Enumeration of human loss with reality's prickly shades

In his latest body of work titled Arqam, Iraqi-American artist Sina Ata depicts atrocities in forsaken lands. Arqam is Arabic for numbers.

“Some day we could all end up being a number or a statistic in some unfortunate incident. It [shows] our indifference to events,'' Ata told Weekend Review. “[It is] quite disturbing. Yet we [don't care]. Will we care only when these numbers take us?''

Ata sees himself as a humanitarian with art as his instrument to reinforce a plea to tolerate, to accept and to grow. His themes are dictated by incidents.

The works in Arqam incorporate numbers as small squares, each marked with the letter “X'', referring to the unknown number of Iraqi people dying every day.

With the situation in Iraq supposedly improving, these have become forgotten numbers, making the project seem more relevant than ever.

“It is a statement of grief. It is also a reminder of how little we are involved in changing things around us,'' Ata says pointing to an installation made up of about 15 lifesize mannequins with no arms. They are covered from head to toe with newspaper cuttings.

“They are like us, witnesses to the media, helpless and silent. Nevertheless, we all bear the responsibility and the burden. In the end, we become what we communicate,'' the artist says.

Born in New York City in 1955, Ata graduated in civil engineering from the University of Baghdad and in Building Management from the University of London.

Art came at a later stage in his life as a therapy to the depression he felt as a result of the Iraq-Iran war. Ata now lives in, Amman, Jordan.

“My friend, artist Rashid Salim, begged me to disburden myself through the new means of expression. And it worked,'' Ata says.

No name to bear

Since then, for nearly two decades, he has been channelling emotions through vivacious brushstrokes. At first, his paintings seemed to be more concerned with surfaces than content and in that way bore resemblance to minimalist art. He was into figurative art as well.

Even though he finds himself confined to minimalist exigencies, Ata's paintings are nameless. He says: “A name is born with and in the painting.

"It is an approach to life, a way of dealing with minimum things that do little to lift the aesthetic expression. The content is there but the language might have been changed. The end is what you abide by.''

Ata intends to present a landscape that introduces humans to the possibilities of war-torn terrains, lost opportunities and devastated lives.

This landscape is then juxtaposed with one of beauty and serenity, with colours faithful to the region: faded and sometimes struggling to define their own identity.

When we compare Ata's previous body of work, Track 9, with Arqam, the common denominator we find is the search for stability and peace of mind.

Both touch on the subject of injustice by making a personal statement of sorrow and outrage and a plea for humanity to emerge from indifference and move into a genuine response and responsibility.

The only difference is that Track 9 is more a personal journey to the centre of things — a coming to grips with the core of what keeps you grounded as a human being. More playful and childlike in its presentation, it brings the issues of identity to the fore: What marks us? What remains within us?

“The core bespeaks the reassurance and comfort of a balance gone astray, a solitary search [at times] of disappointments and other tragic conclusions,'' Ata says.

The medium has changed with time. Arqam is a collective form of expression that the subject matter dictates.

“I started with paper, moved to canvas and wood, and used discarded objects. Of late I have been experimenting with mixing different materials and allowing them to blend in ways they choose — such as wood with mud, glue with paper.''

“The work starts with the application of paint, allowing my hands to reign over the creative process, challenging me sometimes not to interfere.

"I try to keep it as honest as possible, leaving little room for beautification. The result should hold its own, create its own life and manage to hold an aesthetic value reminiscent of deaths.''

An evocative work of art in Arqam is the film study of 200 candles — slowly blown out by an unidentified force, against a soundtrack of names of men, women and children.

When compared with Bob Dylan's song, Idiot Wind, this is more a criminal wind, unforgiving and avaricious. The names being read cover the whole fabric of a nation.

The last two names struggle but fail to keep up and are blown out. It was when Iraq was going through one of its darkest periods and there was very little to be optimistic about that Ata got the idea for the film.

“In reality most of these occurrences had little to do with the people; they were just caught in this madness — a crazy force outside anyone's reach. It was a reflection of the time and my state of mind,'' Ata says.

Apolitical by nature

But is it easy for an artist dealing with issues related to interference by Western countries in the Middle East to gain following in the Western world?

“My art is not political,'' Ata says. “The work seems to touch upon political aspects, which is unintentional. What I am suggesting is a statement of grief; not solutions or alternative narratives to political dialogues.

“I think [the Western world] will welcome it. Yet, I don't think I will be very popular among some politicians, which is fine by me.

"When I was exhibiting the Arqam project in Amman, an American university professor remarked that in the United States, statistics showed that soldiers returning from Iraq were committing suicide at a rate of 150 a week.

"I had to check it myself to believe it. So there you go … numbers on every side.''

Many horrible realisations have built the humanistic artist in Ata. The 13 years he spent in isolation, when his father was taken prisoner, changed his state of shock to rejection.

“What helped me was my father. He was a tower of strength and perseverance,'' the artist says.

“When he was still on the death row, he used to preserve his sanity by translating. And that caused pain in his neck due to his posture while writing.

Doctors advised him to stop using his right hand. He wrote his next book with his left hand. Things like that help and it makes you think the human spirit can sometimes be such a powerful tool.

“Once he was released, there was no time wasted on resentment and regrets. These were my teenage years. They mould you in a certain way that affects every aspect of your life, art included.''

Even if art is not our cup of tea, originality always wins. It subjects its viewer to a new set of emotions. Ata's art is an exemplar of such influence.

Layla Haroon is a freelance writer based in Abu Dhabi.
Arqam is on at the Basement Art Gallery, Dubai, until February 28.