the works of the late Lebanese artist Saliba Douwaihy. Nabu has acquired a large collection of his works, which will be exhibited for the first time. We have also initiated certain tourism projects that we believe will contribute to the museum’s sustainability.

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A SPACE FOR CREATION After Nabu Museum opened, as part of the wider cultural aims of the institution, Dia al-Azzawi and Mahmoud Obaidi founded a working art studio to allow them to make monumental artworks, and with the aim of inviting other artists to collaborate on various projects.

(Below) False Witnesses, 2019 Acrylic on canvas, 270 x 800 cm (tetraptych, each panel 270 x 200 cm) (Right) Dia al-Azzawi and Moataz Hagi, manager of the joint Azzawi-Obaidi studio at Nabu Museum, 2023

130 (Top left) Ultimate Fantasy, 2019, acrylic on canvas, 270 x 400 cm (Top right) Hidden Gift, 2019 Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 230 cm (Bottom) Face of a Stranger, 2019, acrylic on canvas, 180 x 230 cm (Opposite) Watching Over Others, 2019, acrylic on canvas, 230 x 180 cm

NABU STUDIO WORKS, 2019

132 Posters designed by Dia al-Azzawi, 2019–20

OCTOBER REVOLUTION POSTERS

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THE WILL OF LIFE In 2019, COVID-19 paused the activity at Nabu as the studio closed. The pandemic also exacerbated political tensions across the Arab world, resulting in massive public protests in Iraq and Lebanon, which Dia al-Azzawi believes to be symptomatic of corruption across the region. He made several posters and other artworks in reaction to the violence endured by Iraqi citizens during the the protest movement known as the October Revolution (2019–21) and drew parallels with the concurrent protests in Lebanon. The poster shown below includes a line from The Will of Life by Abu al-Qasim al-Shabbi, which Azzawi made a daftar about in 1990.

(Opposite page, left) The Will of Life: Abu al-Qasim al-Shabbi, 1990 Gouache and China ink on paper; acrylic and collage on fabriccovered paperboard 39.5 x 29.5 x 3 cm (Right) From Baghdad to Beirut, October 2019 Digital design for poster (Left) Glory and Immortality to the Martyr, October 2019 Digital design for poster (Bottom) Mourning Ibn Thanwa, 2022, acrylic on canvas, 153 x 530 cm (diptych, each panel 153 x 265 cm)

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BEHIND THE BULLET HOLES The works Hidden Wishes and Seen on the Heights feature bullet holes, which have been present throughout Dia al-Azzawi’s work since 2009. Seen on the Heights is a poignant work, inspired by a particular tragedy during the 2019 uprising that the artist chose to enshrine in the dating of the work to the day rather than the year. As he explains, “The event which really bothered me and upset me greatly was a grainy video of a young man very happily just waving the Iraqi flag. Somebody said, ‘Shoot him’. And the next second, this guy was killed.

This makes me ask, ‘for what reason?’ And who is this guy who said, ‘Shoot him?’

There were groups of snipers sitting in buildings and trying to choose who to kill.

That’s how we ended up with 720 young individuals, predominantly impoverished Shi‘a, who rose up against the Shi‘a government seeking job opportunities for their future, who were killed without anyone asking – even until now – who were the people giving the orders to kill? Nobody has ever been held accountable or imprisoned for these events in Iraq.”

(Opposite, top) Seen on the Heights, 2019 Acrylic on canvas, 230 x 420 cm (Below) Hidden Wishes, 2019 Acrylic and oil pastel on canvas, 200 x 900 cm (triptych, each panel 200 x 300 cm)

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MOSUL: PANORAMA OF DESTRUCTION This work captures the aftermath of the Battle of Mosul that was fought between 2016 and 2017 when the Iraqi government forces and allied militias were pitted against Daesh. The tapestry features many faceless victims, symbolic of the hundreds of thousands that lost their lives, amid the ruins of architectural heritage and urban destruction. As Dia al-Azzawi explains, “I made the tapestry after I saw the governor of Mosul talking about all the sculptures in the Mosul museum, which are replicas and not original. I thought that if the governor has no idea what is in his city, then I have to do something, especially because of the two years I spent working there to put this beautiful museum together. I pieced together a lot of information from photos taken when the Iraqi army went in with other groups to clear the mess of the city. In the old part of Mosul, the army was bombing and Daesh was just killing, and the people who were unarmed, who had nothing to do with the government or with Daesh, were killed.”

