Egyptian artists have a long history of political engagement. Fifty-fifty in the mid-twentieth century, when they by and large relied on state funding, they fabricated critiques of the ruling regimes, and created 1 of the few spaces where independent political idea could brew. Egyptian artists—like their counterparts in many other countries in the region—have long been in closer bear upon with the mood of average people than the repressive governments have been, and they have served every bit both bellwethers and instigators of change. When the revolution broke out in 2011, Egyptian artists were thus well positioned to take on a much more direct, activist function, and many did. Art changed as well, condign more accessible and purpose-driven. At present, as the tide again has turned to authoritarianism, the unbridled promise of the uprising has waned, negatively affecting fine art as much as any other part of the revolution. Yet there are glimmers of dissent in the art that lives on, and many reasons to think that Egyptian artists volition exist part of the vanguard of the side by side wave of social and political alter, whatever it may be.

Just after iii:00 a.m. on the morning time of Friday, June xv, 2012, four young Egyptians, armed with spray cans and stencils, crept through the Cairo night. It was ten days before Egypt's historic post-revolution election, the first free 1 in history. Their leader, underground artist El Zeft (a give-and-take that translates into "asphalt" but in colloquial Arabic is used to denote rubbish), took them to the former headquarters of the National Democratic Party (NDP), not besides far from Tahrir Square, the site of the Egyptian uprising of 2011. The NDP was the political party associated with the corrupt three-decade rule of Hosni Mubarak, and the edifice was slated for demolition after the party was disbanded by courtroom order and had its assets seized. The four men, all in their early twenties, were conscientious not to alarm the officers guarding the edifice.

The activists silently approached the wall next to the chief gate and quickly spray-painted ii words, "Opening Soon," using a stencil designed past El Zeft. Photojournalist Jonathan Rashad had, within seconds of its completion, snapped a flick of the graffiti that went viral on social media even before the Friday noon prayers later on that twenty-four hour period. The message: Arab republic of egypt may be about to vote, but too many signs pointed to a reemergence of the repression and absolutism of the ancien régime. The regular army immediately dispatched a team to paint over the graffiti, but information technology was too belatedly. Information technology was the talk of the town that week in Cairo.

It was besides prescient. The freely elected if inept and divisive government of Mohamed Morsi would last fiddling more than a yr before being unseated by a coup, which in turn would pb to the installation of the current president, Abdel Fattah el-Sisi. And Sisi'due south regime would shortly prove to be even more suffocating than the NDP's.

El Zeft'southward graffiti bombing was, in a way, the zenith of a menses of activist popular art in Egypt, when artists and revolutionaries worked hand in hand, and were often one and the aforementioned. For decades, Egyptian fine arts had been supported and managed by land patronage. During that time, Egyptian artists accomplished much, including making works of beauty that often contained subtle critiques of the social and political status quo. The artists created a customs with their salons and expositions that became one of the few fonts of contained political expression of any kind. For many years, state repression circumscribed the customs's broader affect. But when the uprising of 2011 began, Egyptian artists were well positioned to play an of import role in responding to the unrest and creating iconic imagery. Their passion for social justice and political modify was evident in their work and activism.

The occupation of Tahrir Square, and the revolution that followed, broke open up bold new spaces for Egyptian artists. They in turn bankrupt open new spaces for political discourse. Some of the older generations of artists never got much involved with the revolution, just others happily forsook the comfort of galleries and the competition for land support in favor of the street. For a time, the lines between loftier- and lowbrow were blurred, and Egyptian art experienced a dynamism and immediacy unseen in contempo history, every bit it engaged directly in political tumult. Creators similar El Zeft, who had little or no professional training, were suddenly propelled into the limelight as major voices calling out for change on the streets of Egypt.

The pattern of melting boundaries and the flourishing of art every bit activism repeated itself throughout much of the Arab world during the years of the uprisings. But in Egypt as elsewhere, it didn't concluding. Every bit the uprisings faltered, cynicism spread in the fine art world, as it did in other sectors of society. Activist street art, quick to flare in importance during the first two years of the revolution, very quickly receded to its margins under the repressive control of Sisi's rule. The pool of active artists has shrunk. Yet many have connected to create, express, and annotate, and remain a highly relevant cultural force—ane of the few alternatives to the stultifying mainstream political dialogue.

To trace the history of Arab art from the mid-twentieth century through the uprisings and to the nowadays reveals a slap-up churning of ideas, social awareness, and activism that are non evident in the report of official politics. Arab art has tapped into culling, popular histories, within boundaries that contract in times of authoritarianism and expanded during the uprisings to unprecedented levels. The creative fire of these artists has never been extinguished. Egypt's fine arts customs—even during the regimes of Gamal Abdel Nasser, Anwar Sadat, and Mubarak—grappled in meaningful ways with fundamental political questions, though artists' directly involvement with political struggles was minimal until the uprisings. The surge of politicized artists who occupied Tahrir from 2011 to 2013 was exceptional in Arab republic of egypt's history, but also echoed the political activism and engagement of earlier generations of Egyptian artists.

In this report, I attempt to follow that story in broad strokes, focusing on the visual arts in Egypt only with an eye toward other countries in the region equally well. 1 I am especially interested in the interaction of art and politics—cases like El Zeft'due south where the raw demand to express dovetails with a motility for political alter. However, I do non view art solely as an accessory to politics. Political scientists might try to estimate whether fine art is a valve, releasing pressure created past authoritarianism, or a force that foments change. Simply for me this question is but a small dimension of art's importance. Art in the Arab world has been, and continues to be, most divinatory. As such, I follow the history of gimmicky fine art to highlight the moods and ingenuity of the artists and their societies, and too to go a sense of where they come up from and where they may be heading side by side.

Art in the Arab globe has been, and continues to exist, nigh divinatory.

In that vein, Egyptian fine art points u.s.a. to a future of continued political engagement and an intense desire for social progress that the new authoritarians are quite unlikely to evangelize on their ain. Artists are mobile, vocal, and always more clever with pushing boundaries. The fervor and optimism of the revolutionary days of only a few years ago may have subsided and organized political blocs may take fractured. But the new strongmen of Arab republic of egypt are unlikely to succeed at completely boxing in expression.

Aya Tarek, Smoke Face, 2012. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and From Here to Fame).

