‘heart’ Al Risan Art Museum (‘h’A.R.A.M.) also known as the Forbidden Museum is a registered art institution in Palestine. The museum’s grounds are located about 70 meters below the summit of Al Risan Mountain, and sits in between the villages of Kafr Ni’ma, Ras Karkar, and Kharbatha Bani Harith. Al Risan mountain was designated as ‘Area C’ land after the Oslo Accords of 1994. The designation of ‘Area C’, which comprises over %60 of the West Bank, was created to deny Palestinians of their rights, land, and property, to facilitate the continued illegal confiscation of Palestinian land. Area C land is under military rule, and Palestinians are forbidden to build there, regardless of legal ownership. To farm or picnic or hike on Area C risks attacks from soldiers and illegal settlers.
When the museum was established in 2021 it was as a way to see if Art could be used to make Al Risan mountain accessible to the Palestinians who own the land and have cherished it for generations and are increasingly threatened there. In 2018 an armed Zionist outpost took over the summit of the mountain, facilitated by the military, and since, defended by them. A scenario where multiple armed forces “defend” against the unarmed, the peaceful, and against nature itself.
The decision to position Palestinian presence on this mountain within the frame of an institution of art is at once a last resort and yet is also based in the belief of the mystical, liberatory and contradictory elements of this field of social activity. There are ways in which our boundaries are not definable, yet we maintain our presence by reviving our ancestors presence through exhibitions, festivals and events in the face of military repression and threats to our safety.
We believe in the enormous artistic value of Palestinian resistance. As a museum that is literally on a battlefield, we seek to defend the land with art, with Palestinian cultural traditions and inventions.
Since January 2023, the museum’s grounds have become inaccessible. A military barrier blocks our main road and gun shots are fired at anyone in the vicinity. Yet obstacles such as these, the increasing threat of violence and destruction were written into our functioning principles. We were already forbidden, so our goal was to discover how to produced work in this context and deepen the museum’s mission to defend the beauty of Palestine and its people.
“The people are missing.” (2024)
Today, ‘heart’ Al Risan Art Museum may seem like deserted ground, but it is heavy with what lies underneath it. A voice comes, it speaks of corpses, of martyrs, a history of struggle. It’s as if the earth is buckling from what lies underneath. The slightest whisper of wind on this land, on the barren space before your eyes, the smallest hollow in this earth all takes on meaning.
For generations Al Risan mountain was cultivated by Palestinians. And for generations it has been a place of resistance. As is true for the entire landscape of Palestine. And similarly to the rest of Palestine, generations planned for a future on Al Risan, to bequeath land to their children. It has been cultivated, with ‘senasels’ (stone walls), with fields of olive trees, families prepared plots of land to build homes on. These practices come with a deep knowledge and love of the land, a knowledge that comes from the heart.
Some years before 2018, a helicopter was sighted circling the top of the mountain. It was a strange sight, why this helicopter would keep circling around this empty plot of land. No one knew what this was about, and no news or announcement had been made.
Days, months, years past, and then one day a group of settlers were spotted walking up the valley towards the top of the mountain. Then they came with their bulldozers and paved a road to the mountain. In response, the surrounding villagers formed a ‘Popular Struggle Committee’ to try to prevent the settlement from forming. They organized peaceful demonstrations every Friday where people would come to the mountain and pray. They were faced with tear gas and bullets, and many were arrested and injured. People lost their jobs and permissions to travel to work. Nevertheless, they continued to come back to pray every Friday, presenting perhaps the most peaceful and poetic form of protest imaginable. This back and forth lasted for months, as the army kept coming to attack the prayer and protect the settlement construction.
Then one Friday, a commander or general of the military came to the mountain and presented the Popular Struggle Committee with a document. He claimed this document showed that the State of Israel had confiscated the land on the top of Al Risan mountain in 1982. This was a strange claim, especially since the land was owned by Palestinian villagers, and has been bought and sold between Palestinians since then. Months later, an artist was hiking there, soldiers prevented her and her dog from passing. When she asked why, they said the mountain had been declared a “zone military area”. When she asked, “Since when?”, he replied, “Since today.”
That was in 2018. In the years following, Palestinians from the surrounding villages went to the mountain less and less, many stopped going completely. Attacks from settlers and soldiers made it too stressful and risky.
