The Ministry of Culture exhibits works of art after the destruction and theft through successive conflicts
Upon entering the drab construction housed by the Iraqi Ministry of Culture, visitors stumble upon some of the country’s greatest treasures. In a newly renovated room that once served as a cafeteria, 76 valuable paintings and sculptures by Iraq’s most important artists are on display for the first time. since the looting of the National Museum of Modern Art after the invasion of Iraq in 2003.
“Art is reminiscent of people,” said Fakhir Mohammed, head of the ministry’s “directorate of plastic arts” that deals with fresh paintings and sculptures. Returning from works of art “to those walls is only one component of our ambition. “He added: “There is now a genuine will to repair Iraqi culture to the level of the past. “
Some 11,000 works of art were in the museum when the United States invaded Iraq, a country once considered one of the Arab world’s largest cultural centers. In the ensuing chaos, looters looted museums and other establishments while U. S. troops remained nearby. What happened in 2003, a blow to the Iraqi heritage and the visual arts movement,” Mohammed said. “We suffer from it to this day. “
Some pieces were hidden by museum staff. Others were later discovered in local antique markets, adding a sculpture by prominent artist Jawad Salim. Of the pieces remain untraceable, many were likely smuggled out of the country through networks of foreign criminals into personal collections.
The museum’s holdings are now a quarter of its original size. Less than six hundred works have been officially endorsed, most often through well-meaning personal collectors. But Iraq has few legal channels for restitution. The landmark 1970 UNESCO Convention on Illicit Traffic in Cultural Property is useless unless destination countries agree to sign binding bilateral treaties committing them to return cultural property.
“If the two sides disagree, the conference is still valid, but it cannot be implemented,” said Junaid Sorosh-Wali, head of culture at UNESCO’s office in Iraq. “The conventions provide a legal framework, but goodwill will will have to come from the parties. “
The procedure is further hampered by the lack of a comprehensive database of stolen works and investment for repurchase and maintenance. Across the aisle from the showroom, more than 2300 other paintings are crammed into storage. Storage, but the ministry’s workshop has apparatus to make fundamental repairs.
However, the returned artworks are a source of national pride and an invaluable repository of collective reminiscences for a country that has suffered immeasurable losses. Over the course of more than a century, they tell stories of occupations, uprisings and wars, taking on a historical adventure since the Ottomans. and British rule, to the monarchy, to the Baath era, to the first Gulf War.
Among the oldest paintings are the idyllic landscapes of Abdulqader al-Rassam, who traveled throughout the country in the service of the Ottoman Empire, which ruled Iraq from the sixteenth century until it passed into British hands after World War I.
Many of these “pioneer” artists were trained in Europe or the Ottoman Empire and returned to Iraq to launch a new artistic movement, fashionable techniques to popularize the symbols of Iraqi folklore. An example of this taste is a colorful portrait of the mid-twentieth century through Hafidh. al-Droubi, painter and art teacher who studied in Rome and London and is best known for cubism to depict life in Baghdad.
Alongside those nonviolent scenes of Iraq’s heyday as an emerging Arab nation, more disturbing paintings recount, and await, its darkest days.
A 1958 painting by Tareq Madhloum commemorates the rise of Wathba in 1948, when crowds of academics flooded the streets of Baghdad to reject British and emerging inequality. Titled The Eternal Bridge Battle, the painting fluidly superimposes harsh scenes of the revolt, many of which evoke comparisons. In the middle of the image, security forces open fire on crowds seeking to cross the Martyrs’ Bridge, named after those killed in 1948. Both movements faced brutal repression that resulted in many deaths.
Other works seem to herald violent events far ahead of their time. A 1976 painting by Faiq Hassan immediately evokes the American bombing of a civilian bomb shelter in the first Gulf War. The giant oil paint shows women and children, with their eyes and mouths open. Open terrified, fleeing from what appears to be an explosion. Remarkably, it was painted 14 years before the bombing of the Amiriyah shelter in 1991 that killed more than 400 civilians.
To the right of the front is another haunting piece by Layla al-Attar, Iraq’s most prominent female artist, who once served as the museum’s director. Looking through the dark trunks of a palm grove, the observer’s attention is directed to the center, where a fireplace burns in a remote residential area. Upon closer examination, the definition of the chimney resembles the map of Iraq, an allusion to the far-reaching effect of the war. From the protection of the palm grove, a woman – perhaps the artist – looks at hell as if it were a premonition of her own death: al-Attar was killed by an American missile in 1993.
The successive conflicts that have plagued Iraq since the 1980s caused a decline in the cultural scene long before 2003. While mid-century pioneers had thrived in an era of recovery in the 1990s, their successors fled the suffocating climate of wars, sanctions, and Saddam Hussein. Hussein’s dictatorship, leaving the artistic movement rudderless and the disadvantaged public of his legacy.
Although wars have subsided since then, the country’s recovery is hampered by internal conflict, corruption and mismanagement, all of which have eroded public attention to art. Experienced artists don’t forget the days when exhibition halls were packed with visitors and the government invested in the arts, buying art to inspire emerging painters.
“The government is of the arts. We’re frustrated by that. They only care about themselves, not the artists,” said Saad al-Tai, a 78-year-old artist whose representation is on display at the ministry. Dozens of Tai’s other works were lost in the 2003 looting. The artist has little hope that his portraits, or the golden age of pioneers, will ever return.
“Iraqi society is still heading in a volatile direction,” Tai said. “Conditions have forced other people to turn inward. The artistic spirit has disappeared.