(Left) Iraqi Book of Darkness (see pages 148–49) with Mosul: Panorama of Destruction in background, on display in Dia al-Azzawi: Painting Poetry at the Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology, Oxford, 15th December 2022–11th June 2023.

(Below) Mosul: Panorama of Destruction, 2017/2022 Cotton, acrylic, wool and ‘Trevira CS’ thread, 280 x 1000 cm Produced by Factum Arte 2022

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YEARS OF SHAME The work Years of Shame reflects what Dia al-Azzawi perceives as the vengeance mentality of the government in Iraq that spurred a cycle of violence: “There was a lot of killing and a lot of destruction of different mosques just because of this issue or that, as if brothers were killing brothers, without any sense of what was really happening”.

Years of Shame, 2022 Ink on paper, 80 x 200 cm

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REMEMBERING THE FORGOTTEN

(Top) Paradise of the Forgotten, 2023 Acrylic on canvas and polyester resin, 170 x 960 cm (tetraptych, each panel 170 x 240 cm; central figure 165 x 159 cm; each bird 20 x 9 x 6 cm) (Bottom left) Widows of the General’s Wars, 2023 Acrylic on canvas, 270 x 400 cm (Bottom right) Victims of the Waves, 2023 Acrylic on canvas, 100 x 80 cm

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DIA AL-AZZAWI: THE LUMINOUS FACE OF HUMANITY

BY CLAUDE LEMAND

In an exclusive interview, Selections magazine asks gallerist Claude Lemand to reflect on an almost threedecade relationship with Dia al-Azzawi and how he has played a role in ensuring that the artist’s work remains in the public eye.

Your relationship with Dia al-Azzawi was pivotal in bringing his works to a wider audience. How has this collaboration enriched your understanding of his artistic vision and the messages he aimed to convey?

For nearly three decades, the Claude Lemand Gallery has been proud to regularly showcase the works of Dia al-Azzawi, an artist who embodies positive modernity and envisions art as a contribution to universal happiness and the emergence of a new Arab civilisation that is in harmony with itself as well as other civilisations. Azzawi’s artistic journey is, in his own words, “part of the renaissance movement of Arab art, though it is universal in its dimension and intimately linked to the history and values of contemporary culture.”

He stands as a unique figure, dedicating over half a century of his artistic career to shedding light on the tragedies and struggles faced by the Palestinian people.

In 2003, in collaboration with Mahmoud Darwish, the Cité du Livre of Aix-en-Provence celebrated the 20th anniversary of his 1983 works related to Sabra and Shatila. Now, here we are, in 2023, celebrating the 40th anniversary of this emblematic work, right in the heart of the tragic events, and in the city that Azzawi has always loved: Beirut.

In 2018, after learning that I had loaned Azzawi’s We Are Not Seen, But [as] Corpses to the Picasso Museum, the Arab World Institute President, Jack Lang, said to me, “Come and exhibit Azzawi with us! The Arab World Institute is your home!”. I visited the Arab World Institute Museum and all its exhibition spaces and was surprised by the response of its managers: “No space is available for such an exhibition for two years, and besides, it needs to be funded”. I pointed out that the museum’s entrance

was empty and plunged into darkness and decided to take charge of the lighting system. I offered two portfolios to the museum and wrote a press release in French and Arabic. Eric Delpont curated a modest exhibition with beautiful signage, and we invited all the friends of my gallery and the Arab World Institute, headed by Leila Shahid. Contrary to the prejudices of those in charge, this powerful and committed contemporary art was greatly appreciated by the media and the numerous visitors.

This first exhibition sparked a tradition of organising guided tours, driven by my passion for sharing art – a passion that has given profound meaning to my life, I who escaped death and found therapy and happiness in a love of art. Shortly after, the agreement was concluded between us and Jack Lang, and we made a first donation of 1,300 works, unanimously accepted by the Arab World Institute Board of Directors on 17th June 2018.