In 2021 ‘heart’ Al Risan Art Museum was founded. A ribbon cutting ceremony was officiated by the Minister of Culture, Dr. Atef Abu Saif. A cornerstone was placed and the museum was established. Also in 2021, it held the first Festival of Forbidden Life. The event was held on the mountain and livestreamed to audiences in the Laban Theatre in Beirut, as well as in Kenya, Ireland, Italy, and Turtle Island. Each event affirmed Palestinians presence and ownership of the land, often in huge numbers, and were celebratory and beautiful occasions. We took precautions to register the events with the Occupation authorities and forced them to contend with art happenings.
Artist-in-Residence: T.S., Gaza (2024)
In May of 2024, Al Risan Art Museum launched its Artist-in-Residence program. T.S, who is from Khan Younis, has been surviving in Gaza until now. She is developing work and research with our support. Our question together, is about producing art as a way to heal, resist and survive. Our work with T.S., up until now, has four parts. The first part entails interviews with people across Gaza, archiving their experiences, thoughts, stories, and dreams. The second has to do with her own experiences, thoughts, and dreams. And the third involves the producing artworks both imaginary and real. And finally, we hope to be able to exchange weekly lessons in art theory by Jabal Al Risan that Tasneem might incorporate into her work and observations. All of this will culminate into some form of exhibition. However, the challenge of if art can or should exist during a genocide, is what we are struggling to discover. This question is at the heart of our purpose because the brutality of Zionism has forced this question on Palestinians for generations. There must be redemption from the horrors of this genocide. Here are some excerpts of T’s work in progress:
I.
Untitled Video
May 13, 2024
Imagine a person walking down the street, and the street keeps moving backward. As they walk forward, the street keeps moving back, back, back, and eventually, they find themself in a different time, arriving at the current state of destruction or the current ruins or this current place.
So they are in a time that is not their time, in a place that is not their place, and feeling an emotion that is not their own. There are details, for example, where they are walking and amazed by everything around them. The street keeps moving back, back. She is surprised that, for instance, this person is washing clothes by hand, that one is hanging clothes on a tent, and another is lighting a fire. Their clothes have changed into prayer clothes. Suddenly, she finds herself waiting in line, for example.
She looks back at the street, or she runs and runs and runs until she reaches some place. Out of exhaustion, she stops and collapses. Here, she falls into a hole, maybe a grave.
These are the kind of ideas I have for artworks, but I don’t know how to explain them to you. If I knew how to animate, I would show you exactly how it looks.
II.
101 Interviews
I conducted interviews with passersby, neighbors, displaced individuals, and friends using the following questions:
Hello, I’m Tasneem from the Al Risan Museum of Nature and Arts near Ramallah. We showcase the stories of displaced individuals through plays, images, or similar mediums.
Can you introduce yourself and tell us where you’re from?
What were you doing the day before the war was announced? What were you doing during the rocket launches and the war announcement, three minutes or half an hour before?
What were you doing yesterday? What were you doing before we met, three minutes or half an hour ago?
Interview 4 (of 101): Ibrahim
April 2024
My name is Ibrahim. I am 17 years old, from Khan Yunis, currently displaced in Rafah. I’m in my final year of high school. As far as I remember, the day before the war was a Friday. On Thursday, I switched from the Science track to the Literature/Arts track at school. My father argued with me and yelled at me. He’s abroad, so he spent the whole day calling and shouting at me, asking why I switched. I told him I couldn’t handle the science track, but he insisted I go back to it. I told him I would stay in the Literature track, he cursed at me and hung up. So, I went to play.
Honestly, my sister has been encouraging me since last year to do well in my final year so she can see me go to university. She told me it doesn’t matter if I was in Science or Literature, the important thing is to study. She saw me arguing with my father and scolded me for my attitude but didn’t insist on whether I should be in the Science or Literature. She saw me playing instead of studying and got upset. She made me a study schedule and I promised her I would follow it, but I got distracted with this and that, and my phone. On Friday, I promised her I would study. When Friday came, she found me playing ‘PUBG’ with my friends. She grabbed the phone from my hand and threw it out the window with all the strength God gave her. The phone was ruined. I argued with her and pushed her away, not caring that she’s older than me. I told her to leave me alone, that I didn’t want to study. Typical teenage drama. I spent the whole day sulking and cursing, thinking I was right.
