Art Transcends Transactions
Notes on prioritizing social responsibility over sales.
These days, I find myself boiling water for tea at least five times a day. Each time, a cascade of tasks demands my attention—laundry, dishes, picking up toys, cleaning spills, preparing meals, learning, playing, outings, and repeating the cycle. Amidst the beauty and chaos of motherhood, I sneak into the bathroom, ensuring my son doesn't catch me on the phone.
In those moments, I watch the news, check in with Motaz, Bizan, and Plestia, educate myself, and share what's meaningful and important for my community. I don't get to drink the tea. The enormity of sorrow and grief is immense, matched only by the fierce anger and love I feel. My personal life is undergoing numerous changes, yet in the midst of it all, I remind myself that rest is essential, but action is even more imperative, especially now.
I am cognizant of my responsibilities, understanding that my life is not solely my own and that my privileges and conveniences, no matter how hard-earned, are not for nothing. They are not for me to wallow in self-loathing or self-preservation while people and children are dying and suffering like no human being on earth should.
People write me that they're unsubscribing here and unfollowing me on Instagram because of my solidarity with Palestine. To those who declare they're unfollowing me but still watch my stories and those who believe they own me because they purchased my art – here's my farewell. For everyone who feels the need to notify me when they unfollow, I don't view my followers as a potential business. I share my art, and whoever wants it wants it. I'm grateful. Those who love it will stay, and those who wish to read my words and support my writing will. Unfollowing or previously purchasing my art doesn't make me worried about losing a sale.
Yes, I need to make money. But I trust in myself, my art, and my community—friends and family—to stand by me through tough times. My social responsibility is more significant than any sale I can make now. Yours is, too.
The silence fuelled by capitalism is why fires don't cease because so many prioritize making sales over saving lives.
I remind myself that I started to write this newsletter to create the space for honesty, integrity, creativity, connection, and transparency. I created this space to share what's uncomfortable, what's real, what's painful, what's magical, what's necessary. I created this space to write about things we hide from, things we want to say but worry if we'll be judged, things we're told to keep personal and private, to give voice to the voiceless, and courage to smallness. To notice, to be in awe, and most importantly, to know we're not alone.
When I created Multilayered, it was the first time in thirty years that I could acknowledge and identify myself publicly as a war survivor. I wanted to write and honor my story, hoping to provide solace and inspiration to others, to heal my shame about being a refugee, living in the diaspora, and the feeling of not belonging.
I knew writing about my war experience was necessary because, surprisingly, my family never discussed it with me. It's still astonishing that, over the years, my parents never brought up the topic of the war. I was expected to move forward in life after enduring profound trauma as if none of it had ever happened.
I say this because, also, for the first time in thirty years, my memory is returning. War trauma caused me to lose memory from most of my childhood, and I only recall fragments—elusive moments that bubble out of my body and vanish into thin air. Like short movie reels, my childhood experiences come and go in fleeting glimpses, yet my PTSD remains.
I express this because the Palestinian genocide has opened deep wounds. As strange as it may sound, my love for Palestine is helping me heal my trauma. Our stories tie us together. I'm not here to share mine now but to emphasize that this is a pivotal reason why I, as a mother, an artist, and a human being, bear a profound social responsibility to engage with you about Palestine. This commitment arises not solely from my personal roles but also from the relentless stream of my childhood—a ceaseless barrage of shelling, air-raid sirens, cries, hunger, and suffering.
I will never comprehend, and I don't believe we can or should, how the act of killing innocent people and helpless children at the doorstep of their lives is not only possible by another human being but also justified by so much of the world.
If there is one tiny thing we can do—something the people of Palestine are asking of us—it's to speak up on their behalf. Pledge action. Call for a ceasefire. Apply political pressure. Center Palestinian voices. Be vigilant against propaganda. Be discerning. Show up if you're able. Boycott, divest. Keep going, and lead with your heart. And if any of this makes you uncomfortable, it should.
Educate yourself and challenge your own beliefs.
Speaking up together enhances our collective protection and facilitates organized efforts to dismantle oppressive systems.
I make art because I love the process and the connection with the unseen that guides me. Yes, it also supports me, my family, and my communities. But, the sole purpose of our art is not just to make money; it's about igniting transformative impact in our lives and the lives of others.
If you've ever questioned your purpose in life or art, remember, although our paths may differ, we all share a common goal: to liberate and love one another.
With love,
Vanja
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