I have always, and continue to, engage with my artistic subjects through visual dialogue within my artistic practice. However, in recent times—and due to my frequent encounters with audiences in my city of Haifa, as well as in Dresden and Berlin in Germany—I have come to realize that narrating the creative story also requires a spoken and visual dialogue, audio documentation, and written text. Therefore, I am presenting my responses to your questions as an important record of my creative journey.
To begin, I would like to explain the circumstances surrounding the establishment of the memorial monument in the city of Sakhnin.
This work, the first of its kind in the Palestinian space within Israel, was erected as a response to the violence carried out by border police and security forces against demonstrators protesting the confiscation of their land and the restrictions imposed on residents of villages in the Galilee, who were demanding the expansion of their municipal boundaries.
Six individuals from various areas were killed during this peaceful demonstration, which took place on March 30, 1976. At the time, I was working as a graphic designer in the graphics department of Al-Ittihad newspaper, as well as for other Arabic magazines, following my return from completing my academic studies in Dresden (East Germany) in 1972.
My studies focused on graphic arts, mural work, and sculpture. I was driven by the intention to promote fine arts among the public, given the scarcity of practitioners in this field at the time.
I was directly approached by the “Committee for the Defense of the Land,” formed by local council heads, activists, and intellectuals, to create this monument in commemoration of those who were martyred in defense of their land.
When I began the design process, I felt it was important to involve the progressive Jewish artist Gershon Knispel, who had significant experience in this field and had worked for years in Brazil as an assistant to the renowned architect Oscar Niemeyer. He possessed both the technical expertise in casting materials and the physical space necessary for sculptural work. Our collaboration developed organically, and I, in turn, benefited from the exchange, which contributed to shaping what we aspired to achieve.
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As I mentioned, I returned from my studies in Germany carrying the concerns and struggles of my people, as well as a profound burden, having been born before the Nakba (in 1942) in my city of Haifa—a city whose inhabitants were displaced and expelled from their homeland, including my own family, which was scattered across neighboring countries and refugee camps, often living in harsh conditions and facing degrading treatment.
In truth, my immediate family was able to return under what was known as “family reunification,” due to my father remaining in Haifa despite the widespread displacement, confiscation of so-called “absentee property,” systemic discrimination, lack of equality, and the imposition of military rule that controlled movement and interfered in every aspect of daily life. This was in addition to the destruction of more than 560 Palestinian villages and the erasure of Palestinian identity.
I came to believe that working jointly with a Jewish artist, and joining the Communist youth movement and later the party, was a meaningful choice aligned with my aspirations for collective struggle toward equality, justice, and peace.
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I would also like to recall that after completing the construction of the memorial monument in the Islamic cemetery—defying building authorities and permits, and despite threats of demolition—we produced a publication (catalogue) titled “The Story of the Memorial Monument,” printed in 500 copies.
I wrote an article about the circumstances of the monument’s creation and its relationship to Islamic architectural traditions, which historically tended to avoid sculptural forms and discouraged the use of figurative grave markers. Gershon Knispel also contributed a text discussing memorials and their relationship to the environment, including the notion of “warding off evil spirits,” a concept rooted in cultural traditions aimed at repelling hatred, hostility, and malice—sentiments that, regrettably, exist within segments of Israeli society.
We also inscribed a statement on the monument expressing that it was built as a testament to our desire for coexistence and peace among peoples.
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I would like to emphasize that engaging with visual creativity is a necessary means of silent yet powerful expression in dialogue with the viewer. It is a form of communication that encompasses the full spectrum of aesthetic inquiry—beauty and ugliness alike—while provoking deep emotional and intellectual responses. It is also inherently “provocative,” in the sense that it carries within it a vision and a call toward a better reality and the realization of what we aspire to achieve.
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Regarding my relationship with my teacher Lea Grundig, I would like to elaborate.
At an early stage in my artistic development, I became convinced of the need to pursue formal academic training. I approached those responsible for student relations with socialist countries to assist me in obtaining a scholarship to study in the German Democratic Republic (1949–1989).
My decision to apply to an art academy stemmed from my awareness that German cultural and artistic traditions could open broader horizons of knowledge that I urgently needed to develop. The late artist Lea Grundig represented, for me, the most significant point of reference.
With the help of two of her associates in Israel—Dr. Wolf Ehrlich and the writer and intellectual Mordechai Abi-Shaul—I was accepted into the prestigious academy, initially as a guest student under Grundig, and later as a full student from the first year through to the completion of my diploma in the fifth year.
This was a deeply meaningful experience. I was a Palestinian coming from Israel, shaped by the trauma of the Nakba of 1948, while Lea Grundig, of German Jewish origin, had fled Nazi persecution to Palestine, where she was later detained by the British Mandate authorities before being released.
She was not a Zionist and did not support the colonial project of establishing a Jewish state at the expense of dispossessing Palestinians.
In 1949, she left Israel and returned to her native Dresden, joining her husband, Hans Grundig, a prominent artist in the German Democratic Republic.
I believe that the 1967 war had a profound impact on my artistic consciousness, deepening my expressive approach, influenced by the works of Lea Grundig, Käthe Kollwitz, Otto Dix, and others. This led me toward a more intense form of expression, particularly in graphic art, drawing from global artistic movements—Mexican, Italian, Russian, among others—whose artists resisted war, destruction, and hatred of the other.
This also resonates with Lea’s own work, which addressed the Holocaust, opposed war, resisted the rearmament of West Germany, and expressed solidarity with oppressed peoples everywhere, including the Palestinian people.
I believe that the personal relationship I developed with her during my studies also contributed to deepening my knowledge and strengthening my sense of international solidarity.
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Finally, I would like to note that my diploma project focused on the design of a memorial monument in the German city of Cottbus. The project was based on a vision of solidarity with peoples struggling for independence and freedom, such as those in Vietnam, Cambodia, Algeria, and countries in Africa and South America.
Then, as now, I have stood alongside people in their struggle for freedom, the consolidation of democracy, and the pursuit of a better life.
In addition, I have created several memorial monuments in the Galilee, contributed to organizing workshops for emerging artists, and taught art and art history for twenty-eight years, in an effort to develop the field we so urgently need.
Thank you for your attention, and thank you for encouraging me to articulate this in writing.
– 26 March 2024
Abed Abdi
