Author Archives: imes1101

a review, and a review of a review

recently a show I was in was reviewed by the star tribune, and due to its problematic language that review was then reviewed

here are the links to both articles




ِAn installation; Oct/6/2015
the screen is fashioned in the style of old ornamental screens, but using the utilitarian tools of our time. the ornaments confuse the vision by threatening the loss of perceptual control; scattering the anchor of sight and propelling the viewer from awe into boredom into contemplation. war becomes just another mass ornament; actions that result from informational points in a large drawing.
The screen conceals the video work once more frustrating the gaze by completely withholding the imagery. How can I show you the beauty of a place that no longer exists within or without me? even my own experience of these moments and spaces has been corroded. thus even my best attempt is canceled and withheld. only the sound escapes concealment; but my memory is an unreliable narrator; it unfolds fragments of thoughts like a dream or a memory. the fragments  are obscured by my distance to them and by my own doubting of them and by the non linear rush of time.
I can not show you or tell you. only bring you there by denying you


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even the video shown here has been hidden from your view using the photograph of the display.

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Heavy- Bahmout

“In Arab mythology there is a heaviness in the depth of the sea, upon which the Earth is held. If you call on this heaviness, it will stir and the Earth will quake. Essma Imady’s video piece and live performance, “Bahamout, Heavy,” seeks to translate this heaviness through the burden of her flesh. For the entire duration of the 2015 MCAD MFA Fall Exhibition, The Meeting Waters, Imady will hold a monitor displaying her video piece.”

I am very much overwhelmed by home right now. it is a crippling feeling.  I carried the 32′ screen for three hours, the visitors would ask me again and again ” are you okay?”.
I am not okay.
And it is not because of a heavy screen.
But because of an un-named heaviness dwelling within my existeness.



Descent into Heaven


MFA candidate Essma Imady grew up in Damascus, Syria. She left to study art in the United States in 2011, a time when Syria was brimming with anticipation. It is now so destitute of hope that families are opting to try and escape in small fishing boats that they hope will carry them across the Mediterranean to anywhere else. In a world overwhelmed with political and economical strife, people all over the world attempt similar dangerous trips. Descent into Heaven pays tribute to the ones who never make it, in a short experimental film and installation that is up from March the 13th until March 27th.





The girl who may or may not have my name.

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Somehow I came across this video online, a young woman pleading her father for forgiveness before she is stoned to death by him, and a few other ISIS men. She was young, frail, and her accent sounded like mine. I was overwhelmed with how easily it could have been me in her place, a less advantageous birth was all it would have taken. I felt a sense of kinship with her; how even at the end she wanted to please her father, the way her screams happened at the back of her throat, an internalized pain. And the fact that she had (according to her captors) allowed her self to fall in love, and partake in a relationship, despite the stakes at hand. She was a people pleaser, someone who internalizes her pain, but can be controlled by her passion; she even had my accent.

I knew I had to make a piece of art about her, and for her. I saw her as the hero of the situation the lone carrier of passion and light in a dark and painful world. A saint.

At the end of the video of her brutal murder, a rock hits her head and her hair flows out of her scarf, the man filming blurs the picture. Thus I decided that I would represent her through the very thing they wished to hide of hers, but since I could not use her hair, I opted for the closest alternative; my own hair.  out my hair i made a string or prayer (or worry) beads. Thus the private and intimate collided once more with the religious and codified. Other then hair I used gold leaf, to symbolize her saintliness, and the artificiality of the ‘holiness’ of this killing. I coated the rock that had been the weapon in her murder with this gold leaf, it symbolized both the artificially holy; the murder, and the truly holy; her blood.