The Art of Resistance: Interview with Rana Bishara

Throughout extended periods of political conflict in Palestine, artistic practice has emerged as a critical tool. In the face of cultural annihilation, art helps bring the fight for survival to the world’s attention, offering a unique perspective on military occupation. Artist Rana Bishara explores the complex issues that have emerged in the region following decades of hostility and injustice. Drawing from both collective memory and individual stories, Bishara makes works that explore irrevocable trauma and distress, yet simultaneously encourage strength, hope and resistance. Her paintings, installation art, sculpture and performance constantly employ symbolic materials and imagery and, while highly political, are thought-provoking and sensitive. These works reflect the range of emotions interwoven in the fabric of the Palestinian experience and are threaded with the recurrent themes of displacement, home and exile. ArtAsiaPacific met with Bishara to discuss symbolism and the role of art in resistance.

Your “Blindfolded History” series (2002–12) features political and historical photographs silkscreened on glass in the unusual medium of chocolate. Could you talk about how this idea emerged?
I left here [Palestine] in 2001 to go to study in the United States, when the Second Intifada started. It was overwhelming for me, so I started collecting many photos and information about what was happening in Palestine. After two years of collecting, I had too many images to deal with so I started developing a concept that had to do with the human body. The many scenes I remembered as a child and seen as an adult, of soldiers killing, abusing and torturing women and children, disgusted me and made me feel the urge to record history in a civilized, creative way. So I decided to do something in chocolate. Unsweetened chocolate represents the fat of our body and is an ironic way of protesting against sadism, abuse and war crimes. Each sheet of glass symbolizes one year of the occupation. It has been 66 years. These critical chapters are reflected in many iconic images—a woman mourning her exile and crying, a child facing a tank. The fragile glass contains a record of visual memory and history; its ephemerality shows the urgency of the matter to be resolved.

The idea of displacement is one that you have explored in your ongoing work, “Homeless Pillows” (2009– ). What do these objects represent?
I have been working on these “Homeless Pillows” for many years. It’s a pillow with a neck and a head that one can travel with. The meaning of a pillow, the meaning of a house, the meaning of a home, is common throughout the whole world. It is something cozy, yet to carry your own pillow, your own home, speaks of homelessness, of exile. In one of my performances, I carried a pillow made from a Koffya scarf—the symbol of Palestinian identity—and marched with its “head” placed over my shoulder. That performance was aimed at raising awareness.

You used a cactus to make your piece Homage to Prisoner Hanaa al-Shalabi in Israeli Prison on Her 32nd Day of Hunger Strike (2012). Can you explain why you chose this material?
Cacti are the only things that remain of the 531 villages and towns that were destroyed and depopulated in the 1948 war. They mark the locations of villages and serve as fences. I collect them from the fields outside the villages, viewing them as elements of Palestine. I dry them, work into them, plant them and they begin to grow again. A cactus is so strong, so resilient. There was a big hunger strike of Palestinians in Israeli prisons—there are around 10,000 prisoners—and I am now carving some of their faces into cacti, in order to give hope and patience. In Arabic, the word cactus, “sabar,” means “to be patient.”

You often directly reference the occupation of land in your work. Is this something you will continue to explore?
Right now I am working on a beach project. It will be a typical beach scene like anywhere in the world—lots of umbrellas, sand and beach chairs, and inflated toys for children—everything but water. It will be constructed in front of the apartheid wall to show the absurd reality of being banned from going to the beach. We are a Mediterranean country and we should be able to enjoy this luxury; we live half an hour from the beach! The idea started when I was volunteering with the Lajee Center [a community center based in Aida Refugee Camp] five years ago. We decided to take the children back to see their villages, and then down to Jaffa to see the sea. They opened the windows to smell the aroma of the sea and jumped straight in. It was absolutely heartbreaking. So this project is linked with that experience. I want to spread the word through my artwork so that tourists and the international community can understand and learn the bitter facts of living under occupation.