Egyptian Art in the Postcolonial Era

The twentieth century was tumultuous for Egypt, merely a menstruation in which the country's creators of fine art—al-fanoun al-jamila—found their ground and even flourished. Ironically, successive Egyptian regimes' repression managed to give a boost to fine art, even every bit they caused other forms of expression to wilt. Nasser (president from 1956 to 1970) and his successors had a respect for fine art, and considered its achievements a point of national pride. At the same time, they believed it to be by and large appreciated past elites, and therefore not dangerous. Thus, they gave artists grants and wide latitude to create what they liked, even if it subtly critiqued the country or the status quo. Equally long every bit what they created wasn't consumed or obvious enough to be appreciated by the masses, fine artists were mostly allowed to pigment and sculpt every bit they pleased. As a result, a great bargain of creative energy was channeled into the fine arts.

Even so despite their state patronage, Egyptian artists were engaged from the beginning in politics. Their postcolonial political engagement has roots in the struggle against the British and the monarchy they supported. 2 Some later evolved into propagandists, but many did not, and kept their independence.

The Monarchy nether British Occupation, 1922–52

As early on equally the mid-1930s, a group of Egyptian intellectuals and artists influenced past surrealism and headed by author Georges Henein (1914–73) came together and launched the Fine art and Liberty Group. The movement was socially liberal, and favored anti-capitalist economics and Freudian psychological ideas. But it also extended deeper into attacking the British occupation of Egypt, Egyptian monarchists, exploitation of women and workers, and Islamic nationalism. 3 The movement lasted for just a decade, from 1938–48, eventually disbanded by the Egyptian constabulary and British Occupation Forces at the get-go of the Cold War. Nevertheless, its impact was long-lasting and it has enjoyed a revival in 2016–17 with a series of exhibitions at the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris and the Sharjah Art Foundation in the United Arab Emirates (U.A.E.). 4

During this period, ane of the most noted incidents of creative person political activism inside a piece of work of art was that of Abdul Hadi al-Gazzar (1925–66), the son of an Alexandrian religious scholar. In 1951 when Gazzar was xx-half dozen years old, he submitted a painting to an exhibition at the invitation of his teacher, Contemporary Art Group founder Hussein Youssef Amin (1904–84). The work, which goes by several names but is most normally known as Hunger, is now i of the most famous paintings in Egypt. It depicts a group of 8 barefooted women and a child, continuing side by side with empty plates in forepart of them, signifying poverty. Hunger was regarded as a clear criticism of the monarchy and the ruling elite, and resulted in Gazzar being briefly detained along with Amin. 5 Both men were released following an intervention by the renowned Egyptian lawyer-artists Mohammed Nagi and Mahmoud Said. half dozen Following his release, Gazzar painted a second version of Hunger, after the original was sequestered, according to an interview conducted by researcher Fatenn Mostafa Kanafani with the late artist's wife Laila Effat. 7

There was likewise creative activism directed externally. Henein, of the Art and Liberty Group, coordinated with French surrealists to defend artistic freedom and speak out against Hitler's devastation of "degenerate" art. The Group, which included artists such every bit Ramsès Younan, Fouad Kamel, and Kamel El Telmisany, announced their "Long Live Degenerate Art" manifesto in 1938. 8 (Henein would later break with French surrealist friends over their support for the state of State of israel, whose cosmos and treatment of Palestinians would be a major focus of Egyptian artists for years to come up.)

The catamenia of the monarchy was thus marked by meaning antagonism between artists and the Egyptian state. In subsequent decades, the authorities's relationship with artists was not always adversarial. In fact, the artists nether Egyptian government patronage produced much work that advanced authorities policies and ideas. But whatsoever the nature of their advancement and relation to the country, by the middle of the century it was well established that Egyptian artists were, past nature, political.

Abdul Hadi el-Gazzar, Untitled, 1964. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Capital D Studio).

From Nasser to Sadat: 1952–81

Subsequently the revolution of 1952, Egypt, similar Ba'athist Syrian arab republic and Republic of iraq, reserved a part of its upkeep for culture and viewed land-sponsored art as a meaning arm of government information or propaganda policy. State-supported and independent artists didn't necessarily disagree at all times. Common causes such as the rejection of colonial rule and, afterward, anti-Zionism brought together governments and artists from opposite ends of the political spectrum across the Arab world. For case, painter Hamed Ewais (1919–2011) repeatedly created works deputed past Nasser'southward government during the nationalization of the Suez Canal 9 and even after Egypt's defeat in the state of war of 1967. 10

The early years of Nasser's rule were a time of great pride in many national endeavors, and for some, significant hope almost the future. In their enthusiasm, some artists who had staunchly opposed the monarchy became almost-propagandists for the authorities. For example, Gazzar, the painter of Popular Chorus, embraced the new republican regime. One of his virtually famous paintings, The Charter (1961), depicts a woman wearing a crown, holding Nasser's manifesto. The piece, which is now exhibited in the Egyptian Modern Art Museum, instantly became an icon of the 1952 revolution. 11

Alternatively, artists who received government grants to travel to the Aswan High Dam construction site, like the painters Tahia Halim (1919–2003), Ragheb Ayad (1892–1982), and Effat Naghi (1905–94), offered critical insights into the precarious nature of the massive project. Halim, who documented Nubian villages in her paintings before the structure of the dam flooded them, showed how potentially destructive the regime project could be by offering a glimpse into the lives of villagers who were forced to permanently resettle. Ayad and Naghi were similarly commissioned past the land to document the building of the dam in the 1960s. In both artists' work, we see dissimilar approaches that depict a less glorified image of the project than what the government usually promoted. In Ayad's 1964 painting Aswan, his waif-like characters seem to exist laboring endlessly upon various heights of rocky terrain. His composition is arranged in such a way that each worker loses his individuality and appears similar one of many hieroglyphic slaves constructing the Pyramids of Giza. Naghi'south documentation focuses on the scaffolding that appears similar a teetering edifice of forest and metal, and eliminates the presence of laborers birthday. Naghi's approach takes the loss of humanity in Ayad's work farther and highlights the precarious nature of the ambitious dam projection.

Implicitly critical as they were of projects like the High Dam that were ordinarily cornerstones of patriotic propaganda, these artists' work had limited popular and certainly minimal political impact. The works appeared in museums, and though beautiful and affecting, did non reach the masses. Nor did they spur whatever elite revolt against the country'south leadership. It would exist decades until satellites and the Cyberspace could convey images to broader audiences, simply in whatsoever case the style of mid-century fine art was removed from the tastes of the vast bulk of Egyptians, and its critiques were delivered with too much subtlety to take had a directly bear upon on politics. Even so, the artists managed to go on their community'southward tradition of dissent.

LEFT: Effat Naghi, The Loftier Dam, 1966. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Capital D Studio); Correct: Ragheb Ayad, Aswan, 1964. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Capital letter D Studio).