On Saturday, I woke up still sulking and feeling bad for pushing my sister because she was right—I wasn’t studying. I had promised her a thousand times to study, but I was just wasting time. But still, throwing the phone was too much. She could have just taken it away. I kept sulking, prayed, and as I was combing my hair, I heard the sound of explosions. Before we understood what was happening, I didn’t go to school, or to either the Science or Literature track. Hopefully, the war ends, and our biggest worry will be whether I should be in Science or Literature.
Yesterday was a full day. I went from Tel Al-Sultan to the return camp in the morning, then to the school to see what aid they would give us. They gave us two packs of biscuits, a blanket, and there was a nice white box we were supposed to receive, but it didn’t have our name on it. I suspect someone is taking our share. May God hold them accountable. From school, I went to the market to try to get gas but couldn’t find any. I bought jam, honey, and apricot paste because I have jaundice and am not allowed to eat much. I also bought flour for my family and went back home exhausted, feeling like every bone in my body was telling the other not to rely on it. I barely made it to the tent and collapsed on the ground. I was fasting to make up for the days I missed during Ramadan due to my illness, but I was so tired. I stayed in the tent but couldn’t stand the heat and the flies. I got bored trying to kill flies with glue traps and insect spray. I went outside, laid a mat next to the tent, and rested in the air. That’s what I remember. Today, I prayed, called my father, fetched water for my sisters to wash the dishes and do laundry, and now I’m going to the Kuwaiti Hospital to check my bilirubin levels.
III.
Introductory Notes
April 22, 2024-
Every morning when I wake up, I say, “Where am I!!” Thank God, I sleep deeply and don’t feel anything. Sometimes I wake up to the sound of bombing and drones, but I stay in my place.
As for the bed, no, I don’t have one. Or to be honest, my brother had a bed, and his bed was old. I bought a new one, and my brother told me he wanted the one I bought because his bed needed to be thrown away 
I experienced the life of displacement, learning how to start a fire and transport water. Once, while transporting water, I felt like my kidney exploded from the effort, and since then, whenever I carry something heavy, my kidney hurts. So, I avoid carrying heavy things.
Thank God, I am very simple and spontaneous. I accept difficult situations and adapt to all circumstances despite their harshness. Despite my simplicity, I do not accept any of my dreams being lost.
…and, yes, I don’t have a pillow 
Sendeed’s Wing (2024)
In April of 2024, ‘h’.A.R.A.M. opened a new wing of the museum. Named after the late donkey Sendeed for his important contributions to the museum. This new construction is in partnership with artist Srijon Chowdhury, whose Sigil Gate, is now portal of our new wing, and is being presented in the 2024 Oregon Biennial.
Donkeys have an intricate knowledge of the land of Palestine. Their skills were used to design roads, as they always knew the most direct and safest route across the terrain. But Palestinian donkeys have long been targeted by Zionist authorities who (literally) arrested and banished most of them. Nevertheless, Sendeed found his way to the ‘Forbidden Museum’. Like kindred souls, or birds of a feather. We soon learned that Sendeed came with a message. He was a celebrated participant at our international art festival, but when it was over he refused to leave the mountain. His owner could not get him to budge. Many people came and tried to take him to a safer home, but no one could get him to move. Even under the threat of violence from settlers and soldiers, he still refused to leave the museum grounds. We came back each week to check on him and refill his water buckets. We noticed he had been beaten, but still he refused. It was as if he had finally returned home to Jabal Al Risan. Then one day Sendeed was gone. Months later there were rumors people had seen him at the museum, as if he had flown to heaven and back. But he did come back, as his message remains, and it has flown here on Sendeed’s wing.
Featured works presented in the gallery:
Hanoun Flower Series by H.L.
The blood of martyrs are scattered across Palestine in the form of this flower. From Pop art to posters and stencils of martyrs, stories of resistance are in convergence with nature, tied to the land.
Hakoora (photo series) by R.B.
An image of the body seems to break out of the limited frames of consciousness. In a garden, a body plays with the earth.
Personal Portrait of Confiscated Land by A.A.
(oil paint on ‘tabu’ document of land ownership from Ottoman Empire, on canvas)
For over 70 years, this land has been subjected to conflict leading to its seizure from its rightful and legal owners. This ‘taboo’ document, the official document of land, was not sufficient to preserve this right. And now, after all this time has passed, the documents of land ownership have become mixed with blood until blood became soil when it dried.
Cornerstones by Jabal Al Risan
Pieces from ‘h’.A.R.A.M.’s cornerstone are now bricks for the museum’s new wing. Stones of Palestine that haunt the occupiers until the land and it’s people are free.
