Human, Not a Number
Aya Juha
Born 1991 in Gaza, Palestine
Displaced in North Gaza
Aya Juha’s work has long sought to find some meaning from the relentless suffering of Palestinians subjected to imprisonment, torture, and martyrdom. How does the experience of an individual reflect and relate to the collective struggle? What does it mean to claim to have a body when Palestinians are subjected to what amounts to out-of-body, inhumane treatment? The body, in this context, is in fragments. Do we assume it to be whole, if we are not free? Juha sets out to document a body in fragments. By symbolizing pain and unbelievable hardships, a collective sense of belonging and purpose emerges, and individual lives, fragmented from each other, become a collective experience. The viewer begins to feel injustice physically, placing the political circumstances within the reality of bodily life.
Juha presents two works in situ for the biennale, Prisoner and Anas, that will be exhibited in her “fragmented” home. Her home is at once the setting of the stories she tells, the location of the work, and part of the works themselves, located in North Gaza, where she is part of a brave few who have refused to leave. Her exhibition will be documented and later re-exhibited in a location outside of Gaza. The ex situ presentation will attempt to link the multiple realities of fragmentation within the context of the works’ dislocation.
Prisoner embodies every Palestinian within Israeli occupation prisons and the various forms of injustice, oppression, and torture our detainees endure inside these prisons. Four equally sized canvases become dismembered body parts.
In the first painting, a head is depicted with the eyes covered, symbolizing how prisoners are denied the ability to see and engage in the normal life that everyone else experiences; they are prevented from seeing their family members and from experiencing light. In the second painting are hands, while in the third and fourth paintings are feet shackled in chains, rusted over time, signifying the duration under captivity. The work mirrors the current situation of Palestinians who have been abducted by soldiers, taken from their families and homes in Gaza during the war, and about whom we know nothing. Actual chains hang from the hands and feet.
Anas is about a shy, introverted man who didn’t like to talk much with people; he preferred his work and his life. He lived through every war that took place in Gaza and continued with his life and work despite all the oppression, injustice, and siege. Anas wanted to get married and start a family, like all young men. He got engaged to a beautiful girl and was about to get married, but everything changed after October 7, 2023. During the war that erupted in Gaza after this date, Anas became a different person. No one in his family understood how he became someone who laughed and loved sharing conversations with his family and relatives who were displaced with them. He began to enjoy playing with children and taking photos with them. He loved sharing his personal belongings with everyone. No one knew that he was trying to leave behind beautiful memories in his last days.
On November 16, 2023, Israeli tanks unexpectedly surrounded our home. They fired shells at our house, and Anas and one of my relatives were martyred in an instant. Anas was martyred one month before his wedding. Nineteen of us were trapped in one room without food or drink, and Anas’s body and that of the girl lay on the ground in front of us for two days while we were unable to do anything. The soldiers fired bullets inside the house and threw bombs at us, hitting Anas’s body. But my father managed to bury them after two days in a small hole in our tiny plot of land beside the house. We remained trapped for a whole week, knowing nothing of what was happening outside the room except for the attempts to shield ourselves from the bullets and bombs fired by the soldiers inside our home. After a few days, when the tanks moved from our area to another, we managed to escape. My family members were able to retrieve their bodies and take them to the cemetery.
This artwork represents the life of my brother Anas, who was killed by the Israeli occupation. In the first painting, he was a person with his life, work, and marriage. In the second, Anas was suddenly transformed into pieces. In the third painting, Anas no longer existed in life but in a grave.
Aya Jaha graduated with a degree in English translation in 2013 and worked at several educational centers focused on English language training for two years. In 2014, she returned to pursue her favorite hobby—painting. She began exploring the art world through social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube, and Google. Her artistic journey started off vibrantly; she attended training workshops, met many artists, participated in numerous art exhibitions, and conducted various training courses in still life and figure drawing since mid-2015. She received the Woman of Palestine Award for 2018 from the Ministry of Women’s Affairs.
إنسان، مش رقم
ولدت في عام 1991
نازحة في شمال غزة
تقدم الفنانة آية جحا رؤية لمعاناة الفلسطينيين تحت وطأة الاستعمار والاحتلال. عملها الفني “أسير” تجسد معاناة الأسرى الفلسطينيين عبر أربع لوحات، كل منها تبرز جزءاً مختلفاً من الجسد، مما يعكس تجربة التفكك والعزلة التي يعيشها آلاف الأسرى في سجون الاحتلال.
عملها الفني “أنس” يبرز التناقض الحاد بين الحياة والموت. تعبر هذه القطعة عن حياة أنس من تحضيراته للزواج إلى العنف المروع الذي يتعرض له جسده بعد القصف الإسرائيلي، ومن ثم دفنه، موضحة تأثير العنف على الأجساد في غزة، والتباين بين حياة الأفراد والمجتمعات وما يعانونه تحت الإبادة الجماعية الإسرائيلية.