أسامه حسين

Osama Hussien

Art Before and After War: A Journey of Survival and Expression

Before the War: A Safe Corner for Creativity

Before the war, I had my own small studio. It wasn’t big, but it was my safe space.
It was filled with my scent, my light, and my silence. I knew how my day started and how it ended.

There were rituals—soft music, the right lighting, and a canvas that grew slowly, stroke by stroke.
I worked on myself as an artist with patience and passion. My focus was on the meaning of movement, the body, and the empty space. I explored the connection between inner feelings and their visual form.

In that space, I could concentrate, experiment, and discover myself through art. I was not in a rush, not under pressure, and not afraid of the next moment.

After the War: When Art Became Survival

But after the war, everything changed. Not only did my surroundings collapse, but my way of working transformed too.
I began creating under pressure, under daily pain, and under a loss that words can hardly describe.

The canvas was no longer a meditative project—it became a reaction to reality.
Lines grew heavier, bodies on the canvas became real bodies—ones I saw, lost, or feared for.

I painted to protect myself from breaking down. I painted to document, not to beautify.
I painted to leave a trace, even if it was small.

Art did not lose its importance, but its role shifted. It became a means of survival, a tool of understanding, a way to face destruction.

Creating Without Stability

I lost my place, much of my work, and the stability that fueled my creativity.
Now, I often paint in temporary spaces—sometimes without a table, without proper light, without my tools, and without silence.

Most importantly, I lost the safe distance between myself and reality.
Art became faster, less organized, less hesitant. It turned into an immediate response—documentation of the moment, not long reflection.

The spaces on my canvas became either too narrow or unexpectedly wide, as if I no longer had the luxury of arranging everything carefully. I painted as if I were in a state of emergency.

Why I Still Create

And yet, I never stopped. Because for me, art is not a luxury—it is survival.
It is the way I make sense of what’s happening around me.
It is the way I say: I am still here, despite all the destruction.

Before being an artist, I am a human.
I grew up in an environment full of responsibility and hardship, but also warmth, love, and small details that taught me authenticity.

Living in the Moment

My personal and inner life changed. Loss, fear, and pressure became constants. Everything around us turned temporary, fragile, ready to collapse at any moment.

This reflected on me not only as an artist, but as a human being.
I began living each moment as if it were the last scene.