Sendeed (lino print) by Lubna A’araj
Area Z, 1732 Wisconsin Ave., Washington D.C. (2023)
In September 2023, ‘h’A.R.A.M. presented Area Z, an ongoing artwork by Jabal Al Risan.
It consisted of a performance on the front steps of the now closed office of the P.L.O. Delegation to the United States, that thereby claimed these front steps as Area Z. Area’s A, B, and C were introduced during the Oslo Accord of 1994 to divide the land of Palestine. Area Z attempts to intervene in this process by claiming ‘areas’ for the purpose of unearthing its aesthetic.
This time Area Z found characters trying to unravel a mystery. The plot is fantastically complex. It involves major institutions, five U.S. presidents, millions of dollars at stake, and a small nation’s right to be recognized and have some form of self-determination: all this revolving around the opening and closing of a small office on Wisconsin Ave. dealing mainly with clerical affairs.
Area Z is inspired by the work of Hock E Aye Vi Edgar Heap of Birds and their “Native Hosts” series. What if works of art took the form of municipal interventions on colonized land, re-appropriating colonial naming strategies towards more intangible purposes. The performance began by declaring, “1732 Wisconsin Ave., Washington D.C., Today your host is Jabal Al Risan!”
Here is an excerpt,
“We arrived in Washington D.C., a land of initials, acronyms, flags, monuments, and memorials. And stars everywhere, on the streets and in the sky. We were here to do a performance about Area Z, a conceptual artwork and legal intervention initiated in Palestine. There is a piece of land on Al Risan mountain in the heart of Palestine, that has been designated as Area Z. A museum was established there known as ‘h’.A.R.A.M.
When we arrived in D.C., we began searching for another ‘Area Z’. As we drove through this land of flags, we wondered if Palestine had an embassy? We searched google maps and there was a in fact an embassy, and it was just meters away from our studio, at 1732 Wisconsin Ave., but was “permanently closed”. When we got to the office we found an abandoned building with spiders’ webs all over its entrance. We started asking the neighbors about it, we heard many stories, imaginative stories, then we understood that this must be Area Z.
We researched more hoping to uncover its story. In 2018, the U.S. President had shut it down. And today is the 5 year anniversary of its closing. So, we are marking this event with a Memorial.
The declared terms of Area Z name its boundaries on temporal rather than spatial terms, its charter seeks to “claim land for the purpose of uncovering its cosmic Memory.”
This office was in fact never an official embassy because Palestine is not allowed to have an embassy because the U.S. government does not recognize it as a State, but in 1994 it was permitted to have the P.L.O. Mission that eventually moved to this location. It got upgraded in 2013 to the status of “The P.L.O. Delegation to the United States.” However, in the 5 years since it’s forced closing it seems there has been little sign of its re-opening. And since then, Palestinian-Americans and Palestinians in the US have had no consular office to turn to.
But all this barely scratches the surface of this elaborate mystery. Will Palestine ever have an embassy or consul in Washington? Will it ever be considered a country? One thing can be sure, we are not being robbed of a story.”
Festival of Forbidden Life (2022)
Planting Trees, Planting Life
In 2022 we held our second Festival of Forbidden Life.
“A butterfly flows through the air following some path, on the ground gazelles’ leave a trail, and the birds come. And then there are the trees, still growing in this often dry and harsh area. There are olive trees planted somehow, between stones even, somehow surviving like that. There are a few wells, and sometimes artifacts appear in the field, broken pieces of clay pots. There are wells built with stones found underground. People have touched this place, who know how to work with this land, and have been living here for generations. But these are only signs, signs of this touch but there is no one in sight. We are on Al Risan mountain, in the heart of Palestine.”
It was an amazing and joyous event. Around 300 visitors attended that day, including internationals. However, this time we were met with numerous visits by soldiers, jeeps, a helicopter, and eventually threats to our safety. We left after nightfall. Luckily we just missed the soldiers who came and destroyed most of the artworks, maybe they wanted to be the grand finale performance of the festival. Documentation of both festivals are available at www.jabalalrisan.org, and which include contributions from all over the world, such as South Africa, Armenia, France, the Philippines, and Mexico.
