Talking in Art: Our Loud, Silent Messages

Talking in Art: Our Loud, Silent Messages

Written by Chiquita Evita Fatimah

If you had a chance to revisit a memory, a place, or a sound, in a place that you called home, would you take it? In the Stories Through Art Workshop, many of my refugee friends did – and I was their guide to making that journey possible through painting. An artistic session defined by themes of hopes and dreams.

Carried by my love for painting, I was familiar with this theme all too well. In fact, I was afraid of revisiting it, this time together with a group of 15: 10 refugees and 5 Indonesians. I remembered what it was like, being a lost eighteen-year old teenager, in the middle of the pandemic where social interaction was sanctioned, not knowing what life after high school was going to be like. Alas the darkness, my creative energy was still very much alive in me because it had carried me through the loneliest of times since a very young age – which is how Creative Aura (2021) was born. A bittersweet painting that made its presence known in the workshop.

Creative Aura (2021) by Chiquita Evita Fatimah. Photo courtesy of @chiquitaevitaart.

I began to ask myself: Didn’t the refugees experience a lot worse than I had? Wouldn’t the memories the refugees revisit be a little more painful? What kind of painting did they envision with the experiences they carried? I was afraid of the memories they’d look back on, so much so I didn’t sleep the night before the big day.

Upbeat music, fellow volunteers with big smiles, and myself walking around, observing the refugees getting used to colours and brushes. Shortly after learning painting techniques, one by one their arms raised with questions and curiosity. Their smiles weren’t downturned as they held their brushes like I was worried to foresee, rather neutral and focused, only listening to the tune of their very own creative energy. In between the seats of refugees were a couple of our Indonesian friends and all seemed to come as one small community who laughed like they’ve known each other for long.

Slowly, their visions sketched on their canvas turned to life with a myriad of colours. I could only gaze at their paintings in fascination as I approached each one of them, hearing the stories behind their artistic concept during the exchanges we had as more colours came together.

Looking at their faces telling their stories, I was met with smiles and genuine conversations of deep, longing, feelings: a dominantly gray-coloured apartment building with only one lit-up window in sight, where among the dark windows that surrounds it, spoke of the bright ray of hope that stands out in a bleak world.

My favourite: a man in an orange-red shirt with his head looking up at the painted thought of reuniting with his family while another bubble of thought showed hugging himself while holding a wrench. This painting talked about his longing to reunite with his family in Afghanistan and his self-awareness towards. taking care of himself for the sake of his family. It relayed the message:

“Although we are far apart, I want to make sure they know that I am doing fine and okay here.”

All paintings were later provided their very own spotlight at World Refugee Day, organized by UNHCR Indonesia in collaboration with other refugee-focused organizations, including Bridges for Hope, one week later, showcasing their creation in its own original form. Two refugees were given the stage to tell the stories behind their works directly and standing before them was a large audience appreciative of their creativity, amidst the hardship they experienced.

I now write this, remembering how it reminded me of myself: I painted Creative Aura with only my heart, where no existing problems of isolation from the pandemic made a sound. I painted my hands and the planets with only my pure captivation to the planets. I painted alone, yet I did not feel alone. I painted in a dimly-lit set up to set apart the noise of my creativity and the unpredictable nature of the pandemic. My painting eventually caught the attention of QuaranTeened (also one week later!) where my painting was published in their collections, accompanied with the story I had.

Experiences like these are what reminds me that engaging with art, whether as an art instructor like I was, or as the painter who embraced creativity in the midst of the pandemic, is that art will always engage all of us through its silence that it talks to you in when you look at the pieces of colours put together. The refugees’ stories remained to steal the shine through their paintings, even when they themselves were not present in person.

I only hope for my fellow refugees and Indonesian friends to continue creating, as making art does not stop when you finish painting, but when it gets to meet the wandering eyes of others. As for myself, the art instructor, they made my 18 year-old self feel less alone by showing that we are still humans with agency, hope, and dreams, despite what we faced and that is what this workshop was successful in embracing.