Subsequent donations have followed on the occasion of each temporary exhibition, and which will have reached a total of more than 1,700 by the end of 2023.

In my essay [for the 2013 solo exhibition] Painting and Poetry, I delve into the intellectual, aesthetic, and material aspects of creating some of Dia al-Azzawi’s original and impactful works. I also recount the insights I have shared with journalists, speakers, and the visiting public regarding his art. As I’ve previously conveyed, “On the occasion of the Guernica exhibition at the Picasso Museum in Paris, masterful and historical works by the Iraqi artist Dia al-Azzawi are to be discovered at the entrance of the Arab World Institute Museum: all nine plates of We Are Not Seen, But [as] Corpses: The Massacre of Sabra and Shatila Camps (1983) and the 16 silkscreen prints in The Body’s Anthem (1979). In the Picasso Museum’s catalogue, there is a reflection by Dia al-Azzawi: “With Guernica, Picasso created a turning point in my art and in the whole history of art, he managed to invent simple and expressive, historical and universal symbols, a style in accordance with our human and moral values of rejection of any use of violence against civilians, that no ideology or political regime can justify”.

(Top left) Land of Darkness, 1993 Charcoal on paper, 65 x 50 cm (each) (Top right) Morning Light, 1993 Acrylic on canvas, 56 x 46 cm Institute of Arab World, Paris (Bottom) Peace Lover, 1986 Acrylic on terracotta, 58 x 44 x 8 cm

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(Left) The Arabian Nights, 1986 Gouache on paper, 63 x 71 cm (Below) Had You Been Like Me, 1970 Oil on canvas, 55 x 132 cm

Dia al-Azzawi’s commitment to defending fundamental human values for oppressed Arab peoples spans over 50 years. Could you share some insights into how he expressed this commitment through his monumental artworks?

Born in 1939 in Baghdad, Dia al-Azzawi obtained a university degree in archaeology, and later a diploma from the Institute of Fine Arts in Baghdad. During his youth, he was involved with the Iraqi Communist Party, like many left-wing Iraqi intellectuals. Later, he became an ardent Arab nationalist following the Iraqi revolution of 1963. Subsequently, after the Arab defeat of 1967, he engaged in an intense production of graphic works in collaboration with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine and its publication, al-Hadaf. This was the heyday of international solidarity among artists and the production of high-quality aesthetic posters in the Arab world.

The massacre of Palestinian civilians in the Sabra and Shatila camps, perpetrated in September 1982, during the Lebanese Civil War and under Israeli army occupation, deeply shocked Azzawi. For the first time of many, he was inspired by photos of the massacre published by televisions and newspapers around the world. From his London studio, the artist drew the polyptych Sabra and Shatila Massacre. He exhibited it in Kuwait as early as 1983, then my gallery brought it from Doha in 2003 and exhibited it with three sets of works, alongside those of Rachid Koraïchi, at the request of the great poet Mahmoud Darwish, to whom the Cité du Livre of Aix-en-Provence paid a vibrant tribute, with the participation of the poet himself and his friend and translator, Elias Sanbar. Subsequently, the Arab World Institute Museum declined the offer of this work and this masterpiece has been part of the Tate Modern collection since July 2012.

In January 1983, Azzawi came across Four Hours in Shatila, a story penned on-site by Jean Genet, who had just arrived in Beirut with Leïla Shahid and visited the Palestinian camps the day after the massacres.

Genet’s account became the source of inspiration for Azzawi’s nine original prints (eight engravings and a lithograph), with a title page and a page featuring an extract of Jean Genet’s text in a trilingual edition: We Are Not Seen, But [as] Corpses: The Massacre of Sabra and Shatila Camps, 1983.

Throughout his youth and his artistic journey, Azzawi remained committed to standing alongside the Palestinian people in their struggle for survival and the reclamation of their homeland. Since Black September, he had become accustomed to drawing by listening to the recorded testimonies of witnesses, and Mahmoud Darwish poems, often read by the poet

himself. In 1976, he completed about 40 drawings on the fall of the Tel al-Za‘atar camp, located on a hill overlooking Beirut. In January 1979, he published a portfolio of 16 silkscreen prints, The Body’s Anthem, which he exhibited in Rabat and in December in Baghdad. He also published a book covering the poems of Mahmoud Darwish, Tawfiq al-Sayegh and Tahar Ben Jelloun, in a trilingual edition, illustrated with the engravings that these poems had inspired and a selection of drawings from 1976.

