Iraqi painter Jaber Alwan: A life as rich and vibrant as his art

Where an artist is forged

Born in 1948 in a rural village near Mahawil district in Babel Province, south of Baghdad, art had no foothold in Jaber's childhood. His father was a farmer, in whose house peasants and local sages were always welcome.

Conversations centred on agriculture, hunting, and daily life's worries — not sculpture and painting. There was no incentive for a child like Jaber to be propelled into the realm of creativity, and he stumbles when asked what drew him in.

"Like all children, I took art classes at school, but unlike my peers, my hands were always busy crafting something — drawing with chalk, moulding shapes from clay."

"Perhaps the pivotal moment that encouraged me to step into the art world was when I received an award in elementary school for a sculpture I had crafted. This sparked my interest in painting despite a noticeable absence of familial or scholastic encouragement."

The turning point for him was in middle school.

"In art class, we used oil paints and professional tools, and my supportive teacher nudged me towards a pivotal decision: to enrol in the Baghdad Institute of Fine Arts. Indeed, by the end of the 1960s, my artistic journey began at the Institute."

After years amid the natural tones of Euphrates clay and palm fronds on his daily trips to school astride his father's white horse, Jaber had found a home in the Institute's corridors.

"In the 1960s, it boasted a distinct cultural and artistic vitality that fostered an environment of exploration," he explains.

"Beyond its architectural charm and the verdant embrace of its gardens, life within the Institute pulsated with a diverse range of experiences: theatre, music, art studios, intellectual dialogues, and enriching student-professor relationships."

"We read the works of literary giants like Naguib Mahfouz and Ihsan Abdel Quddous and established connections with cultural luminaries."

"I forged a personal connection with the late novelist Ghaib Tohmah Farman (1927-1990), author of The Palm Tree and the Neighbours and The Old Man's Word and our friendship extended until Farman's passing.

"In essence, the pulsating cultural and artistic heartbeat of the Institute laid the grounds for my seamless transition into the next chapters of my artistic evolution."

Living as the Romans do

In 1972, on the advice of his mentors at the Baghdad Institute, Alwan headed to Rome to pursue his art studies, having absorbed the visual and sculptural treasures from the ruins of Babylon and the works of Iraqi art masters.

He was inspired by sculptor and painter Jawad Saleem (1919-1961), an impactful figure in Iraq's modern history and the artist behind the iconic Freedom Monument in one of Baghdad's central squares, and by Mohammed Ali Shaker, a renowned painter and calligrapher who taught at the Institute in the 60s after studying art in Rome.

Alwan arrived in the Italian capital with $100 in his pocket and earned money by sketching portraits of summer tourists in the famed Piazza Navona.

He studied sculpting at the Academy of Fine Arts until 1975 when he hosted his inaugural exhibition and then transitioned to studying painting until 1978, immersing himself in music, theatre, cinema, and ballet, as well as visiting museums and galleries.

Along his journey, he encountered several prominent figures from the art world. In 1982, he became the first foreigner to be named 'Best Artist' by the Municipality of Rome, an honour once bestowed upon filmmaker Federico Fellini. He and the city had fallen in love. "Rome granted me everything," says Alwan.

"It re-wired my cultural understanding. Before Rome, our ideas were drawn from books and theoretical academic studies. Rome unfolded like an open book, an open-air museum, with astonishing architecture and sculptural masterpieces scattered across streets, squares, and buildings, echoing bygone ages."

Cinema, art galleries, and a vibrant artistic movement made the 1970s "a pivotal era in Europe", he says.

"Several exhibitions were held every week, not to mention Italian music, fashion, and the renowned cuisine. This provided a spacious, welcoming, and conducive cultural environment for those seeking art and beauty."

He says he "greatly benefited from the aesthetics of Italian cinema and the Neo-realism wave," citing Fellini's belief that light does not just illuminate but serves a storytelling purpose, conveying ideologies, emotions, and shifting atmospheres.

Alwan reflected this belief on canvas, where light is not simply a singular source but a dance of diverse origins.

The late Syrian playwright Saadallah Wannous described Alwan's paintings as "a handful of iridescent colours, a pocket of clandestine lights, and a magical talent that crafts - from these sparse elements - canvases akin to visions, alchemising the body's chemistry and altering its emotional tides."

Nostalgia for the East

"The glory of the East begins in Damascus," according to Ahmad Shawqi, and the Syrian capital holds a special place in Alwan's heart. Sure enough, as his name and reputation grew, so too did his yearning for the East, feelings which had begun to resurface within him.

He longed for the bygone days of Baghdad in the 60s and early 70s, when cultural fervour pulsed through the air and leftist intellectuals set the rhythm of life with their poetry, novels, artwork, and intellectual dialogues.

But that was then.

Returning to Baghdad was impossible, so Damascus became the natural alternative. It was "a marvellous discovery," he says, "with its architectural charm, the simplicity of its daily life, and its ancient, vibrant markets filled with the aroma of spices and incense".

He was "enchanted by its diverse cuisine, the generosity of its people, and the warm, influential presence of its intellectuals, be they residents or visitors," he says. The likes of Wannous, Munif, Mamdouh Adwan, and Jawad Al-Assadi would urge him to visit.

This slowly gave way to a semi-permanent residence. "I purchased a house in a narrow alley branching off Abed Street, neighbouring the late Syrian Bedouin poet Bandar Abdul Hameed. His modest home doubled as a colossal cultural hub hosting cultural icons from the Arab world, either visiting or living in Damascus.

"Through my encounters and meetings with the intellectuals of Damascus and its guests, I rediscovered Arab culture. I was engaged in constant dialogue with them, especially with Saadallah Wannous, with whom I spent most of my time in his final days in mid-May 1997."