But creative freedom stopped at the border of the canvas, as Inji Efflatoun (1924–89) found out. Born to a well-to-do French speaking family, Efflatoun studied nether Telmisany, who introduced her to his Art and Freedom Grouping during her studies at Cairo University in the early on 1940s. Efflatoun besides joined the Egyptian Communist organization Iskra and a number of feminist organizations. Operating under Nasser'southward government, Efflatoun's staunch Marxist political leanings and active participation in demonstrations were punished when the regime issued a decree that authorized the detention of women taking office in political activism. Along with xx-v other female political activists, Efflatoun was incarcerated from 1959 to 1963. During her time in prison, Efflatoun connected championing the cause of the working class, painting peasants, laborers and her historic series of women prisoners. 12

LEFT: Inji Efflatoun, Ta'mol (Contemplation), c. 1940s. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Upper-case letter D Studio); Middle: Inji Efflatoun, Tarqab (Expectation), c. 1940s. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Uppercase D Studio); RIGHT: Inji Efflatoun, Mathbahat Dinshawy (The Dinshawy Massacre), c. 1950s. (Paradigm courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Capital D Studio).

Anwar Sadat (president from 1970 to 1981), like his predecessor Nasser, tried to silence his critics, including intellectuals and artists. He became even more notorious than Nasser, however, for his blanket blacklisting of artists such as painter and sculptor George Bahgoury (1932– ) who was exiled from Egypt and spent many years in Paris. Post-obit the signing of the Camp David accords, Bahgoury published Banned Artworks, his famous book of caricatures mocking Sadat.

Sadat did, notwithstanding, support art when it aligned with his agenda. In a motility that Sadat may accept organized, and certainly tolerated, the works of Egyptian mod master Mahmoud Said (1897–1964) were exhibited under the patronage of the newly inaugurated Egyptian Embassy in Israel at the Habimah National Theatre in Tel Aviv, in February 1982. The following May, Israeli artists were invited to showcase their work at Cairo'southward Le Méridien hotel. Nevertheless, no other exhibitions took place in the following years, probably partly due to pregnant objections from Egypt's intellectual elite and artist community, which almost unanimously rejected—and continues to reject—normalization with Israel. For case, Ali Salem (1936–2015), a famous Egyptian playwright, was expelled from Egypt's Writers Syndicate post-obit his numerous visits to Israel, which began in 1994, and his open up calls for normalization. thirteen

Throughout this fourth dimension, artists continued their expression almost international political and social problems. They commemorated the Nakba (or "Catastrophe," as the events surrounding the 1948 founding of the state of Israel on celebrated Palestine are known in the Arab earth), and the defeat of the Arab armies in 1967, known equally the Naksa. They mourned the massacre of Sabra and Shatila in Lebanon in 1982, and celebrated the independence of their countries from colonial powers. All of these events were of earnest importance to broad swaths of the region's societies.

Regional Patterns of Repression and Expression

There was a similar pattern in other parts of the Arab world. In the Ba'athist states of Iraq and Syria, the governments embarked on programs to train and fund artists in the hopes of instilling a sense of national identity through art. Similarly, Algeria and Morocco were trying to milkshake off the decades of French cultural influence by supporting or tolerating artists such as M'hamed Issiakhem (Algerian, 1928–85), and Farid Belkahia (Moroccan, 1934–2014) and Mohammed Melehi (Moroccan, 1936– ) of the Casablanca Group. Kuwait, Tunisia, and Sudan also witnessed a burgeoning art scene with the founding of galleries and art societies in the 1950s and 1960s.

In fact, from the mid-twentieth century onward and across the Arab globe, fine art societies formed in cities such as Baghdad, Kuwait City, Khartoum, Tunis, Casablanca, and elsewhere. These societies were registered by the state and sometimes received subsidies and back up, and as such they were not directed against the country. However, they contributed to the production of original works with political relevance.

For instance, in the 1970s Algerian regime commissioned the French-trained Issiakhem (who, as researcher Amina Menia notes, was an anti-colonial liberty fighter before becoming a recognized sculptor) to create a sculpture to replace the famous Monument to the Dead, which Paul Landowski made in 1928 to commemorate the fallen French and Arab soldiers of World War I. Past the 1970s, the French-commissioned monument was considered an offensive relic of colonialism. Issiakhem used a large sarcophagus to enclose the sculpture as a sort of tomb, maybe as a metaphor for the decease of colonialism in Algeria. fourteen

In Iraq, master creative person Jewad Selim (1919–61) erected a massive authorities-commissioned frieze in primal Baghdad titled Monument of Liberty in 1961. The Iraqi government deputed the behemothic work to commemorate the July 14 Revolution of 1958 that led to the overthrow of the British-backed Hashemite monarchy. The bronze work comprised xx-5 human figures spread across more two-dozen panels forth with depictions of a horse and a bull, in what could be considered a nod to Picasso'southward Guernica.

Both the Algerian and Iraqi works were far from being critiques of the governments that commissioned them, withal they were inappreciably propaganda. Instead, they reflected popular sentiment and contributed to a vibrant mid-twentieth century arts scene that still resonates today, long afterwards the regimes that paid for them accept disappeared. As in Egypt, despite state patronage, artists' communities became petri dishes for other kinds of political change, over which the governments that sponsored them had little ultimate control.

Hamed Ewais, The Protector of Life, 1967-1968. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Upper-case letter D Studio).

Mubarak and the Dissolution of Country Command: 1981–2011

Although Nasser and Sadat both pandered to intellectuals, Mubarak took things a pace further by appointing abstract painter Farouk Hosny equally his government minister of culture, where he remained for twenty-four years. This maximized Mubarak's ability to control the arts, past directing funding and overseeing state-run exhibition spaces. The co-option was far from complete, however. As computing as Mubarak's art patronage was, there were bigger forces at play that undermined his efforts—namely, the global information revolution, and the rise of a private regional fine art marketplace that was closely linked to it, loosened the binds of state patronage.

In the twentieth century heyday of state-sponsored art in the Arab world, there was no art market place to speak of and few, if any, galleries. Near artists were teachers who sold works on the side, and were non dependent on buyers. By the turn of the xx-first century, this had begun to alter. Past the second decade of the new century, it was all but upended: satellite television, streaming video, and social media sites enabled young artists who had emerged since the late 1980s to see events that touched others' lives in immediate terms. Contemporary artists became more than dynamic and able to react more than spontaneously, and with wider reach. Besides, far greater admission to private funding became available to the young creative person, thanks to a proliferation of galleries across the region. Direct criticism of authorities might exist hazardous to an artist's physical safety, but it was no longer a straight threat to his pocket volume.