These two portfolios represent one of the two sides of the great Iraqi artist’s work from London: Picasso’s influence on works inspired by the massacres and violent events that have traumatised the Arab world for decades and Matisse’s influence on cheerful and colourful works that express his call to the joy of living in nature, the cities and gardens of the East. Thus, as a counterpoint to the extinguished eyes and eviscerated bodies of the victims, come the faces, angry eyes and muscular bodies of the resistors. And on the other side of his work, Azzawi paints expressions of free and fulfilled love and sexuality, the faces and sparkling eyes of the lovers Majnun and Layla, the beauty of shapes and colours, of bodies and naked women.

Can you elaborate on the major role that Dia al-Azzawi played during the 1970s in reshaping the relations that existed among artists from the Arab World?

Dia al-Azzawi was the first and leading pan-Arab artist who developed relations between the Mashreq and Maghreb artists in the 1970s. In 1972, he was one of the main organisers and animators of alWasiti Festival in Baghdad. He invited many young innovative artists of his generation to Baghdad and forged links with Palestinian, Moroccan, Algerian, Sudanese, Egyptian, Lebanese and Syrian artists and writers. He especially forged links with the great innovative Moroccan artists of his generation and exhibited several times in the galleries of Morocco.

From Baghdad, Beirut, Rabat and London, he was the driving force behind festivals and biennials, pivoting the focus f rom North-South colonial relations towards a more inclusive Arab and international East-West axis.

In 1976, he left Iraq and settled in London, where he was appointed the artistic director of the Iraqi Cultural Centre in 1978. He curated exhibitions featuring artists f rom the Arab world, spanning f rom the Gulf to the Atlantic Ocean, as well as artists f rom various Arab diasporas and the rest of the Third World. He actively participated in founding and contributing to Arabic art magazines and exhibited his works in London and across various Arab countries.

148 Between 1983 and 1991, Azzawi was among the most active artists associated with the Waddah Faris gallery in Paris, in terms of solo exhibitions and group exhibitions with Arab diaspora artists, such as Shafic Abboud, Assadour, Farid Belkahia, and Adam Henein.

He also took part in the International Contemporary Art Fair of Paris and Art Basel in 1984, presenting an exceptional collection of paintings that explored the theme of the travelling and wounded bird – a symbol of migrants in search of beauty, freedom, and fraternity.

In 2003, Azzawi was the guest of honour at the Strasbourg fair, where his paintings graced both the Claude Lemand Gallery stand and the expansive entrance hall of the fair. His works continued to be featured in prestigious art events, including the Paris Art Fair at the Grand Palais in 2013 and the Armory Show in New York in 2015.

What can you tell us about Dia al-Azzawi’s role in the renaissance of illustration as an art form in the Arab world?

Azzawi recognised the manuscript and the illustrated book as one of the most brilliant and original manifestations in the historic Arab world’s artistic history. He played a fundamental role in the revival of the Arabic book as a work of art. He published exquisite facsimiles of several Qurans from Western libraries, in particular the calligraphic Maqamat al-Hariri, illustrated with over 100 original full-page paintings by the illustrious Yahya al-Wasiti, and the Kitab alDiryaq, which featured elegant medical and bucolic miniatures, alongside harmonious and breathtaking scholarly geometric compositions in Kufic script.

These facsimiles were accompanied by research from leading specialists, funded and published by Azzawi.

He also, and above all, set an example with one hundred handwritten and painted artists’ books, and he financed the production of many Iraqi artists of the next generation, all exiled since the destructive wars unjustly waged by the West against Iraq.

