Menu:
Hala Schoukair Interview
A.T. Many of your paintings and works on paper have names like Baghdad, First Blast, Burns and Grenade. Are you making any political statements about the Middle East or war in general?
H.S. No, this just reflects my anxiety. The modern world and its environment torture me. I wish I could make statements or think about other things—which would be a luxury for me. It is all very difficult when my concern is primarily about safety. It is hard for me to plan for my summer when I leave New York City for Lebanon. Will it be safe? It feels too insecure, too unpredictable. No one knows what is going to happen next. There is always a car bomb or innocent people being killed. The sense of powerlessness is too overwhelming. When I was working on the painting Burns, it was immediately after the 2006 summer war. It was as if I were extracting bullets out of my skin. When I was working on Baghdad, I was listening to BBC covering day one of the Baghdad shelling. I was horrified the war had started, but the sound of the shelling reminded me of home in Lebanon. I was struck by my own emotions and was disgusted this sound made me nostalgic. We are definitely messed up.
A.T. What was daily life like during the Lebanese Civil Wars, especially in the 1980’s?
H.S. I had a good life between the battle rounds. I had my friends and we had lots of intense feelings for each other. People get connected differently during wars. When you pass a lot of time in shelters and survive, you are grateful for staying alive. I spent lots of evenings painting, and then the snipers would start. I would hide with my paintbrush, wait until it was over and go back to work—on and off the whole night. But then it got to the point it was so terrible and I was so tired emotionally that I wanted to just leave the country. I had an opportunity to visit my aunt in the USA. Here I am.
A.T. Do you consider yourself displaced?
H.S. No, I feel lost more than displaced. I could be happy anywhere. I adapt easily and think Earth is a small place, but then I can feel like a stranger even at home. Many Diaspora authors have very well described these same feelings
A.T. Your mother is Saloua Raouda Choucair. She has earned her respected place in modern Arab art as the pioneering woman who introduced abstraction to Lebanon. What was it like growing up with her and having a mother as an artist?
H.S. My mother was very lenient and had adopted the modern ideas of raising kids, so all was permitted. I could write or paint on the walls. She would put me next to her and give me clay to make sculptures. Sometimes I would imitate her or make my own ashtrays in the shape of women. I won an award for those. One summer when I was 7 years old, my mother was introducing crafts to teachers at a school in Brummana, Lebanon. As a child, it was a tangible way for me to observe she was a real artist. She would make Lebanese scenes from cornhusks, figurines of a watermelon vendor, a belly dancer or something else. During that time, one of her students gave me a box of Crayola crayons. It was something new to me. I couldn’t stop drawing.
A.T. Were there any negative aspects?
Growing up with my mother was inspirational, but when I matured I realized I was traumatized by her own anxieties of trying to excel as a woman of her generation. She knew she was a better artist, but had to compete with male artists whom she felt were better treated by society. She never discussed or blamed her gender. It was not part of her vocabulary, but the frustration was always there and I lived it.
A.T. Have your mother’s philosophies about abstraction based on the mathematical principles of Islamic art influenced your artistic style in any way?
H.S. No, I don’t have that kind of mind. I am more influenced by my grandmother’s needlework. I started making ink drawings of women with very detailed patterns on their clothing, as if I were threading lace. I was studying filmmaking, but I was also drawing. My first drawings were similar to women I drew during my childhood with those crayons. Not much has changed with my details. I eventually became more abstract. I don’t know why. The woman faded to a more conceptual idea.
A.T. You lived in Paris during your time at Sorbonne. Did European artists also serve as a source of inspiration for you?
H.S. It was very strange. I grew up with names like Kandinsky and Mondrian, then in Paris I discovered De Chirico, Max Ernst, Tanguy and Magritte, and I loved the Dadaists. They all influenced me because their art was related to the psyche. I was already reading Carl Jung and became very interested in the collective unconscious such as the explanation of fairy tales and their relationship to dreams. At the same time, I experienced a huge spiritual life immersed in Buddhism, Taoism and Sufism. It all made sense to me. I was very much into Eastern philosophies. I was also looking into signs and reading fortunes in coffee cups, which explains my most recent paintings, The Coffee Series.
A.T. Can you elaborate on that a bit?
H.S. The Coffee Series is inspired by nostalgia for my Paris period. I used monochromatic layers of brown and white, just like coffee residue that forms its own unpredictable shapes and stories on the cup’s white porcelain bottom. I like this visual part. The fine lines make you follow any desired detail and guide your imagination to run loose.
A.T. How do you want people to experience your art?
H.S. I want them to enjoy a special intense emotion when they see it. I want them to feel like they are walking into a different space. I want them to feel the moment, and this could change when they see it another time.
A.T. It sounds very spiritual.
H.S. That’s because it is in my background. I am definitely trying to catch another reality, another zone. It could be spiritual, but it is also an escape. I want my viewers to escape with me and heal, even if it is from the slightest wound.
A.T. Describe your technique.
H.S. I started with ink on paper. That was my first expression, drawing tiny details with mini brushes and quills. Now, I’m trying to capture detail with painting. With big brushes, I am applying layers, as if compiling sheets of paper through which I can observe details. I’ve mastered how to use a large brush to apply paint in thin lines, as if using a pen. I transitioned into this style with my second body of work, which were mainly collages. I used to draw on paper and paste it on canvas. You couldn’t tell which part was the collage and which part was the painting. With my paintings, I am often asked if I use collages, but they are actually made of just one surface.
A.T. The diptych and triptych format has been a recurring theme in your work. Does that relate to anything specific?
H.S. Yes, Islamic book paintings and Byzantine art. Miniature paintings are one of my earliest and deepest fascinations. We always had books about Islamic art around the house, and the moment I saw a miniature, they always talked to me. I like the perspective in miniatures. It’s like an Escher painting. You never know where you are. You are in a garden and you are on a balcony. The interior mixes with the exterior because there isn’t any one-point perspective. Later, I started liking Byzantine art. As I was experimenting with this intimate feeling from miniatures and trying to develop it further, I started making boxes with panels. Byzantine art has this same form with the icon in the middle. I felt the Byzantine boxes had a lot in common with miniatures, and I was evolving from paper to another medium in my work. The composite paintings seemed like little shrines. I felt so linked to this period. It felt very natural for me to go in this direction.
***This interview was conducted by Ayse Turgut.