When I saw a photo on X/Twitter of two women trying to make a home in a bombed out building in Gaza I was moved to write this poem. One women was baking bread and the other was painting a picture on one of the remaining walls. I was reminded of the domestic interiors of Vermeer and, in searching for a suitable one to illustrate this poem, I came across his picture, The Art of Painting, which in the luxury of its setting is a world away from today’s reality in Gaza.

But I felt that the unknown photographer in Gaza, the young woman they caught on camera painting on the wall, the artist portrayed by Vermeer, and indeed Vermeer himself, were all moved by a shared impulse to create and to celebrate the beauty that is found in the everyday reality of life, even when it struggles to survive the tide of ugliness and hate that threatens from all sides.

For months now I have raged against the genocide in Gaza and wept for its victims. These are necessary and legitimate responses. In this poem I take a different stance in order to celebrate the humanity and creativity of the Palestinian people that survives, and may yet transcend, the destructive brutality inflicted on them by Israel.

THE ART OF PAINTING

The picture on my screen, the one that I remember,
that blanks the memory of images that scream,
is worthy of Vermeer in its studied domesticity.

In the foreground a woman sits and tends
a homemade oven, baking flatbread
in a not quite bombed out building.

Three walls are standing, holding up the roof.
curtains veil erstwhile doors and windows
and a younger woman paints upon a wall.

In this salvaged place they strive
to fend off memories of savagery  
and recreate the details of their home

for as long as the bombs and missiles
pass safely overhead and the tanks 
and the bulldozers do not come.

Mike Stanton March 2024