Lebanese artist Rafik Hariri on AI, mental health, and reality

His digital art conveys narratives rooted in the present moment, often with deep links to Lebanese social contexts. His goal is to help people "feel psychologically comforted when they visit my page, by stimulating their sense of connection".

He believes in the power of stories, into which any concept can be transformed, he says. "Mental health is fertile ground for these narratives—it transcends cultures and remains a fundamental part of the human experience. 

"We are innately drawn to stories. Even major companies have understood the power of storytelling throughout history. I believe my commitment to this art form has played a significant role in attracting people to my work."

Revealing oneself

Hariri initially hesitated to share his art publicly, keeping his drawings hidden until his mother inspired him to reveal them. This led to him taking a master's degree in graphic design and communication.

His debut book, Indigo (2018), chronicles his struggle with the eating disorder bulimia and his recovery. This was followed by I Found a Heart (2021), which explores disappointment and healing. His third book, 3 AM (2022), covers the intimate moments and unfiltered thoughts before sleep, when the mind relaxes.

In his latest book, Hariri examines humanity's capacity to choose its thoughts, emphasising that people are responsible for resolving inner confusion. "This is achieved not by avoiding difficult emotions, but by processing them and turning the incomprehensible into clarity," he says.
 
Hariri's art recalls the subtle details that inspire slowness, invite a savouring of the present, and encourage contemplation of life's overlooked and hidden joys, such as a heartfelt WhatsApp message, the scent of autumn, a stunning view, or a deep breath.

"In the end, we must take a breath, and that is the ultimate goal of my art," he says. "We live in a digital age that thirsts for comfort, imagination, and dreams."

On the temptation for vulgarity or monotony, he says: "It's easy to repeat or force ideas, but I avoid this by not pressuring myself to embody any specific concept. Instead, I allow my imagination to guide me organically. If I feel I'm fabricating, I step away."

Being true

There is a difference between pattern and repetition, he explains. "A pattern is your unique fingerprint, while repetition signals stagnation in creativity. Patterns emerge from the culture of your homeland, city, and community—your identity shapes them. We are cultural beings, both products and producers of our identities."

Art that addresses mental health should confront, stir, and unearth feelings, he believes, creating openings for healing and connection. "I integrate the cultural dimension by linking our everyday experiences to our identity. Whether through places, lifestyles, or objects, these elements—often unnoticed—play a vital role in shaping our psychological rhythm. Over time, they define our existence."

Initially, he addressed the war in Lebanon between Israel and Hezbollah directly through his art, until something dawned on him. "I remembered the world I wanted to create in my drawings—a lighter, more hopeful one—so I began reimagining the Lebanon I aspire to see."

His art often evokes nostalgia for a simpler Lebanon, drawing on symbols of daily life, which he describes as "delivery days of time". It could be a straw basket hanging from a balcony, the scent of cleaning powder, vintage chocolates, a music cassette, or a biscuit tin repurposed by mothers as a sewing kit. Many of these, particularly those from the 1990s, resonate deeply with audiences.

Surreal intimacy 

Hariri distinguishes his surrealist style through layers of meaning and openly acknowledges the influence of the Belgian surrealist painter René Magritte, who was known for his depictions of familiar objects in unfamiliar contexts.

"His paintings exude tranquillity, relying on simplicity and avoiding an overwhelming mix of elements. His relationship with his mother held great significance in his life, much like my bond with my own mother."

Hariri's work often feels like a progression through scenes of a single, continuous dream. Within these, the same symbols emerge, creating recurring motifs: hearts, blood vessels, boxes, umbilical cords, grass, skulls, Hariri himself, the moon, and a solitary blue butterfly tethered by a red thread, an emblem of beauty and transience that evokes a sense of wounded tenderness. 

In Rails, an accompanying text reads: "What does a house mean? Could it be a shop, a person, an idea? Or could it be me?" Hariri describes this as "a summary of the artistic process: artistic productivity emerges from the soul, embodying imagination".

Symbols and motifs

The moon is featured in Hariri's intimate visual universe. In one piece, it lies on the ground. In Shadow Work, it hovers in space as the artist, deep in thought, weeps blood. Nearby, another skull contains a key surrounded by scattered leaves. In The Moon Baby, a newborn still tethered to his mother clutches a luminous moon. 

Hariri explores themes of fertility with a green branch replacing the umbilical cord and circular patterns on the uterus symbolising movement and the cyclical nature of life. "Everyone is attached to something," he says. "We feel a mysterious connection to it, and it accompanies us throughout our lives. For me, it is the moon."

Hariri's art confronts reality and questions the taboos it imposes. His work suggests a challenge to modernity's surreal demands: the expectation to be the best, the most beautiful, the strongest, happiest, most productive. This creates a performative digital identity, celebrating individualism while conforming to societal models. 

In contrast, Hariri's art celebrates the life of the individual, someone who finds peace in simplicity and intimacy and reclaims the freedoms stolen by hegemonic ideals. Among these freedoms is the right to fragility, particularly for men.

Technology and AI 

Rafik Hariri's silk paintings are characterised by soft pastel colours with subdued variation and saturation, resembling the fluidity of water-based techniques, but these are digital drawings, and the artist leaves imperfections in his work.

There is also an impression of lightness, with elements seemingly ascending or flying. Tripoli, for instance, is portrayed as a heart-shaped landmass that retains its iconic features but—defying gravity—it floats in space. Elsewhere, smoke rises from a skull or a teapot, green leaves drift, small eyes flutter through the scene, somewhere between concealment and revelation.

When asked about AI, Hariri says he sees it as an "added value" to the art, contributing to innovation and facilitating work. AI "will not replace us," he believes, but will be "adopted by those who know how to use it," adding: "It is crucial to credit the sources and avoid stealing artists' work." 

Looking ahead, Hariri expects his drawings to evolve naturally, though he hints at a subject he has yet to reveal. "It remains a taboo topic in our societies," he confides. "I am waiting for the right moment to bring it into the open. I know it will push me to the point of no return. I have to be prepared for it." So will his audience.