Writer, artist and educator Irene Wise considers art in times of conflict for the next instalment in our 'Urgent Voices' series

As I write this, fireworks explode in nearby gardens while my cat hides behind the sofa. Some 3,000 miles away, there are larger explosions, far more terrifying. There seems no end to the escalation of violence, while antisemitic attacks have increased everywhere. In London, graffiti is daubed on the front sign of the Wiener Holocaust Library. Emotions are precarious, reflecting the volatility of the political crisis. In this new crucible of war, the unexpected happens. A Jewish acquaintance calls me an antisemite for voicing concern for innocent Palestinians (not Hamas). Non-Jewish neighbours knock on my door to check in on me and to offer condolences; one brings a loaf of bread. They suggest a walk in the park. Contact with friends and family is more important than ever and I relish messages from my cousins.

At cheder, I was taught that Islam is the closest religion to Judaism and the similarities are obvious; even between the Hebrew and Arabic languages. For decades, I worked with interfaith groups; many Muslim students signed up for my courses on the Holocaust and Jewish culture. I cannot imagine this happening again. Catastrophes have consequences, not just in the world, but within ourselves. It will take a long time to repair the damage.

All of this makes me want to join the cat behind the settee. The feelings conjured are so complicated that I can barely express them. When words are not enough, I return to visual imagery.

For months, Ukrainian-born Israeli artist Zoya Cherkassky-Nnadi depicted the war raging in the country of her birth. Now, she makes striking pictures of the recent massacres in Israel and of the kidnapped women and children taken by Hamas. Cherkassky-Nnadi still hopes for a two-state solution; she has always been vocal in her criticism of Netanyahu’s leadership. Her painting entitled ‘7 Oct 2023’, shows a family in fear of discovery by the Hamas terrorists. A mother covers her baby’s mouth to stop them making a sound. This is reminiscent of what Jews in hiding had to do during the Holocaust.

The painting pays homage to Picasso’s Guernica, his 1937 painting of the bombing of the Basque town during the Spanish Civil War. Picasso’s scene of dismembered people and animals is lit by a naked bulb splaying jagged rays of light, like an all-seeing eye. Cherkassky-Nnadi incorporates the same lightbulb into her painting of the beleaguered Israelis. Thus, three conflicts collide within a single image.

In ‘A Burned Family. 7 Oct. 2023’, Cherkassky-Nnadi has painted five ghostly figures gathered around a couple of kitchen chairs. Their features have been burnt away and their individuality reduced to a blank mask, their tortured expression taken from Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’. Munch’s iconic depiction of his own angst is universally understood. Cherkassky-Nnadi builds on that recognition to depict a horror that is both real and psychological.

Palestinian artist Malak Mattar also borrowed from Munch for a painting she posted on Instagram, coincidently on 7 October, five years ago in 2018. Her version of ‘The Scream’ becomes a portrait of Nasser Mosbeh, a 12-year-old boy who was killed in the Gaza Strip by robotic snipers. He was unarmed, had nothing in his bag but school books. The painting has a stylized view of Jerusalem, the domed buildings a patchwork of small blocks divided by barbed wire. Mattar has written about her longing for the homeland of her grandparents and her paintings are naïve and brightly coloured: faces, flowers and doves are formed from simple shapes and are often captured within a strong outline. She depicts mostly women and children, their dark colouring and large eyes reminiscent of the Coptic figures in the Ethiopian Bible.

“To be a painter in Gaza is to expect death at any moment,” Mattar posted on Instagram on 20 November 2022. “It is to carry the pain of those around you from the moment you awake till the moment you sleep; to escape through paper and paint that the Occupation barely allows entry. It is to paint the anxiety, isolation and joy on the faces of the people around you, exhausted by siege and war.”

It is hard to read that narrative and almost impossible to respond. But Mattar’s artwork compels us to look – her pictures speak as urgently as do the images created by her Israeli counterpart Cherkassky-Nnadi. Both artists love the land they call home and are driven to record the plight of women and children. Their anguish has common threads. When language fails, and it is hard to listen, images can help us to understand each other’s stories. Only then can we begin to find our shared humanity.

By Irene Wise

Irene Wise is a writer, artist and educator. She was also the first art director at JR magazine. irenejuliawise.com