Glowing embers of the ancient and the new: Iraqi artists remind us not only of war but of a humanizing civilization

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In April 2003, Iraqi artist Qasim Sabti stood weeping in what remained of Baghdad's Academy of Fine Arts, where he had once been a student and later taught painting. After heavy bombings of the area, roaming mobs had entered the academy, looted it and set it on fire. In the eerie silence of the ruins, Mr. Sabti stumbled over steaming piles of destroyed books as acrid smoke rose up from them, stinging his eyes. "I felt like a fireman desperately in need of finding survivors," he recalled.

Mr. Sabti picked up one book after another. Many were heavy and wet from being doused with water. Pages tumbled out of the bindings and splashed to the floor, breaking apart at the seams. That, surprisingly, was the moment of inspiration for Mr. Sabti: He would salvage some of the book covers and make collages of them. He saw the empty bindings as the "bones" of the books that had once been life-giving cultural resources. His collages, he decided, would give the bones new life, symbolizing the resilience of Iraqi culture and its Mesopotamian roots.

The war, of course, has emerged as a dominant theme among contemporary Iraqi artists, who tend to portray that destruction, react to it with alternative images, or harvest it to design something new. Yet their work, in general, is not overtly political, and much of it--despite the sinister realities that have inspired it--is beautiful. Certainly the art on display at the Pomegranate Gallery is. Its creators seem determined to salvage and breathe new life into a beloved culture out of the burned and tattered detritus of war.

Such is the case of Esam Pasha, who ran out of art supplies during the early days of the bombing of Baghdad. All he had left were some boxes of crayons. The nights were hot, and many buildings were burning. "I noticed that when a crayon was heated and began to melt, its head would gradually start to glow," recalled the artist, who eventually obtained a visa to come to the United States. He crushed the melting crayons onto paperboard, "painting" them into shapes. The artist called the resulting series "Tears of Wax."

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"I will never forget those horrific nights when my brush strokes were not only my tears of wax but were like marks of fire, burning and melting like Baghdad itself," he said.

Elsewhere in the city, and later in the war, a family heard an explosion just outside their home and gathered furtively behind a curtained window to investigate. A large, round mirror next to the window returned their worried gazes. Farah Nosh, their Canadian-born relative, snapped a photo that captured their profiles and reflections in the mirror. Studying the photo, one can only guess at the scene unfolding before their eyes. Ms. Nosh explained that they were watching rescue and cleanup operations in the wake of a bomb that had detonated on the sidewalk where her cousins used to walk to school. Even as families huddle inside their homes, "the war seeps through," says Ms. Nosh, who has resolved to document the human face of the war with her camera.

The words "human" and "humanity" keep cropping up in the vocabulary of today's Iraqi artists--both those few who remain in what was once a robust artistic community in Baghdad, and those who have fled to other countries. Using scavenged or purposefully burned wood, fragments of textile and glass, gutted book covers and melted crayons, they seek to restore to humanity what humanity is losing, day by day, even as it allows the war in Iraq to drag on. The artists fail to conform to histrionic and dehumanizing American stereotypes of our enemies; they refrain from rebuking or proselytizing. Instead, they remind us of a land of milk and honey, a birthplace of prophets, a cradle of humanizing civilization, even as they introduce us to their own familiar pockets of a culture reeling from inhuman acts of violence and destruction. Then, with incorrigible creativity and insistent hope, they offer us healing.

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Related Web site

Pomegranate Gallery, which features contemporary Iraqi art as part of its collection, shows art from the Mideast. The gallery is located at 122 Greene Street in New York City, and is open Tuesday through Saturday from 1:30 p.m. to 5:30 p.m. For more information, go to www.pomgallery.com.

By MARY ANN CEJKA

New York

[Mary Ann Cejka, a frequent writer on justice and peace issues, lives in New York's Hudson Valley.]

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