Direct criticism of regime might be hazardous to an artist's concrete safety, but it was no longer a direct threat to his pocket book.

Collectors in the wealthy Arab states of the Gulf were a major force in the creation of this private market. Dubai emerged every bit the Middle East's most important market for art. Scores of galleries opened in its industrial and financial centers, and Christie'south and local galleries such as Ayyam conducted auctions.

In some cases, these museums and galleries specifically sought out politically relevant works from Arab artists. 15 Office of the impetus for such collections was historical; after a tumultuous few decades, institutions saw collecting fine art that documented and commented on these events as beingness part of their public duty. Also, with a diversified economy and large departer populations taking advantage of the region's wealth and growing date in global commerce, public opinion began to demand an arena in which to view such artworks. In the Gulf, several museums were established, including Doha'due south Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Fine art (established 2010), Abu Dhabi's Guggenheim (established 2006), and several others. A painting that might have been censored in Egypt—or which an Egyptian artist might have been reluctant to even create at domicile—found a warm reception in Abu Dhabi, Doha, or Dubai.

By the first few years of the xx-first century, independent cultural venues had too started actualization in cities in other parts of the Arab world, and particularly in Cairo. Sakia El Sawy (Sawy Culture Bike), which opened in 2003, became one of the most popular. The Sakia, as information technology is usually known, was perhaps the first non-government-affiliated cultural center in the country. It was founded by Mohamed Abdel-Moneim El Sawy, whose begetter is an acclaimed novelist and a former minister of culture. Within a brusque period of time the Sakia was hosting daily events, including concerts, puppet shows and art performances, drawing xx,000 monthly visitors by 2009. 16

Another milestone was the institution in 1998 of the Townhouse Gallery by a Canadian departer in Cairo named William Wells. The gallery hosted groundbreaking and socially engaging exhibitions. Writing for the Middle Due east Found in 2015, Maria Golia noted that the gallery "opened its doors at a fourth dimension when the land exercised mind-numbing command over cultural venues and creative output then that its institution was tantamount to a political act." 17 Having been labeled a Zionist enterprise in the Arabic press, the gallery was repeatedly raided in its early years; in fourth dimension, though, the proliferation of fine art galleries meant that it was no longer the sole target of negative attention.

The Rise of the New Media

In Egypt in particular, there was some other gene that, perchance coincidentally, undermined Mubarak'south strategies for managing expression even more. Through the 1980s and 1990s, modernistic art gave way to gimmicky practices, and a new generation of artists emerged whose media were harder to control through authorities funding and state promotion. Photography and video became more widely used, conceptual approaches made their debut, digital devices and media became available, and the dwindling cost of transport meant that complex works could be created or assembled away, and could be shipped internationally to exist loaned for exhibitions. These developments gradually loosened the regime's control over the arts manufacture. Cut-edge, vibrant forms of expression were now beingness created outside the patronage of the state.

Cutting-edge, vibrant forms of expression were at present being created outside the patronage of the state.

Amongst this new generation of gimmicky artists is the sculptor Moataz Nasr (1961– ) who has, since the early on years of the twenty-showtime century, created socially conscious works, including An Ear of Mud, Another of Dough. Made of clay and dough ears, it symbolizes the deafness of the ruling class's ears to the plight of most Egyptians. Nasr also established the group Darb 1718 in 2008, dedicated to promoting social change through art.

The degree of freedom that artists had obtained around the turn of the century may not have seemed like a threat to Mubarak at the time. But the astute connoisseur could accept read something of the future in the works that were emerging from Arab republic of egypt toward the end of the offset decade of the twenty-kickoff century.

Indeed, many of the region's artists had an uncanny ability to capture the mood of their country and even foresee its bug. Cairo-born painter Walid Ebeid's (1970– ) 2005 work Outside Prisoners depicts men, women and children, coin in hand, clamoring to buy bread, where there clearly isn't enough for all of them. The perspective is from within a stall with prison-like confined, stopping them from making the payment. Little exercise those in the back know that there are only six or seven loaves of bread left. Some other of Ebeid's works, the 2007 painting Under Investigation, depicts a immature human being, maybe in his twenties, sitting on a stool with his dorsum to the viewer. The man's white t-shirt is lifted, unveiling bruises and others signs of torture and beating. In Ebeid'southward work we meet a much more than gimmicky strain of Arab art that direct antagonizes the state: claims of torture, peculiarly in the last years of Mubarak's reign, contributed to the outburst of anger that occurred in January 2011. Huda Lutfi, Professor Emerita of Arab Cultural History at the American University in Cairo, created a work in 2008 titled Democracy Is Coming. The work features the familiar face up of Egyptian diva Umm Kulthum with a halo over her head and an inscription that reads "democracy is coming," as war machine planes fly higher up.

The quickening pace of change of communications engineering science during this menstruation further undermined Mubarak's methods at command. Social media gave artists vastly greater and more immediate visibility, and information technology also allowed them to market place their works direct, rather than going through a gallery. In some instances galleries might shun politically sensitive works, but artists could sell such pieces directly to collectors from their studios. This was the example for the Barjeel Fine art Foundation, which I founded in 2010 in the United Arab Emirates, when it acquired Jeffar Khaldi's Good Stamp (2009), which depicts Gulf Arab officials seated in a coming together hall with images of women that expect like Lebanese crooner and sex symbol Haifa Wehbe, or American actress Pamela Anderson, loitering in their minds and bodies. Farther, in improver to the established Cairo galleries, a number of underground pop-up shows started appearing in the metropolis. 18 These popular-upwardly shows were hosted in artists' apartments and other common spaces, where they could exist free of whatever country-imposed restrictions.

Jeffar Khaldi, Good Stamp, 2009. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Capital D Studio).

The afterwards Mubarak years witnessed a further marginalization of the artistic community in Egypt, affecting writers, journalists, and artists. But marginalization, in this new era of private art markets and amplifying technology, was far from neutralization. Sometimes, information technology was the contrary. The Mubarak regime might have heeded the hints of popular discontent virtually nutrient prices, for example, and made incremental reforms that could have headed off a wider crunch of government legitimacy. Instead, Mubarak and his ministry building of culture ignored signals from the fine fine art sphere, and overshadowed the piece of work of socially conscious artists like Ebeid with inoffensive abstruse works, ever widening the gulf between the government and the people.

Marginalization, in this new era of private art markets and amplifying technology, was far from neutralization. Sometimes, information technology was the reverse.

