Touring exhibition reimagining Palestinian artist’s lost work comes to Belfast
In 1947 Maroun Tomb opened an exhibition in his hometown of Haifa, in Palestine. Fifty-three of his oil paintings were on show. You can imagine the evening: friends, family and collectors, congratulations and some sales. It was November 29th, a date that also marked the United Nations approval of resolution 181: the partition plan for Palestine. Within a year Tomb and his family, along with 750,000 other Palestinians, would be exiled from their homes.The Pine Tree, The Olive Tree, Garden, Still Life, Wadi Salib, Haifa Market, Cake Makers, Two Kids ... The list of paintings from that opening night is almost all that remains of Tomb’s show. The art works were lost and the artist, who had settled with his family in Lebanon, would never return. Now an intriguing international touring exhibition, based on that original Haifa show, has opened at the Mac in Belfast. Its curators – Joëlle Tomb, Rula Khoury and Haidi Motola – invited 53 artists from Palestine and the Palestinian diaspora to make or submit work in response to the titles of Tomb’s lost art.READ MOREDíon rooftop restaurant review: When paying these prices, dramatic views should be guaranteedWhat’s happened to Claire Byrne? It’s as if she’s rocked up to work late with a bag of cansLord of the Dance at 3Arena: The whole Celtic kitschen sink plays out under Flatley’s watchful eyeJewish, Christian, Muslim and other heritages are represented though the exhibition and its curators, and the fascinating if patchy collection draws together artistic voices from different career stages and all over the world. The results demonstrate not only the breadth of work that comes under the umbrella of ‘art’ but also the themes of exile, relocation, cultural identity, distance, belonging and loss.Some works are almost subversively nostalgic, such as Sliman Mansour’s Native Quarter, from 2025. The Jerusalem-based artist, a leading figure in the Palestinian art world, paints a peaceful settlement of dwellings, domes and alleyways, both sunlit and shaded. The buildings in Mansour’s watercolour are uncannily echoed in Steve Sabella’s Elsewhere, from 2020. Born in Jerusalem, and now based in Berlin, Sabella has made a layered photo print that colourises and collages images of 19th-century Palestine with scenes from Syria and Lebanon, hinting at movement, settlement, cultural identity, the timelessness of land and the arbitrary nature of borders.Sliman Mansour's Native Quarter, watercolour (2025)
Steve Sabella, Elsewhere (2020)
Other works are a rawer, starker response to what is happening in Gaza: Noel Maghathe’s Through the Olive Trees (Younis) shows a child hanging washing backdropped by what appears to be an Israeli settlement, but it could equally be a camp. From a distance the pegs on the line seem like barbs on wire. The 2024 work gathers its enigmatic qualities through being dyed into chiffon fabric, its folds distorting as it moves. [ From a viewing platform in Israel, observers watch Gaza’s destruction through binocularsOpens in new window ]A graduate of London’s Royal College of Art, Mado Kelleyan merges both these strands of response in her virtual-reality Stories from my Grandmother’s House, from 2024, as she follows the stories of her Palestinian and Armenian grandparents. Narratives of war, love, displacement, family and memory are entwined, and objects become both fragile anchors and symbols of loss. Still from Mado Kelleyan's Stories from my Grandmother’s House VR experience Under the Oak Tree, which the US-born artist Iman Jabrah made in 2025, shapes a tree from oiled chain, honeylocust thorns and earth. She describes the work as also being inspired by her time living in China, where graves may be simple mounds of dirt. She finds this again in the unidentified mounds of unmarked graves in Gaza, and the result is a sculpture that reminds us of how, when an art work works, it transcends its origins to speak of humanity (and the lack of it) on a universal scale.Iman Jabrah, Under the Oak Tree (2025) Photograph: David Wong Elsewhere, Zohdy Qadry’s bright yellow The Tent, from 2024, is a study in abstraction, the strength of which gets a little lost within the eclectic nature of the hang. All art is hugely sensitive to context, aesthetic as well as social, historical and emotional. In