A Visit to ‘heart’ Al Risan Art Museum (2020-2022)
The soldiers came into the village last night. This is not an unusual event. Midnight, calm cool darkness, a sound of silence, deep sleep, on a simple mattress, with a small blanket…and then, the sound of vvvrrrooommm! vvvrrrooommm! Lights come in through the window and cut the darkness like a knife, heavy tires scratching the dirt road, loudspeaker noise and honks, combine to ignite an already lurking stress. In the village we are ready for the surprise, we keep our shoes and clothes by the bed. Many sleep with their clothes on, because if soldiers enter they will not even give you seconds to dress. Looking through the window this morning, there are soldiers with all types of weapons from their head to their legs, you see them walking in groups, then you hear them breaking through doors, using their weapons and boots to do it. Now they are arresting people, a child, more jeeps are coming, and drones. Every day is a state of emergency that can’t be separated from the beauty you feel inside of you, and that sways in the air. A life of resistance searching for a meaning in this 76-year long nightmare.
***
The journey to ‘heart’ Al Risan Art Museum is filled with riddles. I want to walk there, down the valley and up the hill, but this way is too sweet, it’s considered threatening. And the shadows would be our only protection. So, I wonder, how will we go.
Should we go through Wad Hamad or Wad Qasem? There is also the way through Al-Khalah Road by Ras Karkar, but that includes the hazards of settlers, soldiers, and a checkpoint. I could travel along the old broken road that connects Kafr Ni’ma to Kharbatha Bani Harith? Or is there another way? A bridge that links our home to the mountain, the way I look towards it from the house every morning and say, “Saba’alkheir”.
Of all the ways to get there, should I choose the one I like the most? But I like them all, however impossible, because they are all about Palestine. No matter the hell they try to put us through, even the roads that lead to checkpoints, settlers, or soldiers, the mountains, the trees, the valleys, the people are still there brimming with meaning.
We will take Al-Khalah to Ras Karkar to Jabal Al Risan. My body feels crowded with thoughts, like a theatre of philosophers debating inside of me what wisdom lies in this journey. I ignore them. I get out the house, look to the mountain, get in the car, check for the camera, that the cellphone is charged. I take a left to the main street, then a left to the dirt road—Sheikh Abdullah—the oldest road in the village that connects the old town with the main road that goes through the center of town. Al Risan is on my left, I look at it—look at it, I drive slowly, pass by the old houses of the alley, take a left on Al-Khalah down to Wad Hamad and up to Ras Karkar.
I pray, God please make things easy, soft, and peaceful “Moyaser ya Allah” يا ميسر ل ا تعسر
The military tower is directly ahead, easy to spot. Al-Khalah leads to the checkpoint, big gray cement blocks on the right and left make a narrow space for the car to cross through. I cross the checkpoint and take another left on a main street. That’s three lefts in total, so from the house we’ve made a semi-circle, counterclockwise. This street goes all the way to the sea, but we cannot take it, it was created to connect the settlements in the area, manufactured towns—gated and guarded. Imagine, you can just barely smell the sea but must live as if it were not there.
There are military jeeps on the road, on both sides, and soldiers patrolling. Tension is all around. I see new municipal signs declaring recently established colonies, and new roads for non-Palestinians only. There are surveillance cameras that I haven’t seen before. We circle the roundabout, take a left and pass a very thick iron gate that depending on military order is either closed or open.
There is a big red panel announcing that this is a DANGEROUS AREA. Yes, I am passing a road that is in a ‘zone military area,’ under military law. But it is also a civilian road connecting neighboring villages. A strange situation, another riddle.
According to the sign, the danger is that Palestinians might be hostile to visitors. But it feels more like a prop in a theater production and we are either actors playing the villains or characters expecting to meet them. But that play is actually a play inside another play that holds the whole production together, and that is everyday life in Palestine. 76 years of life under military occupation does strange things to the distinction between fiction and reality. The line where the story ends and life slips from under your feet (Al Risan Art Museum hopes to acquire and present this play). I continue up to Kharbatha Bani Harith which welcomes us and take a left to the only road that leads to the museum.
I remember when this dirt road was full of cars. I used to see people from Kharbatha, Kafr Ni’ma, and Ras Karkar driving or hiking there and all the way to the well where the museum is. Families, children, young women and men, it was a lively and exciting area. Careful, it’s time to focus again,
…come, sister, brother to the battlefield…wrap your feet in justice…wrap your tongues around truth…wrap your hands with deeds and prayer…comecomecomecome to this battlefield called life, called life, called life…
It’s a winding, uphill, bumpy dirt road that leads to the museum. It is full of potholes, some of which become large puddles of mud after it has rained. Sheikh Azed Ataya created this road, but was not able to complete it, Untitled Rd. (2001-). Driving now there is a dangerous song playing in the air cueing the potential of a violent confrontation. Will we make it to the museum? Just ahead, boulders are scattered over the road. Did they roll down the hill on their own or were they pushed to be obstacles, violently, by design? I get out the car as if to confront them. But it is Fate we ultimately negotiate with here on this road, so we push, pull and drag the rocks out of the way.