In the years leading to the 2011 uprising, in that location was a final, significant change in the Egyptian art earth: graffiti art became legitimized. It was a evolution spurred in large function past artists nether 30, who did not always conform to more traditional expectations of what art should be. For them, Cairo itself became a sheet, and new media meant that their imagination was no longer express past the concrete constraints of older forms. Information technology was this development that more than than anything else heralded a new era for Egyptian artists, who were kickoff to engage directly with the broad swaths of the public through art that was overtly political.

The Uprisings

It'south impossible to know exactly to what degree fine art contributed to the actual outbreak of the Egyptian revolution, but it certainly predictable the acrimony that propelled information technology. And when the uprisings of 2011 erupted, artists were primed equally never before to take part in the turmoil.

Take the case of Nasr, the Egyptian multimedia artist. Where his creations had tackled social and political issues in oblique and symbolic (though however provocative) means in the centre of the start decade of the xx-beginning century, they now became explicit commentaries on the revolution. In 2012, he created El Shaab (The People)—twenty-v ceramic figures representing characters from the 2011 uprising. It is part of this sculpture, depicting a nighttime event that happened on the streets, which sets the work apart. On a separate shelf, but function of the aforementioned work, Nasr placed figures representing iii police force officers tugging at a young woman and dragging her along the street and so that her bra was exposed. This was the famous "Girl in the Blueish Bra," whose violent beating at the hands and feet of the constabulary, in Cairo in December 2011, was captured by Al-Masry Al-Youm photographer Ahmed al-Masry. In 2012, thousands of Egyptians still treated this horrific scene as a rallying point for their continued protests calling for revolutionary demands to be met, and for the Supreme Council of Armed Forces—the military body that was then running Arab republic of egypt—to manus over ability to a civilian head of land through democratic elections.

Moataz Nasr, El Shaab (The People), 2012. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and the Singapore Art Museum).

The same image of the "Girl in the Blue Bra" was used by Egyptian artist Nermine Hammam (1967– ) in a photo series that juxtaposes iconic images from the revolution with serene images drawn from Japanese landscape painting. Kingdom of morocco'due south Zakaria Ramhani (1983– ) also references this scene in his piece You Were My Only Love (2012); Palestine'southward Shadi Alzaqzouq featured women's underwear and protestation, perhaps inspired past the aforementioned moment, in his painting After Washing (2012). xix

In 2012, at the top of the presidential election season, Egypt-built-in Australian creative person Raafat Ishak (1967– ) created Nomination for the Presidency of the New Egypt. The artwork is a fictional manifesto by a presidential candidate created on a series of fiberboard panels that unfold like a scroll. Some Egyptians laid the arraign for the deterioration of the economy on decisions taken under the country's socialist president, Nasser. In that regard, the manifesto by the candidate comes with a radical promise to dismantle the Aswan High Dam in order to reintroduce the annual flooding of the Nile, alluding "to a metaphoric deconstruction of Egypt's turbulent history and a political rebirth of the country." 20

Some artists, particularly graffiti artists, also had an even more direct role in the Egyptian revolution. Savvy with digital media and securely invested in revolutionary goals, they were able to clear the people'south demands, or the chance to realize them, into a symbol. Ganzeer's Mask of Freedom (2011)—depicting a figure with a ball gag and blindfold—was a strong message about the lack of liberty of expression, which was prominently circulated in the beginning of that year. In a Cairo protest in which I participated in 2012, activists handed out spray cans and a stencil created by El Zeft. Hundreds of people used them to paint phrases like "We won't forget you" and "Celebrity to the martyrs."

And in the commencement iii years following the 2011 insurgence, Mohamed Mahmoud Street, which is adjacent to the old campus of the American Academy in Cairo, served every bit a shrine to the fallen icons of the uprising. Information technology featured images of Khalid Said, whose death in 2010 was one of the sparks for revolt. A mural of Coptic icon Mina Danial reaching out to Muslim cleric Sheikh Emad Effat (both shot and killed in 2011 protests) was interlaced with politically charged phrases. Writing in 2012, critic and blogger Soraya Morayef noted that "the Mohamed Mahmoud wall remains the most powerful tribute to the revolution." 21 These works resonated with passersby who would stop and take photos, recognizing some figures, and the street came close to becoming a tourist allure in its ain right. It was a site for protests, likewise. In November 2011, it erupted in clashes as security forces attempted to violently disperse a oversupply of two hundred protesting family members of those who had been killed in earlier demonstrations. Similarly, post-obit the expiry of 70-two football game fans in Port Said in February 2012, Mohamed Mahmoud once again became a rallying betoken with paintings depicting the fallen fans. Perhaps eager to turn a page, at iii o'clock on a September 2012 morning, the Egyptian government dispatched workers to paint over the graffiti on Mohamed Mahmoud street. 22

Ganzeer, Die WAHRHEIT IS KONKRET, 2012. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Fine art Foundation and From Here to Fame)

Regional Reverberations

The Arab uprisings featured in works of artists exterior Egypt and across the region and in the diaspora. Beirut-built-in Ali Cherri (1976– ) lived through Lebanon'south devastating civil war and is considered to be a promising artist of his generation. His 2014–16 aerial maps impress series Paysages Tremblants (Trembling Landscapes) is an attempt to capture the underlying tensions in Middle Eastern and North African cities, including Beirut, Damascus, and Algiers (an entire fix has been acquired by the Guggenheim Museum in New York). Perhaps Cherri's work that about obviously references the Arab uprisings is I Carry My Flame (2011). It was created mere months after Tunisian street vendor Mohamed Bouazizi set himself debark, thereby kick-starting a series of convulsions that have since rocked the Arab world. In that artwork, eight stills are taken from a YouTube video of an unknown private (not Bouazizi) who embarked on an act of self-immolation. Even the process of creating these works using serigraphy or silkscreen printing, where ink is forced through a fine screen onto the newspaper beneath, reflects the violence and duress that an individual set on fire experiences. Finally, Le 1000 Vide/Statue Assad features a 2011 photograph of the remains of a sculpture of Syria's Hafez al-Assad that was pulled down in the early days of the Syrian uprising. The name of the piece of work is also remarkable, denoting the void that was created following the collapse of the regime in some parts of Syrian arab republic, a void that extremist groups were all too willing to fill.