With a profound passion for graphic arts and publishing, he established a print studio workshop in London, producing a multitude of original prints, portfolios, and artist’s books. He played a vital role in the creation and dissemination of modern Arabic graphic arts, both in Europe and the Arab world. Under various names and at different times, he also founded his own publishing houses. His work has constantly built visual worlds, autonomous and parallel to those of poets, with an equal mastery of ancient and recent Western techniques: etching, lithography, silkscreen and digital printing, which fascinate him and of which he has acquired technical mastery.

He is a painter, sculptor, book artist, and advocate for young Iraqi talent, with numerous solo exhibitions to his name in galleries, international fairs, museums, and art centres worldwide. His art can be found in public and private collections around the globe. In 2001, the Arab World Institute organised a retrospective exhibition in his honour and published a catalogue. Additionally, Qatar Museums hosted a double retrospective in 20162017, accompanied by a masterful catalogue.

In 2023, the Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology in Oxford hosted an exhibition and Azzawi published a scholarly and beautiful catalogue of his many notebooks and artist’s books. These represent the fruit of his ongoing dialogue with stories and poets of the pre-Islamic mu’allaqat, who have inspired him throughout his life: The Epic of Gilgamesh, the Martyrdom of Al-Hussein, The Thousand and One Nights, Majnun Layla, the great poets, the masters of classical Arabic literary such as alMutanabbi, Ibn Hazm, or Wallada bint al-Mustakfi, the lovestruck princess and free poet from 11th-century Andalusia. As for the modern Arab poets, he skilfully selected the finest from nearly every Arab country.

How do you see Dia al-Azzawi’s legacy continuing to influence both the art world and the broader discourse on human rights and social justice in the Arab world and beyond?

His works related to tragedies are the most famous.

They are masterful, with unquestionable draftsmanship, expressionist and poignant. They express revolt in the face of so much injustice, aggression, torture, death, and desire to colonise and destroy peoples, to disrupt entire countries, plunder their wealth and instigate pointless wars that are often fratricidal. However, it is essential not to ignore or neglect another part of his work, which for me is just as important to be shown and appreciated, and which will remain for future generations: that of the love of life, the will to live freely and in fraternity, to enjoy loving, friendly relationships, eyes filled with the beauty of our countries’ landscapes and those of the whole planet, including the secrets of the desert.

In 1976, Azzawi left Iraq and never returned, but the Iraqi land, its cumulative civilisations and its people permanently inhabit his memory and his heart, such as in Sunset over Basrah (1985) or Morning Light (1993).

He also loves the desert, its fauna and flora, as seen in Desert Flower (2010), and the popular arts of its tribes.

We must reread the admirable tribute that the painter Corneille paid to his dazzling paintings of the 1980s, as a true heir to the textile arts of the Bedouin of Iraq and the Arab world. Azzawi has also always loved Lebanon and its urban tradition of freedom and joie de vivre, and Beirut as a world-city where life is good, rather

than any other city in the world, while he also has held a fondness since his youth for Andalusia, Morocco and its oases, as seen in Majorelle Garden (2005).

To give other examples f rom the works in our collection, the theme of the bird is fundamental to Azzawi’s art, with its diverse symbolism, expressed by the shapes and colours he gives it, as in The Blue Bird (1983). To greet the year 2000, he painted Window No. 1, featuring a multi-hued dove, a symbol of peace and openness to the world and to a new millennium. Black Roots (2001), meanwhile, is a nightmare vision in New York: the Twin Towers are

still standing but black and charred, surrounded by enormous dark flames creeping up, whilst the sky and horizon are black. This work stands in contrast to the luminous Blue Landscape f rom 2016, or the Peace Lover sculpture of 1986. These are all works that are part of our huge donation to the Arab World Institute Museum. This donation gives meaning to my life as an exile in Paris, the city that adopted me and which I adopted. These works of art will be widely shown to millions of visitors who, I hope, will love them as much as we have loved them. Their mission will be to bear witness to the luminous face of humanity.

Kingdom of Illusion No. 1, 1991, acrylic on canvas, 71 x 66 cm Arab World Institute, Paris

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LAND OF DARKNESS The many tragic events that unfolded during and after the October Revolution are reflected in works that form part of Dia al-Azzawi’s ongoing series Land of Darkness. Initially begun in 1991 in response to the shocking events of the Gulf War, this significant body of work reflects the artist’s deep engagement with his homeland. The series is known for its powerful imagery, including distorted and tormented figures, symbolic references to violence and oppression, and a sense of despair and hopelessness. Throughout these works, Azzawi’s decision to abstain from using colour underscores the poignant melancholy.