Back in the car, we get the phones and cameras ready, documentation being our only from protection. But while cameras witness so many injustices, their acknowledgment is still out of reach.
As the road curves, the beauty of the view sifts into focus, presenting a whole new image. The row of olive trees, the valleys, the city behind, and all of the past. The landscape carries stories of civilizations on its back like camels. Dust rises from the wheels, the sun glaring, my elbow is out the window, music playing out of the car speakers.
Maneuvering the car, the dust, the stones, the bumpy ride, the view, the music—some of the formal characteristics of Untiled Rd. It’s unpredictability is the only thing that’s steady. I wonder if Sheikh Azed knew that he left the road as a living metaphor for life under occupation. One of the great sculptural works in our collection.
We continue on the road, getting closer. Is there a new house on the mountain? A new settler? I had felt hope, now its opposite, I feel failure, or maybe I am like a tree and they are a cloud that will soon go away. I feel oppressed, but I feel strong. I feel the earth embrace me, and remember when I used to sit up there, in the place where the colony houses are, the feeling of freedom that I had, I saw myself in the middle of the world, Palestine all around me. I remember when the colonizers took over the mountain top, there was no moon that night. Now the summit of Al Risan, the great exhibition hall, is inaccessible. One could even die to touch it.
There is an intersection coming up, it’s the road the settlers built on our left. There are tire tracks in the dirt, signs that other cars were here recently. Jeeps possibly? And there is the place they stopped me before, threatening me in their war. They were thinking of living in peace!? Shit, have the settlers been to the museum recently? Did they rip out our trees? Did they break other artworks? Looking deep among the trees, I see the shepherd settler with his sheep eating the trees and flowers. We slow down, we’ve seen them there before. I pack up the fear. To the left is a piece of land we own. There was a time when they attacked me, tried to stop me, so I hurry up to the museum following the beams of light, I forgot to look for the gazelles! for the poppies, for kindness, narcissus flowers!
Permanent Collection
Cornerstones, (2021)2021-2022
By Jabal Al Risan
Pieces of destroyed museum cornerstone.
Pink limestone endogenous to the West Bank of Palestine
♥Al Risan Art Museum (hARAM)
The cornerstone of our refusal is now in pieces. What remains are 99 Rrose colored stones endogenous to the mountains around Kafr Malik in Palestine. They are the broken pieces of ‘heart’ Al Risan Art Museum’s cornerstone. These unique stones glow pink when wet. It was in the grey landscape of a rainy day that this once intact cornerstone began to beat like a glowing heart in the middle of a forbidden land. So threatened by its beauty, the occupying army and their colonizing settlers were compelled to blow it to pieces. Now this ‘heart’ is small enough to hold in your hand, take it with you, throw it, or put it back, or just listen to its story. Let it remind you that we are all people part of this earth, and we deserve rights, freedom, and justice.
Area Z (2021-ongoing)
Street sign
We herby name this forbidden land as Area Z
Who owns this land? Who has the right to name it or claim it? Jabal Al Risan has proclaimed hARAM as Area Z. At once theoretical and actual, known and unknown, discussed, debated and yet without a language available to describe, Area Z exists outside the law and yet seeks municipal validation. The 1994 Oslo Accords divided what was left of Palestine into Areas A, B, and C. Area C comprises 60% of the ‘West Bank’ and refers to areas where Palestinians have the least autonomy and rights and is a way to facilitate the illegal expansion of Israeli settlements. Area Z, however, is another 23 letters further into lawlessness. It declares areas of land dedicated to the research of its cosmic Memory.
Untitled dirt road Rd. (2001-)., 2001-ongoing
Dirt road.
By Sheikh Azed Ataya (b. Kafr Ni’ma, 1950-2008)
Sheikh Azed Ataya was an Imam and defender of women’s rights,. hHe left this work incomplete and untitled and it will remain so until the land and its people are free. The formal characteristics of the piece, its unpredictability could be seen to suggest the foundational paradoxes of life under occupation. The journey along this road is one of the first works we acquired for our collection. It presents hARAM is as a journey and a destination.
