I used to introduce myself as not a painter, but a colorist—an expression that played with words to create a dialogue around color and line. After my studies at classical art schools and university, where I focused on realistic drawing, I was always searching for my own tools and style. I once heard a sentence that became the driving force behind my constant search: "A good artist is one who masters their tools." The collage, scissors, glue, and the smell of wax to preserve the finished artwork, made from fabrics, cutting, and pasting—these tools became as important as my hands during that phase

Although I came from Damascus, a city under the brutal, oppressive rule of a dictatorship, and despite my parents' efforts to protect me, I didn’t engage with politics nor was I concerned with it at the time. However, I was always seeking my own revolution and freedom, especially as a woman in a patriarchal society. I constantly created challenges and rebelled against my reality. Before the war, when I started to rely on myself and become independent with my art, I wasn't neutral. The wars in Palestine, Lebanon, and Iraq were a part of my daily life. Even though I didn’t officially engage, I was never neutral in my approach. Despite the chaos of the vibrant colors in my work, I always painted anxiety and fear, searching for the truth regarding my freedom as a citizen who didn’t have the right to vote.

I never felt at ease because I was silenced whenever I began questioning the system in Syria or delved into anything that was forbidden. There was so much oppression around me, and because of it, the colors faded, and blackness started to dominate my work.