Motherland

When I left Lebanon for the United States in 2005, I brought those memories with me. Years later, as a mother raising three daughters far from the land that shaped me, I began to understand that preserving our heritage was no longer simply a matter of remembering. It was a responsibility.

I founded Maraseel® to give our language, culture, and stories a place in the everyday lives of our communities. Through Arabic calligraphy and visual storytelling, I began creating pieces that could bring us closer to the people and places we love.

Motherland grew from that same longing, but also from a sense of urgency.

In September 2024, my childhood home in Lebanon was destroyed. Suddenly, the places I had always believed I could return to were no longer guaranteed to exist as I remembered them. I began thinking about everything a photograph cannot fully preserve: the view from a balcony, the sound of a familiar street, the feeling of standing somewhere and knowing you belong.

I did not want Lebanon to be remembered only through images of war and destruction.

I wanted to remember its beauty. Its villages and cities. Its architecture, landscapes, and ordinary corners. The places that rarely make headlines but live forever in someone's heart.

Each artwork in Motherland begins with a place and the stories that make it meaningful. Some are rooted in my own memories. Others emerge from photographs, conversations, and the experiences of people who have entrusted me with pieces of their hometowns. Through Arabic calligraphy, color, and carefully chosen details, I reinterpret these places as works of art that hold both personal and collective memory.

But something changed when the exhibition opened.

I watched a mother walk in with her children. As they moved from one artwork to another, she began telling them about the places they were seeing, what each place meant to her, and the memories she associated with it.

I stood there watching her tell stories that were not mine.

And in that moment, I understood that Motherland had become something bigger than my own longing for home.

These artworks were giving other mothers, fathers, and members of our diaspora a medium through which to share their memories, pass on their stories, and express what it means to love a land and its people, even from thousands of miles away.

This collection is not an attempt to recreate Lebanon exactly as it is. It is an invitation to see Lebanon as we know it, love it, and carry it within us.

For those who left, I hope these pieces feel like a return.
For those who stayed, I hope they know they are not alone.
And for our children, I hope they become an introduction to places they may know first through our stories.