**Biography of Nahrin Malki**
As an artist, my work originates from a deeply personal and historical perspective. The collective trauma encoded in my DNA, particularly through my grandmother’s harrowing experiences of Seyfo—the genocide of Christian minorities in the Ottoman Empire—serves as a foundational element of my art. This period, marked by brutal mass murders and the raping of women in 1914, known as the year of the sword, left indelible scars on my community, including Assyrians, Syrians, Armenians, Pontiac Greeks, and Chaldeans.
My art doesn't just reflect the atrocities my ancestors faced; it also touches upon the shared experiences of systematic killings throughout history—such as the Holocaust, the Soviet famine, and genocides in Rwanda, Cambodia, and Darfur. These shameful recurrences in history expose our innate cruelty but also highlight our shared humanity—the capacity to recognize and empathize with the pain of others.
In my work, my hands move over the canvas to convey a century of unforgotten pain, transforming storytelling into a physical and visual medium. Painting, for me, is a practice that etches memory across vast expanses of time, ensuring that these stories are not forgotten.
Capturing movement and pain within a painting is a challenge I embrace. My approach involves painting from within the object, revealing not only its external form but also an inner force that animates the core of the artwork. The body in my paintings is anonymous—neither strictly animal nor human, neither definitively male nor female, though there is a clear feminine essence in my work.
My tools are varied: stamps, knives, paintbrushes—all extensions of my mind, nerves, and heart. Recently, a photographer attempted to capture my work but noted the challenge of translating its true essence and energy through a camera. The vibrant, translucent energy of specific colors and the dynamic traces left by my hand convey a depth and detail that cameras struggle to capture.
The subjects of my paintings are often painful, yet they draw viewers into a nuanced exploration of vulnerability and strength. My art evokes questions and emotions—whether one sees a human abdomen, animal parts, or the limbs of a child, it often reminds viewers of mass graves and the haunting images from historical atrocities like the Holocaust. These memories are etched into our collective consciousness and compel us to confront what it means to be human.
Size is another significant aspect of my work. My large-scale paintings demand attention and evoke the grandeur traditionally associated with male artists like Picasso and Goya. However, my aim is not to shock but to create a profound connection with the viewer, evoking empathy, sadness, tenderness, and wonder through my art.