Ali Cherri, I Bear My Flame, 2011. (Epitome courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Capital D Studio)

The politically minded artists of the mid-twentieth century produced fine, powerful works of social commentary, but they had never and then direct attacked a ruling regime. Even works that antagonized the government had aught like the immediacy and relevance of those that commented on and contributed to the Arab uprisings. The artists of the uprisings also engaged a completely different demographic, those who would generally non be included in the political soapbox of the past.

The brief free political space created following the Egyptian uprising too allowed for more politically engaging works to be shown in public. After years of making hugger-mugger art, many artists came to the forefront following the revolution. Art exhibitions were more than daring and idea-provoking, and attracted a more diverse crowd. In fact, art openings became places for nonartist activists to meet each other and discuss the latest political developments. The space was so vibrant that some artists in Cairo used their apartments to host semi-underground pop-up exhibitions that lasted for the evening.

In the wake of the uprisings, the Sakia also became a venue for political engagement, such as when it hosted Alaa al-Aswany, the novelist, in February 2012, cartoon hundreds of men and women. Aswany began that talk with a moment of silence for Arab republic of egypt's martyrs and railed confronting the "unconstitutional and illegal" rule of the military quango.

Only the fact that such art existed and played a role in the uprisings should not exist confused with the idea that the artists now enjoyed more safety, any more than than any of the other revolutionaries did.

Reda Abdelrahman, Revolution, 2012. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation).

A famously tragic example is that of Ahmed Basiony (1978–2011), a 30-three-twelvemonth-old Egyptian avant-garde visual artist who was shot dead by sniper fire on Jan 28, 2011, three days subsequently the commencement of the Tahrir Square protests.

Basiony's creative career—which was not, for the virtually function, expressly political—was cut curt by the revolution, which he securely believed in. On January 26, two days prior to his death, he posted what became his concluding public statement on his Facebook page. "Please, O Father, O Mother, O Youth, O Pupil, O Denizen, O Senior, and O more than," Basiony wrote, "You know this is our last take chances for our nobility, the last chance to change the authorities that has lasted the past xxx years. Get downwardly to the streets, and revolt, bring your food, your apparel, your water, masks and tissues, and a vinegar canteen, and believe me, there is just i very small step left. . . . If they want war, we want peace, and I will practise proper restraint until the end, to regain my nation'due south nobility." 23

Following his killing, Basiony "quickly became a strong symbol to protestors of the sacrifices they had to suffer in the course of their struggle." 24 Al-Masry Al-Youm, a popular newspaper, included Basiony's photograph on the front end page of its at present historic postal service-insurgence edition under the headline, "The Flowers that Bloomed in Egypt'southward Garden." 25

Basiony was shot for protesting, not for his art. Posthumously, all the same, it becomes more difficult to draw a line between the two. He was an artist who fully committed himself to his beliefs. Those who appreciated his art evidently recognized this: four months later his death, following the removal of the Mubarak government, Basiony's video installation Thirty Days of Running in Identify became Arab republic of egypt's official entry to the 50-quaternary Venice Biennale, in 2011. The installation was produced in 2010 and included a series of videos that depicted a man (the artist) wrapped in a sealed arrange, jogging in place for an hour every twenty-four hours for a calendar month, collecting and visually projecting data about the movements of his body onto a screen. Although Basiony's work wasn't initially received as political, in Venice it was shown alongside video footage of him participating in the revolution, thereby calculation a political overtone.

Art and the Faltering Uprisings

As the uprisings soured, the dangers artists faced from whatever number of adversaries overtook the other factors that contributed to their newfound disrespect. Equally early as 2012, as the high hopes of the Egyptian revolution began to get more complicated—if non actually fade—the art scene began to lose some of its verve and focus. Artists became more calculated in their risks. In despair or disillusionment or fear, some turned away from direct action in politics completely.

An early case of the casualties of this changing mood is the try of the Barjeel Art Foundation to learn a revolution-themed neon work by Moataz Nasr, The People Desire the Fall of the Authorities. This phrase was made pop during the Egyptian uprising earlier in 2011, every bit people took to the streets demanding the downfall of the Mubarak government. In fact, this work was so controversial that no Egyptian aircraft firm would agree to transport information technology to the Gulf. On June 6, 2012 we received the following e-mail. I take removed references to the sender to protect the person'southward identity.

Dear _____
I would similar to update you on the status of Moataz Nasr Neon Light work.
I have deliberately halted the shipping of this long overdue artwork for a serious strategic reason—my condom.
The piece is very controversial at this time in Arab republic of egypt to be shipped out through such channel to the Emirates. Our people at the airport have checked the water and brash the states to either await or to have someone take it as luggage while travelling. The argument written on it "El Shaab Yourid Iskat el Nezam" could be seen equally me (name removed), an Egyptian citizen, as trying to incite revolt in the UAE. Equally y'all may know, the UAE are very important for Arab republic of egypt—politically and economically.

So bear with us. If you do come in the nearly future, best you or Sultan take it on your flight.

Later several tries, the work finally arrived in the Emirates in Nov 2013. In order to avert customs officials discerning the content of the Arabic words that make upward the phrase, they were put into iv separate packages. The label on the packaging from Arab republic of egypt read "LIGHTING PEICE" (sic).

The country had lost a lot of footing with all the changes of the last 2 decades, in terms of technology, markets for fine art, and boldness on the part of the artists. Merely it still had some tricks up its sleeve.

The episode was a harbinger. Egyptian regime still deeply feared free expression, though at this phase and in this instance they were more concerned about the creative person's consequence on foreign relations. The shipper understood that the Egyptian government might find the content of the artwork objectionable in its ain right, or they might want to censor information technology in gild to erase any implication of Egyptians exporting revolutionary ideas around the region. By 2016, Sisi's Egypt was experiencing a wintry freeze of political artistic expression. In the post-2011 period, successive, short-lived Egyptian administrations caught in the maelstrom and consumed with crisis management paid no listen to artists, initially allowing for an unprecedented degree of openness and artistic expression. Nevertheless, since the authorities largely control the levers of media in Egypt, they were able to filter or promote whatever artists depending on whether they considered them to exist antagonistic or friendly to the government, such every bit denying them the opportunities to be featured on local television receiver or newspapers. The state had lost a lot of footing with all the changes of the concluding two decades, in terms of engineering science, markets for art, and boldness on the office of the artists. Just it even so had some tricks up its sleeve, and with its involvement in media, its promotion of fear, and its intimidation of artists, it had quite a bit of power, mayhap more artists at the time realized.

Kader Attia, DemoNcracy, 2009. (Epitome courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Galerie Krinzinger).