Iraqi Book of Darkness, 2020 Gouache and coloured pencil on paper mounted on foamboard, 63 x 48 x 5.5 cm

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MOSUL AND BEYOND Dia al-Azzawi’s ongoing documentation of his homeland’s devastation is evident in his recent works centred on Mosul. However, his monumental work, Ruins of Two Cities: Mosul and Aleppo, transcends borders and offers a profound insight into the broader regional turmoil. This sprawling labyrinth of blended streets from the two cities [see page 158] underscores the interconnectedness of Iraq’s suffering with that of the entire region. For Azzawi, it depicts “ruins mixed with the ugliness of man’s inhumanity to his fellow man”.

(Opposite, top) Dia al-Azzawi making Book of Ruined City: Mosul, 2020 (Opposite, bottom) Book of Ruined City: Mosul, 2020 (verso) Digital collage on polyester resin, 22 x 36 x 18 cm, edition of 2 (Below) Book of Ruined City: Mosul, 2020 (recto) Digital collage on polyester resin, 22 x 36 x 18 cm, edition of 2

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THE BLACK BOOKS OF BEIRUT In October 2019, Lebanon experienced a period of turmoil marked by a popular uprising. While the Lebanese revolution was less bloody compared to the one in Iraq, it reflected the deep-seated frustrations of the Lebanese people with corruption, economic hardships, and political mismanagement. However, on 4th August 2020, another catastrophic event, the devastating Beirut Port explosion, would seize the world’s attention and serve as a haunting symbol of the profound disregard for human life and the rampant corruption plaguing the nation. Inspired by the horrors of this tragic event, Dia al-Azzawi used his creative expression to bear witness to the atrocity, employing a striking visual motif - a red handprint against a black background. Evoking the blood spilled and lives lost, Azzawi has used the bloody handprint since Witness of Our Times (see page 67) as the artist’s own mark as witness, and that of humanity amidst the darkness of despair.

(Opposite) Black Book of Beirut Port No. 2, 2020 (recto) Digital collage on polyester resin, DIMS TBC

(Below, top right) Black Book of Beirut Port No. 1, 2020 (recto) Digital collage on polyester resin, 36 x 43 x 5 cm

(Below, top left) Black Book of Beirut Port No. 2, 2020 (verso)

(Below, bottom) Black Book of Beirut Port No. 1, 2020 (verso)

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BIOGRAPHY Dia al-Azzawi was born in 1939 and achieved a degree in archaeology at Baghdad University (1958–62), at the same time as a diploma from the Institute of Fine Arts in Baghdad (1959–64). Azzawi worked as an archaeologist and museum curator, and also exhibited his work publicly from 1964 onwards, becoming a central figure in the development of modernist art in the Arab world. He was a member of several art movements: he founded the New Vision in 1969; joined the One Dimension Group in 1971; and, as secretary of the Iraqi Artists’ Society, established the pioneering alWasiti Festival in 1972.

In 1976, Azzawi moved to London and continued to forge ties with artists across the Arab world, curating numerous exhibitions as the artistic advisor to the Iraqi Cultural Centre. His work became deeply influenced by world politics and especially injustice in the Arab World, publicising and supporting the Palestinian cause and that of the Iraqi people. Azzawi’s work has long been influenced by Ancient Mesopotamia and the ethnography of Iraq, as well as modern Arabic literature and Islamic history.

Although primarily known as a painter and draughtsman, Azzawi works in a huge variety of media, ranging from graphic design to monumental sculpture and both two- and three-dimensional printing and over 100 artist’s books. Approximately a quarter of these were recently displayed in Painting Poetry, a solo exhibition at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford (December 2022–June 2023).

Azzawi’s work has been exhibited and collected by public and private institutions worldwide. In a recent retrospective exhibition (2016–17), over 500 works were shown at two museums in Doha, Qatar, spanning over half a century of this prolific artist’s career.

