ثكلى

ثكلى pronounced Thakla is a single four-letter Arabic word with a depth of sorrow that I can't find a counterpart for in the English language. It describes a woman who has endured the ultimate loss: the death of her child/children. These works are my attempt to grapple with the incomprehensible grief of Palestinian women, who face this reality daily in Gaza. It is both a personal journey into the heart of unending sorrow, and a collective one in an effort to understand and convey the pain and suffering of those who are forced to become 'Thakla' and are forced to outlive their murdered children.

In the Levantine culture, the depth of a parent’s grief for a lost child is profound, encapsulated in the hope expressed through this common prayer and phrase "تقبرني" ("may you bury me"). This natural order of life and death, deeply revered, has been tragically reversed. As I witness the staggering reality of Palestinian women's lives, I’m confronted by these questions:

how do they endure?

What happens to grief in isolation?

What role does a witness play?

How to navigate a helplessness so profound?

Creating these works has been my way of bearing witness to this immense grief. My compulsion to respond to the grief I see and to translate the grief I feel becomes the work. My entire art practice since the start of the genocide has been a vulnerable reflection on loss, an attempt to navigate the guilt of helplessness, and process the insurmountable unbearable suffering inflicted. Too many questions, but one must simply show up. I still show up to confront my limitations as an artist and a human being.