"Whenever I finished a new painting, I would show it to him. I felt as if my canvas served as a balm revitalising his spirit during the ordeal of his illness."

Seen through literary eyes

Beyond Wannous and Munif, many in literary circles admired Alwan's art, and he reciprocated. He collaborated with the late Iraqi poet Saadi Youssef on his book Erotica, bridging the gap between painting and poetry (it is sometimes said that "a painting is a silent poem, while a poem is a speaking painting").

The book was published by Dar Al-Mada, a publishing house founded in Damascus in the 1990s before relocating to Baghdad after the fall of Saddam Hussein's regime in 2003. It served as a forum, bringing together select leftist intellectuals.

Through Dar Al-Mada, owner Fakhri Karim tried to reunite dispersed Iraqi intellectuals in a vibrant cultural space, and there was no better place than Damascus. Still, successive crises were to sweep away this oasis, and Alwan lost a luminous chapter of his life.

He joined forces with Jawad Al-Assadi in two stage productions amalgamating theatre and visual arts (Baghdadi Bath and The Saxophone Women). He breathed new life into Lorca's renowned The House of Bernarda Alba. Alwan's easel also captured cultural luminaries such as Wannous and Iraqi poet Muhammad Mahdi Al-Jawahiri.

"The fascination perhaps lies in that my paintings speak to the eye and visual taste of the perceiver," he says.

"My figure painting (a visual art form where a central form emerges amidst a larger scene), coupled with open colour spaces that metaphorise freedom and departure, are especially captivating to the literary eye."

Not over-thinking colour

Jaber Alwan's canvases are often of expansive dimensions, which give him a greater freedom to articulate ideas and embark on a journey.

Some critics say his masses of colour on canvas are a semi-substitute for sculpture, a discipline he once studied but did not pursue owing to its spatial demands, specified tools, and added exertion. Instead of stone and bronze, he used fabric and paint, crafting figures whose features are forever obscured behind smoke or mist.

Though colours pulsate with life on Alwan's canvases, he doesn't delve too deeply into its meaning or philosophy. "Explaining colour is challenging," he says. "It emerges based on the painting's mood.

"In moments of joy, vibrant hues and dazzling light prevail, while in sorrow, dark tones and subdued illumination take over. I utilise every colour, choosing the shades that resonate with the painting's essence. Sometimes, the colour chooses itself.

"When I paint, I am liberated, distanced from the world, assisted unconsciously by music. Colour, for me, is a purely aesthetic element, contrary to scholars' theories. Red, for instance, need not symbolise revolution or blood. My sea may be tinged with red. Such intricate aesthetic moments cannot be theorised easily.

"My artwork is not a photographic reflection of reality. Rather, I draw with an expressive and impressionistic style, sometimes bordering on abstraction. I strive to craft visual aesthetics, conveying sorrow, joy, solitude, unity, and contemplation."

Over the years, he has embraced different schools or movements in art, discovering uniqueness in each, but individual artists have also had an enormous impact.

One is the Italian master Caravaggio (1571-1610), who captivated Alwan with the dramatic atmospheres he infused into realistic scenes with the interplay of light and shadow. Others include Michelangelo, the Irish-British painter Francis Bacon, and Austria's Egon Schiele, whose expressive style influenced artists worldwide.

Throughout Alwan's journey, women emerge as a constant source of creativity, a celestial force whose radiance weaves like a cosmic thread through his work. 

Consolation of comfort

The name 'Jaber' means 'consolation or comfort' in Arabic and was given to him for the sake of his mother, who had suffered the devastating loss of two children before him.

In Rome, unlike in Iraq, Alwan found the women to be liberated, starkly contrasting with his upbringing. He conveyed women's multifaceted experiences, silent struggles, momentary joy, solitary dances, and languid repose from these multipolar worlds.

The women in his art could inhabit a realm of contemplation in cafes, play melodies on the piano, navigate the tumultuous sea of love, or render unto submission.

He doesn't just paint women - he captures the essence of femininity through a delicate arch of the neck, a tall, slim silhouette, shoulders bearing the weight of the world, or a naked body unburdened by the luxury of colour.

Alwan is aware of the thin line between vulgar seduction and beauty sculpted from light and colour, echoing the mystique of Greek, Roman, and Babylonian goddesses.

"A woman is a beautiful being, an uncharted constellation," he says. "Her presence on my canvas is a celebration, an ode to her existence, a reclaiming of her narrative. She is a dynamic being, even in the physiological sense.

"Unlike men, a woman's body undergoes gradual transformations, from her budding breasts in adolescence to the complexities of pregnancy, childbirth, menstrual cycle, and other metamorphoses that inspire the artist.

"This explains why women dominate the canvas and occupy the central exploration stage in numerous artistic experiments."

When asked about his homeland, Alwan responds with a note of sadness. "We had a dream of establishing a stable and democratic country, but our dreams vanished into thin air," he says. "I visited Iraq years ago after decades of absence and felt the devastation enveloping the land of two rivers.

"It all began with Saddam's era. Now, after the fall of his regime, what prevails is unconscious religiosity and a band of thieves. The dream has faded. It seems that Rome is also my last refuge after losing Damascus."

These days, he has "simple daily routines," he says. "I wake up early, visit the nearby café, take a short walk, and prepare in the afternoon to head to the studio, where I stay until night. Ageing has deprived me of late nights, social gatherings, and even smoking cigars. Doctor appointments have replaced all of these."

Jaber Alwan will host an exhibition in Saudi Arabia this year at the ERRM Art Gallery in Riyadh.