(Top) Dia al-Azzawi making Jenin, Scrubs Lane Studio, London, 2002 (Left) Dia al-Azzawi making Jenin, Scrubs Lane Studio, London, 2002

COLLECTIONS AND SOLO EXHIBITIONS Azzawi’s artwork has been exhibited globally including a comprehensive retrospective held at Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art, Doha, Doha, in 2016–17. His work has been collected by public institutions worldwide, including the Arab Monetary Fund, Abu Dhabi; The Barjeel Collection, Sharjah; Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris; The British Museum, London; Calouste Gulbenkian Collection, Lisbon; Colas Foundation, Boulogne; Fondation ONA, Casablanca; Guggenheim, Abu Dhabi; Ibrahimi Collection of Iraqi Fine Art, Amman; Institut du Monde Arabe, Paris; Jordan National Gallery of Fine Arts, Amman; Kinda Foundation, Riyadh; King Abdulaziz International Airport, Jeddah; Kuwait Fund for Arab Economic Development, Kuwait; Library of Congress, Washington D.C.; Los Angeles County Museum (LACMA), Los Angeles; Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art, Doha; Museum of Modern Art, Baghdad; Museum of Modern Art, Damascus; Museum of Modern Art, Tunis; Nabu Museum, Chekka (Lebanon); Saeb Eigner Private Collection, London; Sharjah Art Foundation, Sharjah; Tate Modern, London; Victoria and Albert Museum, London; The World Bank, Washington, D.C. SOLO EXHIBITIONS 1965 Al-Wasiti Gallery, Baghdad 1966; 1969 Gallery One, Beirut 1967 Iraqi Artists’ Society, Baghdad 1968; 1970; 1971; 1975 National Museum of Modern Art, Baghdad 1969; 1971; 1977 Sultan Gallery, Kuwait 1973 Arslan Raad Gallery, Tripoli (Lebanon) 1975 Museum of Modern Art, Baghdad 1974 Contact Gallery, Beirut 1976 Gallery Nadar, Casablanca 1978 Patrick Seale Gallery, London Al-Riwaq Gallery, Baghdad 1980; 1983 Galerie Faris, Paris 1980 Galerie Centrale, Geneva 1982 Intercontinental Hall, Abu Dhabi 1983 National Council for Culture, Arts and Literature, Kuwait 1984; 1990; 1993 Alif Gallery, Washington, DC 1985 Hotel Meridien Abu Dhabi 1986 Royal Cultural Centre, Amman 1988 Galerie Claudine Planque, Lausanne 1990 Galleri Nakita, Stockholm Vanazff Gallery, Gothenburg

1991 Galerie 50x70, Beirut 1992 Gallery Hittite, Toronto Flandria Gallery, Tangier 1994 Al-Manar Gallery, Casablanca Abaad Gallery, Amman Galerie 50x70, Beirut Al-Sayed Gallery, Damascus 1995; 2004; 2006; 2009; 2012; 2013; 2014; 2015; 2017; 2018 Galerie Claude Lemand/ Espace Claude Lemand, Paris 1996 Art Centre, Bahrain 2001 Retrospective Exhibition, Institut du Monde Arabe, Paris 2003 Cité du Livre, Aix-en-Provence 2006 Kalemmat Gallery, Aleppo 4 Walls Gallery, Amman Dar Al-Funun Gallery, Kuwait 2009 Retrospective of Paintings, ADMAF, Sixth Abu Dhabi Music and Arts Festival, Emirates Palace, Abu Dhabi 2009; 2015; 2016; 2018; 2021 Meem Gallery, Dubai 2016 I am the Cry, Who Will Give Voice to Me? From 1963 until tomorrow: Dia al-Azzawi, a retrospective, Al Riwaq Gallery and Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art, Doha Museum 2017 Karim Gallery, Amman 2018 Azzawi: Sabra and Shatila Massacres, Institut du Monde Arabe, Paris (with Galerie Claude Lemand)