this the exhibition serves yet another function as it leads the viewer to want to learn more about many artists who may be less well known on these shores. At times all that diversity can be jarring. There is a literal ocean of difference between Road to Stella Maris, by the California-born Mary Tuma, and Raed Issa’s Diary of Displacement, both from 2025. Tuma’s bright installation of crochet, fabric hangings, mini candles and compass points hangs in marine and pastel hues, evoking, according to the artist, “reflections and gateways to represent navigating a pathway to the sacred realm”. Mary Tuma, The Road to Stella Maris (2025) Photograph: David Wong On the other hand, Issa – who was born in the Al Buriej refugee camp in Gaza, which was established in 1949 – has nine small works on show. These emerged from the artist’s My Studio in a Tent project, in which his art became necessarily smaller, as each sudden forced displacement resulted in belongings, and art works, being left behind, and lost under rubble. The drawings are made in charcoal and pigments from coffee, tea and hibiscus – all media more readily available than paint – and are of a size that can be easily transported in a backpack. They show delicately drawn, gut-wrenching images of humanity existing under almost unimaginably impossible conditions. Together, Tuma and Issa’s works show the truth of the theory of a hierarchy of needs: safety, shelter and food first; spiritual growth a luxury for later.[ Voicenotes from Gaza: ‘I can’t bear to see my children fighting over a loaf of bread’Opens in new window ]The exhibition has its origins in 2021, before the present horrors being perpetrated in Gaza consumed the lives of those there, and the news in this part of the world. Undoubtedly gaining a sense of urgency from the horrific nature of our present times, it began with the discovery of a letter that is both shown and reproduced in the exhibition, on a large wall panel. “Keep away from Palestine as long as you can,” Tomb had written to Jack Motola, his old friend and fellow artist. Motola, a Palestinian Jew, had been in Paris at the time. “It is unsafe anywhere here. Death is in every corner.” The letter is dated January 6th, 1948.“Jack we became enemies,” Tomb, a Maronite Christian, continues, in a tone of sad disbelief. “As from the date of partition […] since then and up to date no one was able to see another.” Tomb enclosed his exhibition invitation, the works list and a small sketch for his friend. “Don’t take it as a piece of art, it is only intended to let you remember Palestine from time to time.” He signs off with the hope that Jack will write to him soon.Exhibition booklet List of lost paintings from Tomb's 1947 exhibition Letter from Maroun Tomb to Jack Motola, his old friend and fellow artist. Just shy of 75 years later, the Finland-based artist Haidi Matola had been doing research into her own grandfather. Jack, also known as Jacques, had recently died, just shy of his 100th birthday, and in his attic Matola found a stack of materials, including the letter and that list of art works. Finding Tomb’s granddaughter, Joëlle, via social media, she asked that they meet.“She didn’t tell me everything she had,” Joëlle says. “She said, ‘These archives are yours. I’m giving them to you; I’m not selling them to you. But we need to meet.’” Maroun Tomb had died in 1981; in meeting Motola, Joëlle discovered that she had another strand of family history to explore. “He never really talked about his Palestinian experience,” Joëlle says, noting that her grandfather had continued his career after exile. “He had a big body of work, but there was nothing before 1948.” [ The bookseller of Jerusalem’ believes every exploration of art and culture by Palestinians ‘is a form of resistance’Opens in new window ]Whether through PTSD or survivor’s guilt, Tomb had drawn a line between the two eras of his life. “None of his culture was transferred to the next generations. It was kind of erased, hushed and shushed. Even today some people question: ‘Why are you highlighting this identity? You know your grandfather was Lebanese, not Palestinian.’” Khoury, who completes the trio of curators, echoes the story. “My grandparents were living in Haifa, and when the war started they went to Lebanon. Then my great-grandfather called for my grandfather to come back. He said, ