How Palestinian artists carry New Visions’ spirit of resilience | Israeli-Palestinian conflict

In the quiet of his studio in Ramallah, in the occupied West Bank, Palestinian artist Nabil Anani works diligently on works deeply rooted in a movement he helped create during the political tumult of the late 1980s.

Co-founded in 1987 by Anani and fellow artists Sliman Mansour, Vera Tamari, and Tayseer Barakat, the New Visions art movement focused on using local natural materials while avoiding Israeli supplies as a form of cultural resistance. The movement prioritized self-sufficiency at a time of profound political upheaval in occupied Palestine.

“[New Visions] emerged as a response to the conditions of the Intifada,” Anani said. “Ideas like boycott and autonomy inspired a change in our artistic practice at the time.”

Each of the founding members chose to work with a specific material, developing new artistic styles adapted to the spirit of the times. The idea caught on and numerous exhibitions followed locally, regionally and internationally.

Nearly four decades later, the principles of the New Visions – self-sufficiency, resistance and creation despite scarcity – continue to shape a new generation of Palestinian artists for whom making art is both an expression and an act of survival.

Anani, now 82, and the other founding members are helping to carry on the movement’s legacy.

Why “New Visions”?

“We called it New Visions because, at its core, the movement was about experimentation, particularly through the use of local materials,” said Anani, highlighting how he discovered the richness of sheepskins, their textures and tones and began to incorporate them into his art in evocative ways.

In 2002, Tamari, now 80, began planting ceramic olive trees for every real olive tree burned by an Israeli settler to form a sculptural installation called Tale of a Tree. Later, she layered watercolors on ceramic pieces, mediums that do not typically mix, challenging the usual limitations of each material, and merged elements of family photos, local landscapes, and politics.

Meanwhile, Barakat, 66, created his own pigments, then began carving shapes into wood, transforming surface damage into a visual language.

“Other artists began to incorporate earth, leather, natural dyes — and even the fragility of materials — as an integral part of the story,” said Mansour, 78, adding that he personally reached a sort of “dead end” with his work before the emergence of the New Visions movement, spending years creating works focused on national symbols and identity that began to seem repetitive.

“It was different. I remember being anxious at first, worried about the cracks in the clay I was using,” he said, referring to his use of mud. “But, over time, I saw the symbolism in those cracks. They held something honest and powerful.”

In 2006, the group helped establish the Palestine International Academy of Art in Ramallah, which operated for 10 years before being integrated into Birzeit University as the Faculty of Art, Music and Design. The main goal of the academy was to help artists move from old ways of thinking to more contemporary approaches, including using local and diverse materials.

“A new generation emerged from this, was nourished by these ideas and subsequently organized numerous exhibitions, both locally and internationally, all influenced by the New Visions movement,” Anani said.

A heritage maintained but tested

The work of Lara Salous, a 36-year-old Palestinian artist and designer based in Ramallah, echoes the founding principles of the movement.

“I am inspired [the movement’s] collective mission. My emphasis on using local materials comes from my belief that we must liberate and decolonize our economy.

“We must rely on our natural resources and production, return to the land, boycott Israeli products and support our local industries,” Salous said.

Through Woolwoman, her social enterprise, Salous works with local materials and a community of shepherds, wool weavers and carpenters to create contemporary furniture, such as wool and loom chairs, inspired by ancient Bedouin techniques.

But challenges such as the growing number of roadblocks and escalating settler violence against Palestinian Bedouin communities, who rely on sheep grazing as a basic source of income, have made it increasingly difficult to work and live as an artist in the West Bank.

“I collaborate with shepherds and women who spin wool in al-Auja and Masafer Yatta,” Salous said, referring to two rural areas in the West Bank facing intense pressure from occupation and settlement expansion.

“These communities face daily confrontations with Israeli settlers who often target their sheep, prevent grazing, cut off water sources like the al-Auja spring, destroy wells and even steal livestock,” she added.

In July, the Reuters news agency reported an incident in the West Bank’s Jordan Valley in which settlers killed 117 sheep and stole hundreds more in a nighttime attack on one of the communities.

Such danger makes Palestinian women who depend on Woolwoman for their livelihood vulnerable. Several weavers working with Salous and supporting his business became the sole breadwinners for their families, particularly after their spouses lost their jobs due to work permit bans imposed by Israel following the attacks carried out by Hamas in southern Israel on October 7, 2023 and the start of the war in Gaza.

Visiting the communities where these wool suppliers live has become almost impossible for Salous, who fears attacks from Israeli settlers.

Meanwhile, his collaborators often have to prioritize their own safety and the protection of their villages, disrupting their ability to produce wool to support themselves.

As a result, the designer faced delays and supply chain issues, making it increasingly difficult to make and sell her works.

Anani faces similar challenges in sourcing skins.

“Even in cities like Ramallah or Bethlehem, where the situation could be slightly more stable, there are serious difficulties, especially in accessing materials and traveling,” he said.

“I work with sheepskin, but getting it from Hebron is extremely difficult because of roadblocks and movement restrictions. »

Create or survive

In Gaza, Hussein al-Jerjawi, an 18-year-old artist from the Remal neighborhood of Gaza City, also draws inspiration from the legacy and meaning of the New Visions movement, noting that “Mansour’s style of expressing the [conditions of the occupation]» inspired him.

Due to the lack of materials like canvases, which are rare and expensive, al-Jerjawi transformed flour sacks distributed by the United Nations Palestinian Refugee Agency (UNRWA) into canvases to create his works, using wall paint or simple pens and pencils to create portraits of the world around him.

In July, however, the artist said that flour bags were no longer available due to the Israeli blockade of food and aid to the Gaza Strip.

“There are no flour sacks in Gaza, but I always consider buying empty sacks to finish my drawings,” he said.

Gaza-born artist Hazem Harb, who now lives in Dubai, also considers the New Visions movement a constant source of inspiration throughout his decades-spanning career.

“The New Visions movement encourages artists to push boundaries and challenge conventional forms, and I strive to embody this spirit in my work,” he said while noting that it has been difficult to source the materials from Gaza he needs for his work.

“The ongoing occupation often disrupts supply chains, making it difficult to obtain the materials needed for my work. I have often relied on local resources and found objects, reusing the materials in creative ways to convey my message.”

Anani, who said conditions in Gaza make it almost impossible to access local materials, added that many artists are struggling but still striving to create art with whatever they can.

“I believe in artists [in Gaza] use whatever is available – burnt objects, sand, basic objects from their environment,” Anani said.

“Yet they continue to create in a simple way that reflects this difficult moment. »