Bus Stop (2021)
By Alaa Albaba
Bus sign and bench
“Waiting for the bus since 1982.”
Weekly Tours by Omar, 2022
Omar (b. 2012)
Excerpt from Tours by Omar:
“To the left and right are trees and plants, I will tell you all their names, then I will show the birds and their names, where they live, the relation of the animals to the land and to Palestine. They make Palestine beautiful because they are part of Palestine. Butterflies. Chickens. Roosters. The sun. The moon at night. Stars. Let me show you how I’m an intelligent and smart boy, because I will tell about the history and science of the land. For example, March 10, 2024 is the date the colonizers settlers will leave the mountain, and I will celebrate my birthday there. Feeling free, enjoying and playing effortlessly. Feeling comfortable, playing without any problems. As free as if I just got out of prison. Playing Football on the grass area. Then there’s the dirt road, stones, trees, plants, gazelles, a well. We can carve the stones using other stones. Also, we can throw stones down the valley, imagining that they fall on soldiers, it feels like catching a fish. Nature started from mountains, the trees that shade you from the sun, and maybe we build a house there. When you see the gazelles it feels wonderful, as if you were riding on the gazelleit, running and hoping so fast. When the settlers came, I felt a psychological distress…”
Taboun (2021), 2021
Goat hair, dirt, stone, wheat, water, fire, sheep and chicken dung.
Um Soufyan, Jordan Valley.
A traditional Palestinian oven in the ground. A taboun is typically used to cook bread. To prepare the taboun for cooking, place smooth stones collected from the valleys and cover the inside area with them. Cover the taboun with its lid, then take animal dung and cover the whole taboun with it. Cover it all with dry leaves, such as oak and pine leaves and set it on fire. It will burn slowly overnight. In the morning it will be ready for cooking. khobez taboun (bread). Mix Wheat Flour, Salt, Yeast, Warm water in a bowl, and kneed it to make the dough. Cover the bowl and leave for 30min. Take small chunks of the dough and roughly pat it flat. Then flip it back and forth in your hands for a few seconds, it will get bigger and bigger, then throw in the taboun, on the stones. After a few minutes it will be ready.Egg, 2022
Fina Fool
When I was a kid, around 5 years old, my mommy used to wake me up and take me to the chicken coop and pick one egg, I held it in my hand, then she walked with me, slowly to not drop the egg, to the taboun. She had a piece of white fabric in hand, she wet the whole cloth with water and then put the egg in the cloth and wrapped it. The ashes of the dung are still hot in the taboun from the fire the night before, then momma would create a little hole inside the taboun, place the egg wrapped in cloth in the hole and then cover it with the ashes and embers. Then we would go back to the house and I would get dressed for school, then we would come back to the taboun and the egg would be ready.
Za’atar (Plant), ≈ millions of years ago-today
Jabal Al Risan
A famous herb of this land. , thatIt can be eaten dried or fresh, but once you taste it, you will not want a day without it. The plant grows freely throughout the museum. It wakes up your sense like the fresh wind that blows on the mountain. Rub some it ion your hands, smell them the leaves and reconnect with yourself and be home.
Scarecrows (2021)
Sculptures of scarecrows, wood sticks and clothes
Styled by Kavalia
By Jabal Al Risan
Fig Tree (2021)
Remnants of a fig tree
By Jabal Al Risan
My father planted this fig tree in 1981. A lot of
people have eaten its figs. The figs have visited
Al Khalil, Nablus, Jerusalem, Jenin, and
Haifa…crossing checkpoints, barriers, and bridges.
This tree is the grandmother, standing still by the
entrance of our home, welcoming all the guests.
A majestic tree that sheds it’s leaves and revives
again to charm whoever comes across it.
It died when my father passed away in March
2020. It mourned him. Every day, I saw this
tree and saw my father, too.
Reminiscing my father now,
the tree is sleeping with his land,
channeling his spirit,
as she rests in peace.
The Moon (2021)
Convex traffic mirror
By Jabal Al Risan
This sculpture sits on the mountain like the moon above.
