I created The Hardness (and Softness) of Sex a few weeks ago in an attempt to deconstruct (and possibly destruct) Eve. I wanted to experiment with unfamiliar shapes while further exploring my curiosity about colors and their relationship with each other. But also, it was a reaction to a book I had just finished: Resistance: My Life for Lebanon by Soha Bechara. I read the book in a day (short read but also gripping). I was both mortified and comforted by her resilience and strength to survive the harshest and cruelest of conditions. One particular scene that got to me was her placement in solitary confinement and the exercises she did to help herself cope with the loneliness, boredom and claustrophobia of her situation. How would I deal if I were in such a predicament? These thoughts and feelings were transferred to my painting, through the act of scratching. Because that’s what I’d do if someone put me in a box. I’d try to claw myself out-physically, emotionally, spiritually. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Read More
Sometimes men hurt me.
No. Many times men hurt me. But most of all I hurt myself. And it’s now time to fix this slightly chipped Ghadah, seriously. I’m seeing a therapist and I’m approaching my healing process (the one I should’ve started six or so years ago) with the gusto of someone about to assemble a new piece of IKEA furniture. It will be systematic, deliberate, pragmatic and full of note-taking. I’m getting an A+ on this, you’ll see.
I just bought a basic set of Sakura poster paints. I used to have this same set back in college (early 90s). When I started using them last night I was reminded of how different mediums affect the content of my work. It took me a little while to get the hang of these colors but by the second picture (Stains) I was comfortable. Read More