The artist
Myriam
Kayali
Painting stopped being just a hobby for me during a period of intense change — after the Beirut explosion, the economic crisis, Covid, and graduating into uncertainty. It was the first time I had to handle that much emotional weight. Painting became the place where I could put everything I was carrying. I felt the need to go bigger, larger canvases, music in the background, just me and the painting. That's when it became grounding and safe.
I paint what feels familiar to me. Beirut, memories, places that carry emotion. Beirut feels like me. It reflects my childhood, my family, my culture, and resilience. Even through everything it endures, it continues to fight, and spring always returns. I'm drawn to scenes that bring nostalgia, happiness, and a sense of belonging — moments and objects that are slowly disappearing as the world around us modernizes.
"I paint to remember and to hold onto moments that might otherwise slip away. A gentle archive of memory and belonging."
Sometimes I paint the present too — modern buildings and urban scenes that carry the same feeling and comfort I find in memories from the past. Often, I mix past and present, the way they exist together in real life. In a fast world that constantly demands more, painting allows me to slow down and feel grounded.
Through my work, I'm building a memory archive, and I quietly hope that when someone stands in front of one of my paintings, it brings back a familiar feeling or a memory they didn't realize they were missing.
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