From Ruins to Renaissance: Syrian Artists Reclaim Freedom After Assad
Following more than five decades of repression under the Assad regime, these artists are seizing the moment of cultural revival.
Alessandra Bajec
Shireen Atassi, building a new life with her family in Dubai, felt a strong calling to preserve the richness of Syrian art early on in what became Syria’s brutal 13-year civil war. Now, in the aftermath of the fall of Bashar al-Assad’s government, the art director has her sights set on supporting the efforts of countless Syrian creatives, both at home and in the diaspora, to help revitalize the cultural landscape.
“Under the Assad regime, Syria was very isolated politically, economically, socially and culturally,” Atassi reflects. The daughter of passionate art collectors, she lived during an era when artists navigated the Assad government’s strict control over artistic expression to consolidate state propaganda. Art deemed openly or subtly critical of the regime was confiscated or destroyed; artists faced arrest, torture, imprisonment or forced exile if they did not comply. “Now is the moment to rethink our roles and imagine how we’re going to work with the artistic community in Syria and engage the public,” she says.
Back in 1986, Atassi’s mother and aunt established the Atassi Gallery in the city of Homs, which would later become a cornerstone of Syria’s emerging independent cultural scene. After seven years, the gallery moved to Damascus and continued operations there until the start of the revolution in 2011, which forced the gallery to close its doors as the upheaval escalated into a full-scale civil war.
In response to the bleak stories of conflict, destruction and violence that dominated Syrian media, Atassi wanted to do her part in showing another face of Syria. In 2016, she left her 18-year corporate career behind to launch the Atassi Foundation, dedicated to promoting knowledge around Syrian art and preserving its artistic heritage. The initiative originated from the belief that art and culture help heal war’s wounds and can safeguard Syria’s history for future generations.
For Atassi, who has now spent 15 years away from her homeland, maintaining the foundation’s art collection is an existential matter. It’s about keeping Syria’s culture alive and staying connected to her own identity. “As a foundation, we strive to keep a bond with Syria, its arts scene and its society,” the Dubai-based art director highlighted, hinting at the ongoing challenge of uniting Syrians under a shared identity despite the divisions caused by the Assad family’s 53-year rule and nearly 14 years of bloody war.
While rebuilding brings endless possibilities and hope for Syrians, change comes with uncertainty, instability and the need for time. On a hopeful note, After The Deluge, a solo show by Syrian artist Elias Zayat, in which the painter draws on the ancient account of the flood, reimagines Palmyra’s devastation as a metaphor for rebuilding a ruined world. Atassi reflects on Zayat’s work as an allegory of a future Syria rising from the ruins of war and oppression.
A year after the 2011 uprising, visual artist Rashwan Abdelbaki began traveling between Dubai and home for two years before living in Beirut and now New York. Staying in Syria and serving in the army wasn’t an option for him. He hasn’t been able to visit his country for nine years. Looking back on his time in Syria, he recalls how freedom was severely limited and many artists like him avoided producing critical work.
“Fear was indescribable,” Abdelbaki says. “I drew a lot of sketches but kept them all hidden. I was too afraid to share them.” He adds that, even after leaving Syria, he remained afraid for himself, his family and friends in the southern city of Suweida.
When the revolution erupted, he turned to painting as a way to express himself in reaction to the events unfolding in his homeland. Back then, he created a character with one eye open and one eye closed, representing his inability to close his eyes and sleep in peace, constantly having to stay alert to what was happening around him.
For Abdelbaki, the character represents how people are prisoners of their own beliefs: “It’s about the fears that live inside us until we choose to open up and decide, do we beat our fear or live with it?” He plans to visit Syria by the end of this year to produce a solo art show of 10 to 15 paintings that explore racism, immigration, religion and politics through this character. “I want to explore where this character is going following Assad’s fall. Where do I stand with him now? When will I paint him with both eyes open or closed?”
Abdelbaki also reaffirms that he will take the time necessary to uncover his future artistic and personal path. So far, he’s optimistic about the cultural resurgence taking root in post-Assad Syria, with artists coming together to contribute to this historic moment. It’s a work in progress that requires “cooking time,” he emphasizes.
“I’ve never known what it’s like to paint in peace; I’ve spent half of my life in war,” says Joumana Mortada, a promising artist in her late 20s. Hailing from the old city of Damascus, her contemporary abstract art bursts with color, prominent light and energy.
After witnessing the collapse of the dictatorial regime, Mortada left her country in January to temporarily stay in the United Arab Emirates, concerned about the tolerance of Syria’s new Islamist rulers, both as a woman and an artist. Although she’s been away from home for a short period, the nostalgia for her house and studio is overpowering.
“My soul is still in old Damascus,” Mortada explains. “Abstract art lets me express my emotions and nothing can stop my hand from showing what I feel.” Having endured the days of self-censorship and fear, when she had to meet fellow artists in secret rooms to share ideas, the young painter is now eager to take part in the revival of Syria’s arts scene.
One of her latest artworks, “Collective Rage” (pictured above), is currently displayed at the group exhibition 6:18, The DAWN at Atelier 14 in Dubai. The series captures the rage, sadness, hope, anxiety and fear Syrian artists grappled with following the dawn of political unrest, while showcasing their beauty, struggles and resilience to the world.
“The war is part of me, my art, my story,” Mortada says. “It’s the blast we all lived through in Syria.” Vivid colors in her work depict deep emotions: Red for anger and blood, yellow for hope, blue and green for nature’s beauty, and black for enduring suffering. She now plans to return to Syria to draw landscapes in greater detail and document destroyed buildings across her homeland: “As Syrian artists, today we celebrate our survival.”
Alessandra Bajec is a freelance journalist specializing in the Middle East and North Africa. Her work has appeared in The New Arab, Al Jazeera English and The New Humanitarian, among other places.
