Being an artist in 2025 feels like standing still in a world that never stops moving. We’re not just creating anymore, we’re preserving identity, challenging norms, and capturing emotion in a time when everything feels digital, fast, and filtered.
As a Lebanese portrait artist working in charcoal and oil, my focus is on facial expressions that tell stories words often can’t. I paint not just features, but feelings. Each line, each shadow, each subtle stroke of oil carries the weight of unspoken memories. In a world of curated realities, portraiture reminds us of raw human truth.
Creating with Resilience
Creating in Lebanon is not without its challenges. The environment is unpredictable politically, economically, and emotionally. And yet, the will to develop remains constant. Here, every artist is part documentarian, part dreamer. The chaos around us shapes us, but we don’t let it define us. We use it.
Portraits in this part of the world are not simply depictions of people. They are maps of identity. Every gaze tells a story of longing, of resilience, of hope. Through my work, I aim to preserve these moments, to offer visual testimony in a region often misrepresented or misunderstood.
We may not have access to perfect tools or pristine studios, but we work with heart. Our strength lies in our ability to turn struggle into beauty and pain into purpose.
The Modern Artist: More Than the Medium
To be an artist in 2025 also means being an entrepreneur, a strategist, and a communicator. We are our own brand managers, content creators, and sometimes even shipping departments. The art world is no longer confined to galleries and exhibitions. It’s global, fast-moving, and largely digital.
Social media has allowed me to connect with people I never would have met otherwise. But it also brings pressure to create quickly, to stay visible, to remain “relevant.” Algorithms don’t always reward depth. They reward trends, speed, and aesthetics. But art, real art, doesn’t fit neatly into a square.
That’s where discipline comes in. And authenticity. I’ve learned not to chase the algorithm, but to protect my voice. Because it’s easy to be swept up in visibility and much harder to stay true to your vision.
Art as Resistance, Memory, and Healing
In a region where identity can be fragile and freedom of expression sometimes comes with risks, art becomes a form of resistance. It’s a way to reclaim space, to speak without asking permission. For many of us, it’s also a way to process, to heal, and to rebuild.
When I create a portrait, I’m not just capturing someone’s features, I’m preserving a moment in time. Sometimes, I feel like I’m painting the parts of people they didn’t know needed to be seen. It’s intimate. Sacred, even.
And beyond personal healing, there is collective memory. Art preserves what might otherwise be forgotten. It offers perspective in places where history is often written by those in power. In that sense, being an artist here is not only creative, it’s deeply responsible.
Why We Still Choose This Life
We didn’t choose to be artists because it’s easy. Most of us live with uncertainty, financial, emotional, and even existential. But we choose this life because we are called to it. Because there is something in us that insists on translating what others ignore. Someone who believes in the beauty of expression, even when the world feels too heavy.
To be an artist in 2025 is to hold space for what’s real. To slow down in a world that moves too fast. To reflect humanity to itself, flawed, complex, and beautiful.
And in a time when truth is often blurred, art is one of the few places where honesty still lives. Whether it’s on a large oil canvas or a piece of charcoal paper, the work remains the same: to reveal, to connect, to endure.
For me, being an artist in 2025, especially as a woman in the Middle East, isn’t just about creation. It’s about contribution. It’s about visibility, voice, and value.
And that, in itself, is powerful.
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