Text by Laura Cherrie Beaney and Dr. Werner van den Belt
An individual lodged between worlds, Samah Shihadi's art transcends boundaries, speaking from a multitude of places. As a Palestinian residing in Haifa, Samah embodies dual marginality, belonging to the Arab minority in Israel—a community of Israeli citizens rooted in Palestinian heritage, characterised by their diverse affiliations and social identities.
Her art is inseparable from the historical narrative of her ancestors, who were displaced from the western Galilee village of Mi’ar, razed in 1948. Her family found refuge in neighbouring villages, with her mother's side settling temporarily in Sakhnin and her father's family relocating to the Galilee town of Sha’ab. Samah was later born and raised in Sha'ab; she went on to study at Oranim Academic College of Education and then at Haifa University. She continues to live and work in Haifa today.
Manoeuvring between cultures and contexts, Samah's drawings occupy a liminal space. She operates a space between classical-figurative realism, compelled to document and preserve, and surrealism, which is both personal and fantastical. It’s work that reflects her quest to make sense of the world while harbouring a sense of exile within her own country.
Equally inseparable from her art is her personal experience as a Palestinian woman existing in Israel. Her work intertwines collective concerns relating to land, belonging, nostalgia, and tradition with issues of gender, the body, feminism, and assimilation that tend to arise in contemporary critical discourse. Her compositions, then, derail straightforward assumptions about identity.
We Could Be Heroes*
In 2023 Samah received an invitation from Jeroen Dijkstra at the Livingstone Gallery in The Hague to take up a three-month residency at the Livingstone Projects studio in Berlin.
An individual lodged between worlds, Samah Shihadi's art transcends boundaries, speaking from a multitude of places. As a Palestinian residing in Haifa, Samah embodies dual marginality, belonging to the Arab minority in Israel—a community of Israeli citizens rooted in Palestinian heritage, characterised by their diverse affiliations and social identities.
Her art is inseparable from the historical narrative of her ancestors, who were displaced from the western Galilee village of Mi’ar, razed in 1948. Her family found refuge in neighbouring villages, with her mother's side settling temporarily in Sakhnin and her father's family relocating to the Galilee town of Sha’ab. Samah was later born and raised in Sha'ab; she went on to study at Oranim Academic College of Education and then at Haifa University. She continues to live and work in Haifa today.
Manoeuvring between cultures and contexts, Samah's drawings occupy a liminal space. She operates a space between classical-figurative realism, compelled to document and preserve, and surrealism, which is both personal and fantastical. It’s work that reflects her quest to make sense of the world while harbouring a sense of exile within her own country.
Equally inseparable from her art is her personal experience as a Palestinian woman existing in Israel. Her work intertwines collective concerns relating to land, belonging, nostalgia, and tradition with issues of gender, the body, feminism, and assimilation that tend to arise in contemporary critical discourse. Her compositions, then, derail straightforward assumptions about identity.
We Could Be Heroes*
In 2023 Samah received an invitation from Jeroen Dijkstra at the Livingstone Gallery in The Hague to take up a three-month residency at the Livingstone Projects studio in Berlin.
During this period, she produced a new body of work that unfolded much like a diary. Her earlier memories—the familiar landscapes portraying the land of origin of her grandparents in Mi’ar—were blended with new ones. The residency prompted a new series capturing the essence of other villages in the Mi’ar region, which had faced destruction in 1948—Khirbat Jiddah, Al Bassa, and Dair Al-Qassi. The landscapes are recognisable and the ruins offer a reminder of turmoil on once fertile land. There is, however, no overt activism or confrontation here. Instead, Samah opts for a different path—that of empathy and communication.
One can almost smell her delicately rendered fruit, vegetables, and herbs; the aroma of the thyme and fig leaves that have risen amidst the wreckage. For those existing in exile, the connection to the land is an intimate one. Through her depictions, Samah keeps alive the existences, customs, and culture of her ancestors revived against the backdrop of the disappearing villages of Palestine.
Collapsing past into present, Samah's artistic diary concludes with a farewell to Berlin, sketching herself on the historically significant Bösebrücke bridge. Liminal spaces, whether borders or bridges hold significance. In this instance, it is evoked by the fact that this particular bridge was the first to open when the Berlin Wall fell, forming a metaphor for transition and connection.
