The Works of Rani Sharabati: Israeli Settler Colonialism and Palestine

by Alessandra Pellegrini, Contributing Designer 09/12/2024

In works that explore both individual and collective feelings towards the ongoing Israeli occupation, Rani Sharabati critically showcases the relationship between Israeli spatial domination and its consequences on the Palestinian landscape, simultaneously weaving the narrative of Palestinian steadfastness and resilience into each composition and subject matter. In his landscape paintings, Sharabati draws inspiration from distinctive urban characteristics of the occupation, such as camps in the West Bank or densely built, cramped cities like Kufr ‘Aqab — a neighbourhood cut off from Jerusalem when the wall was built in 2003. 

Since its inception, the Zionist colonial project has used land policies and regulations to alter and divide space strategically, dispersing Jewish settlers and settlements while restricting Palestinian mobility to designated areas following displacement. Today, Palestinian villages are confined to very little space surrounded by settlements, nature reserves, and security zones, making it extremely difficult to build a property or expand geographically — even obtaining a building permit from Israel is extremely difficult. 

Rani Sharabati was born in the West Bank where, similarly, building and planning has been heavily curtailed, which was only exacerbated when the West Bank was reconfigured entirely by the Oslo Accords I (1993) and II (1995). Palestinians became more separated than ever as the West Bank was divided into three areas: A, B, and C. Area A which comprises 18% of the territory is under Palestinian Authority (PA) control. Area B (22%) is under PA civic control, whereas security control is shared with Israeli authorities. Area C (60%) remains under full Israeli control. These areas resemble figurative islands with differing levels of PA authority and have become increasingly difficult to navigate due to an influx of checkpoints on the roads limiting and filtering movement. 

This altering of space in the Palestinian landscape is constant and often, an ugly reshaping, damaging nature and land in its process. Utilising up to three-metre-sized oil paintings ranging from densely detailed to textured and abstract, Sharabati initiates dialogue on these transformations. Often, Sharabati approaches his subject matter by letting his artistic direction dictate, frequently visiting places, making sketches, or drawing upon memory rather than focusing on realism. In this way, his work transgresses localised boundaries whether geographical or ideological, and this deliberate ambiguity allows Palestinian viewers to interpret his work in line with their own experience of displacement and spatial domination born from the occupation: ‘I don't tell people this is al-Arroub camp, this is al Am’ari camp, this is al-Fawwar camp, no. I just make the camp because all of them look like together [sic], in Palestine, in Lebanon, in Jordan, everywhere. It's the same idea, the same concept, the same people live in this place.’

Sharabati also explores this alteration of space by subverting perspectives that once again, raise attention to the experience of the Palestinian diaspora. In one of his paintings, he was concerned with how those on the other side of the wall perceive Palestinians: ‘This view it’s near from Hizma, but I get it from different view. When you go to Hizma you see here settlement not camp, so I think about this view from other side, how they see us, like this. So, I make it as an opposite visual.’ 

The Silent Transfer

Rani Sharabati was born and raised in Hebron, a city with deep religious significance for Palestinian and Jewish people, with parts of its Old City dating back to 3500 B.C. Presently, it is profoundly impacted by the ongoing issues surrounding land and hospitable/habitable space for Palestinians. Like Kufr ‘Aqab in East Jerusalem, Hebron is an example of how curtailing space is leveraged, known as the ‘silent transfer’: a term to describe the political manipulation of land via house demolitions, obstacles in obtaining building permits, and restrictions on movement that force Palestinians to relocate. 

Following the 1994 Ibrahimi Mosque massacre committed by American-Israeli settler Baruch Goldstein, tensions rose, and Hebron was proposed to be split into H-1 and H-2. This division heightened restrictions on Palestinian movement in the Old City and increased Israeli military presence, causing social and economic deterioration. Al-Shuhada street, once the epicentre, was entirely closed off to Palestinians who are no longer allowed access to the street. This forced some Palestinian families to move to H-1, the part of the city that holds more opportunities and a life more distant from settlements and soldiers. Whilst the Old City remains symbolically important, it is now associated with an absence of safety by some, and those who still live there deal with soldiers, settlers, and checkpoints daily. 

These effects of the silent transfer are widespread. Sharabati spoke of how on his daily commute from Hebron to East Jerusalem for university, the ever-changing landscape caught his eye, giving him the initial idea to begin pursuing his project on resistance and space: ‘So, the view it’s change [sic]. Over time they add something, delete something. The landscape is different.’ 

On this route, Sharabati would see al-Arroub camp, which he later visited, sketchbook in hand. Notable to him was this reappropriation of space in which houses were built with whatever materials were available to become a permanent structure. Their intended permanence juxtaposed by the hastily thought-out structures of the camps themselves stood out to Sharabati because, conceptually, the camps were built on the premise that they would be temporary living spaces, and that Palestinians would return to the areas from where they had been displaced. Over time, these refugee camps have become villages with side streets and alleyways, vastly different from their original layout of tents. 

The continual steadfastness towards creating some form of habitable space no matter the circumstance serves as an act of resistance that influenced Sharabati to represent the camps and built-up cities as tall-towering features. When asked about the significance of this compositional technique he made note of how little sky you can see in his work: ‘It looks like the building is nearly from the sky […]. It means we are strong people, we try always to build.’ Sharabati relayed that inspiration for this use of the sky found its roots in a line from a Mahmoud Darwish poem, ‘أيها المارّون بين الكلمات العابرة’ [Those Who Pass Between Fleeting Words]. The key influential line was as follows: 

’كيف يبني حجر من أرضنا سقف السماء‘

 [How a stone from our land builds the ceiling of our sky]

Before October 7^th 2023, Sharabati was in Paris on artist residency. He had been there for four months, meeting artists and associations, visiting museums, and travelling. Upon his return, Sharabati said he had many ideas and lots of sketches ready for new projects to take form back in his studio in Hebron. A couple of days after his return came October 7^th. 

Sharabati is a well-established artist who has won prizes, exhibited work, and engages with a wide range of mediums such as oil painting, graffiti, photography, and design to make versatile projects. However, since October 7^th, Sharabati claimed he has faced a period of artist block, and whilst he has sometimes found inspiration to make art and practise new techniques for ongoing projects, he explained that within his community, the priority is the war: ‘It's not the most important thing right now at this war. Art, it's just a message, and right now, a lot of people’s deaths, and this message never changed anything, because the Israeli machine it's never stopped.’

To find out more about his art and the topics he explores, you can view Rani Sharabati’s work via his Instagram accounts:

• rani_sharabati
• rani_sharabati_artwork

(All photo credits to Rani Sharabati)