2020 Art Dubai Portrait Exhibitions (online) 2021 The Lebanon Works, Meem Gallery, Dubai 2022–23 Painting Poetry, Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology, Oxford 2023 Saleh Barakat Gallery, Beirut SOLO ART FAIR BOOTHS 1981 Galerie Faris at Basel Art Fair, Basel Galerie Faris at FIAC, Paris 2004 Galerie Claude Lemand at St’Art, Strasbourg 2011 Elegy to My Trapped City, Meem Gallery at Abu Dhabi Art 2013 Bilad al-Sawad and Other Works: 1978–2011, Galerie Claude Lemand at Art Paris 2014 Selected Works: 1964–1973, Meem Gallery at Frieze Art Fair, London 2015 Galerie Claude Lemand at Armory Show, New York City 2016 Mission of Destruction, Meem Gallery at Abu Dhabi Art 2018 Dia al-Azzawi: Furniture Design, Mark Hachem Gallery at Beirut Design Fair

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1963 1964 1965 1966

1967

1968 1969 1969

1971 1972 1973 1976 1978 1979 1982 1983 1989 1990 1991

Dia al-Azzawi graduates from University of Baghdad Dia al-Azzawi graduates from Institute of Fine Arts First solo show in Baghdad (at al-Wasiti Gallery) The Epic of Gilgamesh drawings Dia al-Azzawi meets Yusuf Al-Khal in Baghdad First solo exhibition in Beirut, Gallery One Yusuf Al-Khal’s Precious Books series (with An-Nahar, until 1970) Azzawi’s work features in the inaugural publication: Drawings for Epics and Legends in Sumerian Literature The Blood of Hussein Azzawi meets Muzzafar al-Nawab Dia al-Azzawi writes Towards a New Vision Manifesto (published in Shi‘r, ed. Yusuf Al-Khal) Dia al-Azzawi meets Buland al-Haidari in Beirut through Muzaffar al-Nawab Second solo exhibition in Beirut: interview with Muzaffar al-Nawab Wait for Me by the Edge of the Sea Witness of Our Times Drawings for the Land of Sad Oranges Dia al-Azzawi leaves Iraq Palestinian Solidarity Exhibition in Beirut Body’s Anthem Sabra and Shatila Massacre We are not Seen, but [as] Corpses The Bridge: Khalil Hawi Dreamer of the Earth: Nadia Tuéni Prayers in a Temple: Yusuf Al Khal Excursion Across Time: Talal Haidar Solo Exhibition 50 x 70, Beirut

(Opposite page) Dia al-Azzawi in his studio, Doha, 1995 Dia al-Azzawi working at the Qatar Art Centre, Doha, 2002 Dia al-Azzawi working at Fonderia Artistica De Carli, Turin, 2010

1994 1995 2002 2011

2014 2014 2016 2016 2020 2020 2020

2022 2023

(Right) Dia al-Azzawi standing next to Kinda Obelisk (large, 2004/2007) during the exhibition Art in Iraq Today: Conclusion, 2011 (Bottom right) Dia al-Azzawi in his studio, Doha, 1998

Solo Exhibition 50 x 70, Beirut Selections from the Poetry of Salah Stétié Homage to Naji al-Ali Jenin Martyr’s Signature Group Exhibition: Art in Iraq Today, Beirut Exhibition Centre The Bridge: Khalil Hawi Four Children Playing Football Handala: Good Morning Beirut We Remain Kids for a While and other poems: Charbel Dagher Iraqi Book of Darkness October Revolution Posters in Baghdad Black Book of Beirut Where is Black Book of Ruined City: Mosul Ruins of Two Cities: Mosul and Aleppo Years of Shame Nights of Extermination in Gaza

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Ruins of Two Cities: Mosul and Aleppo, 2020 Polyester resin, 800 x 600 cm x 15 cm

162 Nights of Extermination in Gaza, 2023 (Right) Night of Extermination in Gaza: 19th October, 2023 Charcoal and coloured pencil on paper, 100 x 80 cm (Bottom left) Night of Extermination in Gaza: 20th October, 2023 Charcoal and coloured pencil on paper,100 x 80 cm (Bottom right) Night of Extermination in Gaza: 21st October, 2023 Charcoal and coloured pencil on paper, 100 x 80 cm (Opposite) Night of Extermination in Gaza: 22nd October, 2023 Charcoal and pastel on paper, 100 x 80 cm

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