It is an uncanny experience to see a family image, one you thought only existed in a frame in your living room, on an online historical archive.
 
In 2019, I stumbled upon my family's archive after becoming interested in my family's history. This interest was sparked following a conversation I had at a formal dinner in New York, where I was freshy two weeks into my undergraduate programme. After mentioning my Grandfather’s name, a person that I did not realise would know him had a look of recollection on her face and began to tell me stories of his youth. My Sido (Grandfather) passed a week before my 7th birthday, and I became curious about his life following this interaction and decided a Google search would satisfy my curiosity for the time being until I could go to Jordan. Google presented me with an image I was very familiarwith; Sido in a three-piece suit, his signature moustache, and his Italian Greyhound Prince, an image that my mother, aunts, and Grandmother kept prominently in their homes. It was not hard to recognise him. The image was part of my family’s archive on the Arab Image Foundation website. All of a sudden, I was confronted with a history I did not know existed.
 
Ever since I was a little girl, I would pester my Teta (Grandmother) asking who all these people are in our family photos on the walls. My Teta would refer to the people in the photos with such a casual tone, it was as if one had asked what was for lunch that day. They hung in golden frames, and to my unknowing mind, I thought they were all extended family; the archive proved otherwise. It was only until 2021, when I was able to go back to Jordan following Covid, did I truly saw the vastness of this history and the archives. Albums upon albums that I was able to go through with my Teta, where she would tell me all the stories behind the images, as well as my family's history. It was a process that allowed me to get closer to the images, my family, and my grandfather’s memory. A year following her passing I found three more albums hidden under a pile of papers; these albums have been the main source of my work going forward. They, unlike the first set of albums, which were meticulously put together by my Sido, appear in leather-bound albums, captionless; it became a guessing game of piecing together memories that are not my own. Using the first set of albums as a reference point, I reverse image search and use the information I have access to, to understand the images and place them within their history. Cars, specific buildings, and a historical figure here and there all help to uncover what is a lost history.
 
The mystery of the images is what keeps them alive. There is always more than what is shown and what is told - in this case, what is not mentioned. Some images have no captions and some have two, once in a while, you will find a misplaced caption, including one of my own baby photos titled “Michael the Russian congressman.” Understanding the photos alone is a process that is as enjoyable as painting them. In order to maintain the integrity of my Grandfather's work, I do not alter much of the original when it becomes a painting. Other than the cropping, colourising, and redirecting the focus, the initial photographic reference image stays the same, as I want my Sido’s work to be seen. I have become somewhat of an archive keeper in the journey of these ongoing paintings, and preserving both my Sido’s work and the family history is at the forefront of my concern. As it continues, the research never ends with new pieces of information popping up and a new background moment waiting to be seen when each album is reopened.
 
These albums not only reminisce about half a century of Middle Eastern diplomacy but also bear witness to the evolution of a family. The albums are no longer direct representations of history but tangible yet elusive vessels of memory. A sense of unease permeates the artist’s work—non-linear, non-experiential indirect connections deconstruct the temporal logic of the original images through painting, stripping the past from its specific historical context and embedding it into her contemporary visual, emotional, and perceptual framework. This creates a "tug-of-war," presenting a series of opposing states: archive and present, original and copy, seen and concealed, understood and obscured. Viewers are invited to join the artist in solving a puzzle that does not belong to them, piecing together history through minimal clues in the titles and magnified details of cropped photographs, allowing the past to resurface, be excavated, and rediscovered in another form.