The process of creating an art project begins in the past. The consequences of my first impression of sympathy or empathy, the old memories rise up like a flag. During the bombing in wartime, we spent all night with the lights low, windows painted with black and gray colors. People installed signs on the windows like a giant X using tape. All the windows were covered by thick curtains. Five-year-old me was curious, questioning “why we should live in the dark and silence during the nights. Why should the lights not be seen from outside? Why should we not be seen? What is behind the protected windows and walls?” I thought perhaps beyond my neighborhood children were playing, but if they were, would the voice of their joy and their laughter rise to heaven? Sometimes, I scraped the color off the windows with my nail to see what was going on beyond the window. Some nights were terrible with continuous loud sounds and bombing. We ran to the stairs, as a way to try and protect ourselves, as we had no other way of defending our home. My mother put her hands on my ears and hugged me tightly. My father with a strong voice prayed, “God preserve the kids, please.” In those circumstances, I felt I had to hold my heart firmly to stay in place.
Untitled 02, 2019
58x58 in