AGERE. AVT. PATI. FORTIORA
At the studio in Berlin, Samah was able to broaden her horizons and, at the same time, make her work more personal, less ambivalent. Later, her work arrived at the right place, presented at Stedelijk Museum in Vianen. At the time when the Netherlands was overtaken by the occupying Spanish army, Vianen represented a stronghold of freedom and tolerance. The (Latin) motto of Hendrik van Brederode, the first freedom fighter of The Netherlands, illustrates that freedom is never self-evident. It literally means: ‘one must act or endure worse.’
Hendrik tied the development of a sovereign state to the principle of separation of church and state and made it independent of the automatic succession to the throne. He was tolerant towards immigrants and followers of other religions. Unfortunately, understanding and rapprochement did not lead to the envisioned results. Due to the dogmatic implementation of religious differences, conflicts were provoked.
The intersection of art, religion, and power is characterised by opposing agendas. While art seeks unity, religion and power tend to divide. How difficult it must be for Samah then, to develop a visual language that is not dismissed as a compromise but interpreted as her path, one that is often subject to opposing forces. Her Berlin diary formed a personal quest towards common ground.
The bridge that appears in Samah's final work from Berlin serves as a metaphor—a site of transition and in-betweenness, yet also a unifying force capable of bridging opposing ideologies. Rather than relying upon grand narratives, Samah shares small, intimate stories—capturing the essence of being human with desires, doubts, wishes, and shortcomings. The recognisable imagery she constructs is abstract enough that it might resonate across borders.
One can almost smell her delicately rendered fruit, vegetables, and herbs; the aroma of the thyme and fig leaves that have risen amidst the wreckage. For those existing in exile, the connection to the land is an intimate one. Through her depictions, Samah keeps alive the existences, customs, and culture of her ancestors revived against the backdrop of the disappearing villages of Palestine.
Collapsing past into present, Samah's artistic diary concludes with a farewell to Berlin, sketching herself on the historically significant Bösebrücke bridge. Liminal spaces, whether borders or bridges hold significance. In this instance, it is evoked by the fact that this particular bridge was the first to open when the Berlin Wall fell, forming a metaphor for transition and connection.
AGERE. AVT. PATI. FORTIORA
At the studio in Berlin, Samah was able to broaden her horizons and, at the same time, make her work more personal, less ambivalent. Later, her work arrived at the right place, presented at Stedelijk Museum in Vianen. At the time when the Netherlands was overtaken by the occupying Spanish army, Vianen represented a stronghold of freedom and tolerance. The (Latin) motto of Hendrik van Brederode, the first freedom fighter of The Netherlands, illustrates that freedom is never self-evident. It literally means: ‘one must act or endure worse.’
Hendrik tied the development of a sovereign state to the principle of separation of church and state and made it independent of the automatic succession to the throne. He was tolerant towards immigrants and followers of other religions. Unfortunately, understanding and rapprochement did not lead to the envisioned results. Due to the dogmatic implementation of religious differences, conflicts were provoked.
The intersection of art, religion, and power is characterised by opposing agendas. While art seeks unity, religion and power tend to divide. How difficult it must be for Samah then, to develop a visual language that is not dismissed as a compromise but interpreted as her path, one that is often subject to opposing forces. Her Berlin diary formed a personal quest towards common ground.
The bridge that appears in Samah's final work from Berlin serves as a metaphor—a site of transition and in-betweenness, yet also a unifying force capable of bridging opposing ideologies. Rather than relying upon grand narratives, Samah shares small, intimate stories—capturing the essence of being human with desires, doubts, wishes, and shortcomings. The recognisable imagery she constructs is abstract enough that it might resonate across borders.
*
We could be heroes. David Bowie wrote ‘Heroes’ in 1977 for his eponymous album. He recorded the song at the Hansa Studios, located less than five hundred metres from the Berlin Wall. The Wall was the result of the Cold War which divided Berlin into Western European and Eastern European parts. The song is about love being stronger than political differences: I can remember / Standing by the wall / And the guns shot above our heads / And we kissed as though nothing could fall / And the shame was on the other side / Oh we can beat them forever and ever / Then we can be “Heroes” / Just for one day
