You've Got Mail
The time I spend working on my paintings is more joyful for me than the paintings themselves, and the familiarity that forms between me and the artworks is, perhaps, what gives the ends their bitterness. But at some point, when I feel that change is a crime and that any addition may spoil the whole thing, I stop. I sign with a jolt of sadness.
The intimacy between me and the place in the picture extends to 20 years ago, my window opened to this view everyday until I left Jordan for work. Nothing changed other than the seasons.
Our mountain is divided by a five-minute-drive ramp leading to Wadi Shu'eib (The Valley of Jethro). On the left side (outside the picture) is al-Muzawwad, home to a piece of paradise that is my grandfather's land which gathered us - his children and grandchildren - every Friday and in the olive harvest seasons. The mountain hiding behind the fog is Jubeil* Thabet which descends to the left just to show me Palestine, a mirage in the daytime and a spray of shy lights at night.
I didn't think about the scene poetically back then, and maybe I closed the window more than I opened it, but today I know its effect on me.
This is how the scene will look after 20 years .. I think!
My real sense of beauty and pleasure lies in living within the world of the painting and propagating between its real and imaginary realms; so I procrastinated in this painting as much as I could: I modified the body of the man more than once, as well as for the drone, the land and the trees, I adjusted the colors as I progressed to build the right mood, and I repeatedly thought about declaring the package's content before I decided to leave it to the imagination of the spectator.
Shawarma? Fertilizer? A book from Amazon? Or maybe a grant from the National Aid Fund?! 😐
* The Jubeil (جبيل) is the small Jabal, the small mountain.