Nearly five decades after leaving Iraq, Dia Al Azzawi still starts his mornings in London reading Arabic newspapers, staying attuned to regional developments with a routine that infallibly shapes his art.
“I read through all of them. It’s an important part of my life,” he says. “Some are political, others cultural. I stay up to date so that when I visit the region, I don’t feel like a tourist.”
Al Azzawi will be in Dubai to host a masterclass at the Museum of the Future on Sunday. It is the first in a series led by recipients of the Great Arab Minds award, which he won last year. In the four-hour session, Al Azzawi will discuss the history of Arab art, doubtlessly intertwining his own experiences into the conversation.
It is hard for anyone to accuse Al Azzawi of being an outsider. His body of work is as much a documentation of the Arab world – its language and history – as it is an exploration of composition and colour.
From early on, Al Azzawi’s visual language was anchored in the region’s history, informed by his archaeological studies at the College of Arts in Baghdad, from where he graduated in 1962, as well as his time at Iraq’s Antiquities Department, serving as its director between 1968 and 1976.
“Archaeology gave me a vast cultural and historical foundation,” he says. “It helped me find my own distinct path among my generation.”
Al Azzawi supplemented that education with studies in European art history, pursuing both disciplines in parallel. “I would attend classes in archaeology during the day, then study European art history in the evening,” the artist says.
This two-pronged training broadened his perspective. The ancient world rooted Al Azzawi in the myths and materials of Mesopotamia, while the study of European masters exposed him to questions of structure, colour and abstraction. It helped him break new artistic ground – one that would lead to his work being featured across international platforms.
“My knowledge of ancient legends, especially the Epic of Gilgamesh, deeply influenced me,” he says. “I created more than 30 works based on it.”
The encounter with Sumerian artefacts also refined his approach to form and meaning. “The Sumerian aesthetic, in a way, was simple and direct. There was an emphasis on form,” he says, adding that it helped hone his own sensibilities of composition as well.
This also helped Al Azzawi establish himself on Baghdad’s artistic scene early on. The city in the 1960s, he says, was bustling with debate and ambition. “The central discussion at the time was about identity,” he says.
“We already had the Baghdad Group, who had called for the creation of an Iraqi art. But with the New Vision Group, which I wrote the manifesto for in 1968, I wanted the conversation to be broader, for it to become an Arab art, not just Iraqi.
“I also called for a political position towards the events that surrounded us,” he adds. “At that time, there was the Palestinian experience, and I felt we couldn’t stay detached from it.”
His output during that period embodies this ethos, showing an equal regard for Iraqi and wider Arab issues.
A Wolf Howls: Memories of a Poet (1968), for instance, is a tribute to the revolutionary Iraqi poet Muzaffar al-Nawab, who was a friend of the artist. Al Azzawi's 1973 series, The Land of Sad Oranges, is an interpretation of the 1962 short story collection by Ghassan Kanafani that narrates the displacement of Palestinians during the Nakba, particularly from Jaffa, a city famous for its oranges. Today, both works stand as snapshots of their time.
By the time Al Azzawi left Baghdad for London in 1976, he was already a leading figure in Iraq’s modern art movement. However, driven by a strong desire to explore the world outside Iraq and to broaden his artistic horizons, he left his job at the Antiquities Department – much to the indignation of his family – and entered a new stage of his life and career.
“I was smart in leaving,” Al Azzawi says. “I left against my father’s wishes. He said: ‘How can you leave the country when you have a job?’ But later it became clear why. The last time I visited Iraq was in September 1980. The day after I arrived, the war with Iran began. Four days later, my father told me not to return – and since then I’ve remained outside the country.”
Al Azzawi would go on to make some of his most acclaimed works in exile.
His arrival in London coincided with a turbulent period in the Arab world. Civil war had broken out in Lebanon, the Palestinian struggle was ongoing and Iraq itself was under growing political strain. Al Azzawi followed the developments closely and their impact seeped into his art.
His Sabra and Shatila Massacre series, for instance, references the horrific killing of thousands of Palestinian refugees and Lebanese civilians by the Phalangist militia, who acted with the support of the Israeli army.
Al Azzawi began the series in 1982, the same year of the massacre. He worked on a sprawling mural-sized drawing that is now part of the Tate Modern’s collection, as well as smaller works on paper, several of which are in the collection of Barjeel Art Foundation in the UAE. The works feature deconstructed human forms, with harrowing expressions that viscerally communicate the horror of the event.
“Pain is a position,” Al Azzawi says, in response to how watching these turbulent events from afar has shaped his work. He insists on the necessity of speaking out, of responding through art rather than being a silent observer. “For me, it is definitely a position. I also provide space for the viewer to dialogue with me. But what matters is to be honest with yourself in presenting what you feel.”
It is a belief that runs through all his later works, too.
In Mission of Destruction (2004–2007), a work spanning 15 metres and once regarded by the artist as “the most important work of my history of art”, Al Azzawi painted a protest of the 2003 US invasion of Iraq and its devastating aftermath.
His output from the past decade, notably the charcoal drawing series Nights of Extermination, has continued to respond to regional issues, from the destruction of Mosul and Aleppo, to the Iraqi protests between 2019 and 2021, as well as the war in Gaza.
“I still believe everything I offer is part of Arab culture and art,” Al Azzawi concludes.
