Opening Evening of Masar Gallery


To draw in memory- Mais and Marah...
My sketches and elements vanish into an ominous rapture, perpetual of its own birth, meticulously soaring across a zenithal sky...
With resolve I try to bring it forth to completion, with all of its bits, all of its pieces, a vanishing image at times, yet so complete manifesting such clear trivia, only to be lost once more across the vast corridors of time... 
I gathered its’ fragment in a pile, scattered it on ahead, losing my self collecting it, collecting it, and collecting it yet again.
Two damsel toying with childhood colors, dissipating the gait of time, to hastily mellow, to now toy with cosmos colors.
Subconsciously I reminisce into the depth of their souls, flushed with pain of mature perdition, cultivating it into the precept of this first work.
This exhibition consists of various works, some of which are inaugural, to the final project of the first tittle. Investigative and exploring by nature, portraying a preliminary sketch incomplete on its own, but importantly partial and sequential to the exhibit as a whole. 
Mais composes her intertwine between drawing and numerical drawing (digital) in order to find her artistic expression, scaling uncharted territory in a history that overflows with form, fluctuating between lines and the explosion of splatter, between old dark ink and that of a modern printing device. She summons her consciousness complete, bringing her self to a halt before the vividness of her visual thoughts. Taking it apart only to resurrect it once again. 
Elements of tonal suggestions take shape into complex traces in an artistic revelation, making vivid fragmentation of consciousness, of a black draped memory of loss.
Her mare, Asayel (pure-blood) ceases to be as she once was.
Marah, braces the details of her every-day life and navigates her memory into a time past, to moments that tore a part people, land, planets and skies. Attempts to evoke a past; of her grandfather Ahmad, on a quest to find Theeb, his brother who was lost during the Palestinian plight of 1948, Theeb was never again seen. She evokes this past aiming to reunite it with the present. Feverously trying to collect the bits to present an entirety of a story long gone, nonetheless deeply rooted in every-day family dialogue, in continuous attempts to unveil the truth. 
An encounter with her sister, leads to the discussion about the possibility of their own separation, fragrant with the color and scent of the orange.
We see her in a dimensional play with her grandmother, the seen to the unseen, a game of covert tales, not to be seen.
Deeply buried mystery, roams the folds of the show, many, many stories and tales, images of childhood and youth, dreams and love, giggles and screams, alleviations and tears, and a path eternal, gathering us three at the junction where nests are desolate; the future.
(Manar Zuabi 5.11.2016)
Translation: Amal Sabbagh