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Concluding Thoughts
The situation on the mountain is becoming increasingly difficult and dangerous, and we will continue to find ways to keep the museum alive, both for local communities and in the art world at large. There are now three military checkpoints blocking our access to the museum. In the past month, the settlers constructed a new road from their outpost straight down to the museum grounds. This provocative gesture was surely directed at our presence there. We intend to use legal action to resist this infringement on our property. Meanwhile we have filed numerous reports with the Israeli police documenting the destruction of our property and violent actions to our staff, patrons and international visitors. But these crimes pale in comparison to the murder of two Palestinians on Al Risan. On February 5, 2021 the settlers of Sde Efraim shot and killed Khaled Maher Nofal, and on January 21, 2023 they shot and killed Tareq Al-Maali. A court case was filed by the Nofal family against Khaled’s murdered, Eitan Ze’ev, who is also the owner of Sde Efraim outpost. This same settler and his followers are also guilty beating members of our team, destroying and stealing our property, they also threatened to wage war on us, and prevented us from using the Sheikh Aziz road.
The killing of Tareq and Khaled add a level of seriousness to our work. The violence against Palestinians, a burden of pain that is present in perhaps every Palestinian family, all this forces us to work at the limits of the field of art. A reality that does not give you a moment to forget. The ongoing genocide against Palestinians has forced the world to question their complicity. The answer cannot be ambiguous. With the presentation of art, on the other hand, it is not so clear.
Palestine has a rich and unique history of artistic forms of resistance. The ‘Intifada of Stones’ is exemplary, and at times astonishing and eccentric. Even the peculiarity of hARAM is not without precedent. The convergence of conceptual art practices with acts of resistance is nothing new in Palestine, and decolonization is part of everyday life. hARAM integrates radical interventions put forth by artworks into our operational practices.
The peaceful protests and weekly prayers of the Popular Struggle Committee was more than a protest, by merging resistance with a spiritual practice, it became an event with aesthetic value. When we established the museum, it was a way to follow suite. A museum about a mountain in the heart of Palestine. Art, prayer, spirituality, the unknown, are symbiotic concepts. The museum also follows the example of artworks such as Marcel Broodthaers’ Musée d’Art Moderne: Departement des Aigles, which collapsed a museum and its administration into a work of art. The frame became the content, and it placed the artwork in the seat of its own valuation and power. Was the museum being downgraded to the status of a mere artwork? Or had the museum transcended itself? hARAM, meanwhile, takes cues from the mountain itself, and the works of art that were there before us, created by ancestors, and the mystical qualities of this land. The sanasel stone walls, the trees and zaatar, broken clay artifacts, the old well, all of which are works in our collection.
If Brooadthear’s Musée is a work of fiction, then how can it exist simultaneously as an actual museum? And if it doesn’t, than what is it? By being both real and imaginary hARAM exists perhaps in a post-colonial future. Edward Said makes the claim that literature can “interfere” in the myths of objectivity put forth by institutional power, “One of the first interferences to be ventured, then, is a crossing from literature, which is supposed to be subjective and powerless, into those exactly parallel realms, now covered by journalism and the production of information, that employ representation but are supposed to be objective and powerful.”
The “Museum” has been used throughout history as arms of colonial and imperial power, inventing terms that separated objects from life and their contexts, while considering certain lives as replaceable objects. In Palestine, the stones speak, a vast silence is the response to an important question, these are the dismissed sounds of the “not in between”, the material spirit of the post-colonial future.
What is in our collection, what makes it art, is the need to stand for the lives of a people that cannot be erased, for an ongoing and shared self-determination.
hARAM began as an impossible project. But our success is no more unthinkable than a free Palestine. In Silencing the Past, Michel-Rolph Trouillot proposes that the Haitian revolution was (and perhaps continues to be) unthinkable. This is not because it was an impossible victory to achieve, but because it presented a situation that was beyond the empirical tools available in a world dominated by racial-colonial narratives. Its success had to be denied and is relegated into an unseen realm. The world is perhaps still incapable of making sense of it. Similarly, the world seems incapable of even imagining a free Palestine.
Following Trouillot, the process of “decolonization” is impossible, and its language unspeakable. It is a contradictory process.
Edward Said famously mentioned that “to be Palestinian is in political terms to be an outlaw of sorts.” Can an institution be outside the law? This alternative political ontology forces us to a different understanding of space, of inside and outside, of nature and culture, of architecture and object.
Lucille Clifton ends her poem, won’t you celebrate with me, “that everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed.” It’s just a little poem. Just a few words put together to say something, just to say that you are alive!
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To schedule a visit to ♥ Al Risan Art Museum or to become a member, email [email protected]
May 2024
Jabal Al Risan
Chief Curator, المتحف المحظور