Dear Mohammad,
In each new methodical shift, you grant me the words which I did not tell you as if I borrow them from our mutual past. It is a friendshipduring which you’ve been the title of faithfulness. I stretch out my hand to your painting then it is hit by air that takes me back to what we had fed the fish of the Mediterranean Sea from its panting. Your portrait has not been painted yet and will remain so. It precedes you. Is it because you delay catching it for the enjoyment you experience in painting and you are one of the fewnon-effort savers in painting I’ve evermet in my life? You were born abstracted and werefascinated with neither the contents nor the subjects onlyfor a short time, when you towered aboveby being enthusiastic about the visuals by which you restored your memory. But for the largest part of your art practice, your vision was moving between the paths of a beautiful maze where the imagination of your hands was measuring its distances by its fingers. There is always an exceptional affection which surrounds me by being driven to the particulars of your paintings as if I returned to them after I had left them for a short time. A combination of intimacy and pomp as if you built afamily impressive structure thatopens its doors generously whenever your guests turned to.
Being abstracted meansa life that is accessible.
Farouq Yousef