The State Tightens Its Vise

With the ascension of Sisi, this trend has taken firmer concur day past day, to the indicate that some of the sheen has been taken from overtly revolutionary art. The romance of the so-called Arab Spring—a name that was inappreciably used in the countries where information technology supposedly occurred—ways that revolutionary Egyptian artists could make a living selling their works abroad. The thought has proved noxious, however, and many revolutionary artists avoided any obvious commercial benefit from revolutionary themes. As the political tide turned, many artists abandoned the themes of 2011–12, some turning to more personal, abstract, or subtle subjects.

In that location have notwithstanding been isolated instances of country criticism, and certain genres that have remained freer than others, such as editorial cartoons. JOKE, a 2013 poster mocking Sisi, by Egyptian graffiti artist Nazeer, was modeled on Shepard Fairey'southward "HOPE" poster of Barack Obama. Withal, making fun of leaders can behave hefty fines or even a jail term. In 2015, twenty-two-year-quondam Amr Nohan was sentenced to three years in jail for sharing a photograph of Sisi with Mickey Mouse ears on Facebook.

Sisi's authorities has attacked other art movements head-on. In December 2015, it close Townhouse for 2 months along with the next theatre and barred Aswany, the author, from public speaking. 26

The revolutionary fervor of artists, similar other activists, has certainly been stifled. Some left art birthday. El Zeft, the artist who led the guerrilla muralists who painted the NDP headquarters, is himself an exemplary case. Five years later on his daring graffiti assault, he has been drafted into the army, and is no longer active as an creative person. Indeed, Sisi has made information technology very dangerous for anyone to attempt anything remotely resembling El Zeft'southward 2012 feat. The NDP headquarters take been torn downwards, forth with the graffiti, and the piece—which had a national impact at the fourth dimension—is lost, and is now inappreciably mentioned in Egypt.

Other artists chose self-exile, such every bit Ganzeer, who now lives in Los Angeles. Ganzeer, the artist who made the famous poster Mask of Freedom (2011), has continued his provocations with Who'due south Afraid of Art? (2014), which depicts Sisi in uniform, his confront replaced by a rabbit staring from a tv set screen. The image was heavily shared on social media.

There is an inescapable feeling that something essential has been lost from the art world because of Sisi's repression. The raucous, pure energy of 2011–13 is gone. Speaking to artists who still practice, one feels their disillusionment, and their creeping sense of guilt when they do good from fine art that references a revolution that has all but failed.

Speaking to artists who nonetheless practice, one feels their disillusionment, and their creeping sense of guilt when they do good from art that references a revolution that has all but failed.

And yet, many keep to create. This fact gets to the paradox at the centre of Arab fine art in the wake of the uprisings. Artists' moods are as dismal every bit anyone's. Merely as a critic who watches fine art closely and communicates with artists all the time, it'south impossible not to feel that something in Egyptian fine art went through an irreversible transformation during the uprisings, in terms of connecting straight with the masses. In those days of tumult artists got a vision of their power and possibilities. I believe that Sisi'due south ham-handed suffocation of the art world is temporary. The regime is less adept at propaganda than e'er before, and artists take more tools than ever to spread dissenting messages. When the time is right, we volition again see artists at the forefront of the next wave of change, whatever that may exist. Their function has been diminished, but they continue to give a voice to ceremonious society, despite the challenges of existence blocked and silenced by state media.

Nazeer, Joke, 2013. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and From Here to Fame)

Determination

Artists, far from being solely associated with the aristocracy or even the ruling regime in the Arab globe, have shown that they identify with pop causes and even challenge elites. They accept a long tradition of providing critiques of Arab regimes—with subtlety in times of slap-up repression, with unabashed directness in times of tumult. With the symbols their media afford them, they have often been able to express the political desires of their societies' peoples in a way that has been almost impossible through any other channels.

With the uprisings of 2011, Egyptian and Arab artists became far more than deeply involved in politics—both in their art and by participating every bit demonstrators—and the lines between elite and popular art became blurry. But there was likewise continuity with the office that artists have filled since at least the early office of the twentieth century: then as now, they gave vocalisation to the people when other means failed.

Fifty-fifty as the vise of authoritarian control is once more endmost on artists, their part remains extremely of import. Political art is 1 of the few outlets bachelor, forth with protesting, which is increasingly untenable. One could fence that, since art is far less disruptive than protesting in the streets, it is more of a pressure-releasing valve than a fomenter of alter. Equally the examples in this essay accept shown, however, the stardom between those 2 functions is oft remarkably murky. Pondering which is the "existent" role of fine art is more useful equally an evaluation of a state policy than in understanding art's bodily significance.

Even when it is state-sponsored, art has been successful in reflecting popular sentiments ignored or repressed by Arab governments and artists, often reflecting the pulse of general society and acting every bit a bridge between the common human being and the ears of those who will mind. As such, Arab governments such as Arab republic of egypt'southward, even if they were unwilling to get dramatically more than autonomous, might have treated fine art not only equally a cultural asset merely also every bit a mensurate of popular sentiment. Instead, most reacted to art with fear. And in the final ii to three years, this fear has become more than and more reactionary and stifling, specially in Egypt.

Artists keep the flame of independent thought live in night times.

But artists keep the flame of independent thought live in dark times. As the Arab uprisings seem to accept faltered and lost their way, fine art nevertheless has potential and value—not merely for its aesthetics but also for its relevance to material developments. Whether every bit a catalyst for change, a space for dreaming well-nigh possibilities, or a mirror of the fears and violence that have afflicted the region, art continues to serve every bit a space where Arabs rehearse and explore their political aspirations.

Imprint IMAGE: Lara Baladi, Oum El Dounia, 2008. (Image courtesy of Barjeel Art Foundation and Gallery Isabelle van den Eynde)

About This Projection

This policy report is part of "Arab Politics beyond the Uprisings: Experiments in an Era of Resurgent Absolutism," a multi-twelvemonth TCF project supported by the Carnegie Corporation of New York. Studies in this series explore attempts to build institutions and ideologies during a menstruation of resurgent absolutism, and at times amidst violent conflict and state collapse. The project documents some of the spaces where alter is all the same emerging, also as the dynamic forces arrayed against it. The collected essays will exist published by TCF Press in June 2017.

