Zina Al-Shukri‘s gestural portraits brandish undaunted hues and unabashed gazes, displaying an amorous relationship with the materiality of paint and an intimacy with the spectrum of life’s blows and balms. The artist was born in Baghdad, studied at California College of the Arts, and is based in Little Rock. Her work was recently exhibited by Electra Gallery in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and she is preparing for an upcoming exhibition at Patricia Sweetow Gallery in Los Angeles.
What are you working on these days?
I’ve been developing three separate bodies of work since 2007. I’ve always had figurative work, and specifically portraiture, happening. Then I have smaller works on paper from my imagination that sort of dip into the figurative work. Also, I’ve been harvesting clay from different sites [the Ouachita Trail in Arkansas, Diablo Canyon in New Mexico] and coming back to making these terracotta panels, which feels like it connects to my ancestors because terracotta was not only an artistic component of Mesopotamian culture, it was also utilitarian. I’ve always leaned towards clay, especially terracotta, because it runs in my bloodline and connects to representations of ancient Sumerian goddesses.
Why do you choose to work in the genre of portraiture, and can you tell me about your process?
Portraiture to me is just a way to learn how to relate to others. That’s always been sort of a key component in my evolution. The older I get and [with] the experience of having children, the more service-oriented I become. The portraits shift with that … It’s a way for me to show love — for the craft, for humanity, for the art, for the materials, for the connection. It’s just a way for me to show love. The more present I am with the sitter and the deeper the connection I create with them, the more easily they unfold – conversationally and formally within the painting itself.
What inspires you right now?
I think this developing sisterhood that’s starting to happen in the collective, where for thousands of years women were pitted against each other. We’re finally starting to realize the extent of the damage and that we can’t continue being in constant conflict — inner and exterior — it’s just a very painful place to be. Being able to connect with each other is so much more sustainable, softer and a healthier place to be.
Agreed. I think a lot about the internalized patriarchy and how it fosters rivalry when what we deeply crave are systems of support. Connecting to this theme of support, I wanted to ask you how your work in healing modalities such as art therapy and leading sound baths connects to your artistic practice.
As artists, a lot of us who are working intuitively really just channel the frequency of the subject being painted. Or if you’re working from your imagination, you’re channeling a higher message that’s much bigger than the artists themselves, right? Everything, including sound, is vibratory. It’s really all physics; it’s all frequencies. The harmonic frequencies of color in my paintings emulate the harmonic frequencies of sounds.
As an art therapist, I’ve worked for this amazing program called CSI at the Pulaski County Jail, spearheaded by Sheriff Eric Higgins. Actually, this past April, Netflix came out with a series on the [jail] … Being in a room full of people who really are just hungry for a creative outlet and some sort of platform where they can let loose without feeling judged and then getting into our bodies, using our hands, and sharing everything with them I’ve learned has been some of the most fulfilling work I’ve ever done.
As someone who was born in Iraq and who came to the U.S. as a child, how does the experience of living within two cultures inform your work?
I was born in Baghdad, Iraq; I’m indigenous Mesopotamian and more specifically Babylonian. Being born into war and fleeing war is a very effective destabilizer. As refugees, our family would move every few years because my parents would have to go where the work was, and so every time I’d create a friendship, I’d have to move away. Part of what drew me to portraiture was that it was a way for me to be able to have some form of longevity with others.
I remember going to the Smithsonian when I was 8 years old, to the National Portrait Gallery, and when I walked in there I fell in love with being able to see paintings of all of these people, and they weren’t going anywhere. They were safe in that institution. So it felt solid to me to be able to see a person in a frame like that. But when I really decided that art was my chosen path was in college as I found myself shifting all of my focus from biology to ceramics. Art became an incredible outlet for growth and evolution, and I wasn’t going to let go of that.
Considering the current conflict in the Middle East, what is it like to carry the weight of your two cultures right now?
I love being Arab more than I’ve ever loved it in my entire life because at this point — as I’ve been stripped bare of my humanity as an Arab woman through the dehumanization of Arabs, Muslims and Brown and Black people by Western ideology and imperialism — you can either withdraw and disappear, or you can really be empowered by that position and just put it in people’s faces. Being a refugee child of the diaspora is challenging because you have these divergent cultures that you’re constantly straddling and learning how to navigate while having to create another kind of identity that’s never actually embedded in one culture or place. However, the ability to sort of weave in and out of these different demographics and cultures is a very powerful position to be in because you can really be an advocate for everyone.
At the same time, I’ve never experienced so much hate in all my life except during 9/11, when people would find out I was Arab and throw all sorts of vitriol at me. The other side of that coin is that I have never experienced so much connectedness and love of community. So it’s like the pendulum is swinging really hard on both ends right now. I see the outpour of love and empathy coming from heart-centered people, and that fortifies and empowers me. That makes me want to serve my community and love even harder.