The Iraqi art scene, like much of the country's life, has been in shattered fragments since 2003. But in Abu Dhabi, there's a sign that rumours of its death are perhaps slightly exaggerated. It's down a quiet side street, accessed through a mildly confusing swirl of roundabouts, U-turns and slip roads - a small but determined hubbub of artistic activity behind the unassuming façade of a modest three-storey villa.
Inside the building is a large, sunlit reception room, the first of a series of spaces filled with a jumble of art, sculptures, paintings and trinkets, arranged busily around the walls. It's quiet. It's the kind of place one can move through at leisure, examining the work, which has been sourced from across the Middle East and Europe. Upstairs, past more walls of work, we meet a genial middle-aged Iraqi couple, who hospitably welcome us with a glass of orange juice and beaming smiles.
This is the Qibab Art Gallery, a modest enterprise set up in January 2007 by three Iraqi refugees, the artist Nashat al Aloosi, his wife, Lamees al Bazirgan and his brother, Natiq al Aloosi. After sticking it out in Baghdad as long as possible, they decamped to Abu Dhabi, where Lamees spent much of her youth, with the intention to bring the spirit of the once-thriving Baghdad art scene to the Gulf.
A former secretary and beauty salon owner, Lamees is a warm, loquacious woman who exudes a genuine enthusiasm and passion for art allied with a steely determination to make the Qibab Gallery a success. Her husband, a plump gentleman with greying beard and twinkling eyes, sits alongside her, frequently interjecting Lamees's conversation with volleys of Arabic, which elicit responses ranging from affectionate impatience to beaming pride.
It is all very cosy in the sun-filled office space upstairs, surrounded by books, objets d'art, Nashat's paintings and sculptures, and extensive catalogues of work. But Qibab is the result of years of hard work, planning, endurance and dedication on the part of its founders, who's admirable resolve to stay in war-torn Baghdad was finally broken in 2006. "We were there, we saw all the wars," reflects Lamees. "But after the last war, in 2003, we couldn't take it. It was so difficult for us to live, to survive. We were always hoping that things would get settled. But year after year after year, it got worse, worse. Our house had all the glass bombed out, we had a very miserable time. But we stayed three years [after the invasion], waiting for something good to happen. Then al Qa'eda and those people came, so we decided to leave."
It was when the ceiling of Nashat's atelier caved in, after heavy bombardment in the neighbourhood, that the family finally decided to move. Relocation was difficult, not only due to the labyrinthine maze of bureaucracy that needed tackling, but also for the couple to admit that the once thriving art scene of Baghdad was in trouble. "Before, there were 48 galleries in Baghdad, showing all sorts of work - contemporary, classic, modern. There were lots of people who understand what is art. They would come to the exhibitions, and all the paintings would be sold. A year or so before we left, only one or two places were still open, but no one was there. All the great artists had left."
For Nashat, life as a painter in pre-2003 Baghdad was, on the whole, productive. Nevertheless, living conditions were far from stress-free. Like many Iraqis, he was happy to see Saddam Hussein deposed in 2003. "Obviously, I was waiting for this war to come, to change the regime," Nashat says, as his wife translates. "Everything was coming down before, not only artistic life. There was stress on every Iraqi in day to day life. I went through so many troubles as an artist, the security situation under Saddam was very hard. But when I did exhibitions, no-one said, 'Don't do this exhibition'. But it was difficult. Now, you can do whatever you like. We were in a very dark, endless tunnel. But now we are in the same tunnel and there is a spot of little light at the end."
They arrived in Abu Dhabi, having exhausted their savings and with little more than their collection of art works, set upon creating a peaceful sanctuary in which Nashat could resume his work and Lamees could promote it. "When there was the bombing and everything in Baghdad, he would sit, doing nothing and I would ask him, 'Why are you sitting around doing nothing?'" laughs Lamees. "And he would say, 'I am not doing nothing. I am thinking of what I will do in the future'. He had so many things in mind, he would come out with it later."
Most of their possessions had been sold, leaving only their prized collection of art as the foundation for the new project. Once in the Emirates, they found a villa, made some refurbishments, and in Lamees's words, began "digging, digging. It was not easy. No one helped us". "The Ghaf Gallery had just opened, but for us it was very hard. The paperwork, everything. It took six months for the licenses. There is no category of gallery here, there is a category of shop, but they don't know what is a gallery. So we had to find everything on our own. From scratch."
Initially, the Qibab Gallery survived by selling traditional Iraqi handicrafts - rugs, ceramics and so on - but the rooms quickly filled with dozens of Nashat's pieces and distinctive pieces by his brother Natiq. The brothers display a broad diversity of styles and techniques. There are sculptures made with saj, a deep orange rose wood unique to the Iraq countryside in which they grew up, and Madonna-type figures with elongated, feline features typical of Assyrian and Sumerian sculptors.
Then there are Nashat's paintings, displaying a fluency across styles, from the peaceful views of everyday Iraqi life - boats in harbours, ramshackle streets, men huddled around bubbling narghiles. His mastery of light is awesome. These paintings are irradiated with a soft, vivid natural light that belies Nashat's classicist influences. Elsewhere, he betrays his fondness for modernism with cubist-style collages, with deep heavy blues, reds and blacks grounding exercises in texture and form. Thin rope outlines echo his sculptures, with their staring, stretched features.
"Every minute, there is something to paint. I paint what I feel." Nashat says. "If I am depressed, I'll do something else, if there is war, I'll paint something else. It depends on the mood. The real artist cannot stay the same. Subject and technique, I can't do this. I keep changing, shifting. I like classical work. Other times, I want to travel and do something else. Modern. Or sculpture. But I always come back to classical art."
Downstairs, Lamees points out some small canvasses on the landing, energetic blurry explosions of bright colours. "These are my paintings," she announces proudly, before pointing out darker, solid works with the blank faces that are ubiquitous among the younger Iraqi painters on display. "These are by our son," she says, equally proudly. There is a group of paintings by Hassan Abboud, dark and layered, textural pieces, flecked with gold, while Natiq's bronze Giacometti-style figurines display a love of long, flowing figures that is echoed in his shadowy paintings, which hang next to some glorious pieces by Ismail Fattah. Equally delicious are Sarmad al Assawi's sculptures, placed on plinths about the ground floor - gloriously tall, full stone pieces, adorned with glossy, richly coloured detail.
As we leave the villa, Lamees leads us around the garden, past the sculptures dotted about the lawn, to a small shop at the side of the building, with painted handicrafts and decorated glasses. This, she explains, will be fully operational shortly, as Qibab moves into full gear for the winter. "Now, I have lots of friends here - Iraqi artists around the world. And now we are known here in Abu Dhabi. This year, we have now an Iraqi artist coming from Doha, Wael Murab, and Hassan Aboud from Holland. A French artist, an Italian artist coming also, and Hrair from Beirut. He was coming here but he did not like the Ghaf Gallery. He came here and liked it. We did not negotiate a time, but he will come."
As we move to leave the impressive, spirited and highly original little space, the family warmly bid a farewell. Their eagerness and devotion to their cause certainly deserves an audience, and if the quality and diversity of their exhibitions remains consistent, the gallery should emerge as a key player in the UAE's art scene. But funding is needed and without it, it's uncertain whether Lamees and her family can sustain the aspirations they hold for the future.
"Will we go back to Iraq?" She ponders the question. "If everything is OK, we will go back. But for now, we stay here." Qibab Art Gallery, 02 665 2350, 050 816 3695. Saturday to Thursday 9am to 1pm and 5pm to 9pm. Directions: Street 26, second right Street 15.