Notes

  1. In this essay, I've limited my give-and-take to painting and sculpture, and especially fine arts, except in the cases during the uprisings when the border betwixt fine and popular arts became more than blurred. Film and music, of course, account for an enormous proportion of Arab artistic output, but they deserve a different and longer treatment than is possible in this limited space. Though some of the themes related to the visual arts that I explore in this essay are also relevant to film and music, the history of the latter genres has been far more than complicated and censored.
  2. The history of political engagement by artists in Egypt and beyond the Arab world is well-documented by scholars such equally Patrick Kane in his book The Politics of Fine art in Modern Egypt: Aesthetics, Ideology and Nation-Building (London: I.B. Tauris, 2013).
  3. The Egyptian monarchs of the twentieth century were Kings Fuad I (1922–36), Farouk (1936–52), and Fuad II (1952–53); the Fine art and Liberty Group was agile during the reign of Male monarch Farouk.
  4. Much of the information in this paragraph is drawn from Don LaCoss, "Art And Liberty: Surrealism in Egypt," Communicating Vessels 21 (2009–10): 28–33.
  5. This passage and several other portions of this chapter draw heavily from my previously published essay, "Arab republic of egypt's Long History of Activist Artists," Tahrir Plant for Middle E Policy, October 13, 2014, https://timep.org/egypts-political-art-history/.
  6. Kane, The Politics of Art in Modern Egypt, 49.
  7. Fatenn Mostafa Kanafani, "The Permanent Revolution: From Cairo to Paris with the Egyptian Surrealists," Mada Masr, November 11, 2016, http://world wide web.madamasr.com/en/2016/11/11/feature/civilization/the-permanent-revolution-from-cairo-to-paris-with-the-egyptian-surrealists/.
  8. Mona L. Russell, ed., Egypt, (Santa Barbara, Calif.: ABC-CLIO, 2013), 256.
  9. See Hamed Ewais, Nasser and the Nationalisation of the Canal (1957). In the collection of Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modernistic Art, Doha, Qatar.
  10. See Hamed Ewais, Protector of Life (1967–68). In the collection of the Barjeel Art Foundation, Sharjah, United Arab Emirates.
  11. Jessica Winegar, Creative Reckonings: The Politics of Art and Civilisation in Contemporary Egypt (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2006), 270.
  12. Menna Taher, "The Life of Inji Aflatoun, an Artist and a Insubordinate," Ahram Online, September 18, 2011, http://english language.ahram.org.eg/NewsContent/five/25/21577/Arts–Culture/Visual-Art/The-life-of-Inji-Aflatoun,-an-artist-and-a-rebel-.aspx; and Sara Elkamel, "Between Art and Activism: Inji Efflatoun's Life Revisited," Ahram Online, January half dozen, 2013, http://english.ahram.org.eg/NewsContent/v/25/61853/Arts–Culture/Visual-Art/Betwixt-art-and-activism-Inji-Efflatoun%E2%lxxx%99s-life-rev.aspx.
  13. Associated Press, "Writer Shunned for His Views on State of israel," New York Times, November ten, 2002, http://www.nytimes.com/2002/eleven/ten/international/middleeast/egyptian-writer-shunned-for-his-views-on-state of israel.html.
  14. Amina Menia, "Enclosed," personal website, http://world wide web.aminamenia.com/?browse=Enclosed, accessed November 23, 2016.
  15. However, it must be mentioned that such collections generally avoided presenting works that addressed taboo subjects in the local political scene. In March 2012, two artworks were removed from Art Dubai, the Heart East's nearly prominent art fair, which was established in 2007. 1 of the works, After Washing by Paris-based Palestinian artist Shadi Alzaqzouq depicted a female protester property male underwear daubed with the word "irhal," meaning "leave" in Arabic, which was chanted during the Arab uprisings. The other artwork that was taken downward was You Were My Only Beloved past Moroccan artist Zakaria Ramhani, which depicted an Egyptian adult female who was browbeaten by the police force. (These works are discussed after in this report.) Colin Simpson, "Two Works Removed from Art Dubai Fair," The National, March 23, 2012, www.thenational.ae/news/uae-news/two-works-removed-from-art-dubai-off-white.
  16. "El Sawy Culture Wheel," Majalla, May 25, 2009, http://eng.majalla.com/2009/05/article554243.
  17. Maria Golia, "Cairo's Townhouse Gallery: Social Transformation through Fine art," Heart East Institute, April 27, 2015, http://world wide web.mei.edu/content/at/cairo's-townhouse-gallery-social-transformation-through-fine art.
  18. An example of the pop upward art spaces was the Nile Sunset Addendum in Cairo that was started in 2012. Elisabeth Jaquette, "Nile Sunset Addendum: An Artist-Run Gallery Space in Cairo," Ibraaz, February 28, 2013, http://world wide web.ibraaz.org/news/54.
  19. In another example of the limits on free expression in the new regional art scene, both Ramhani and Alzaqzouq were censored for their pieces at the 2012 edition of Art Dubai, as described in an earlier footnote.
  20. Suheyla Takesh, description of the "Al-Seef" exhibit on the website of the Contemporary Art Platform, 2015, http://capkuwait.com/2015/al-seef/.
  21. Soraya Morayef, "Return to Tahrir: Two Years and Graffiti of the Martyrs," Suzeeinthecity, December 29, 2012, https://suzeeinthecity.wordpress.com/2012/12/29/return-to-tahrir-ii-years-and-graffiti-of-the-martyrs/. Egyptian graffiti has received pregnant coverage in loftier-profile international media outlets, ane reason why I exercise not get into greater detail describing it here. Morayef's blog, Suzeeinthecity, has featured some of the all-time reporting on graffiti that I have seen.
  22. Morayef, "The Mohamed Mahmoud Landscape: Whitewashing Cairo's Memory of the By," Atlantic Quango, September 21, 2012, http://www.atlanticcouncil.org/blogs/menasource/the-mohamed-mahmoud-mural-whitewashing-cairos-memory-of-the-past.
  23. Translation courtesy of Universes in Universe. Translation differs slightly on Basiony'southward website, http://www.ahmedbasiony.com/about.html.
  24. "54th International Venice Biennale Pays Tribute to Ahmed Basiouny, Egyptian Artist and Revolutionary Martyr," Ahram Online, May 15, 2011, http://english.ahram.org.eg/NewsContent/5/0/12164/Arts–Culture/0/th-International-Venice-Biennale-pays-tribute-to-A.aspx.
  25. Mohsn Hosni, "The Flowers that Bloomed in Egypt'due south Garden," (Arabic), Al-Masry Al-Youm, Apr 26, 2011, http://www.almasryalyoum.com/news/details/127909.
  26. Marcia Lynx Qualey, "Arab republic of egypt Shuts Down Novelist Alaa al-Aswany's Public Event and Media Work," The Guardian, December eleven, 2015, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/december/11/egypt-shuts-downwardly-novelist-alaa-al-aswanys-public-event-and-media-work.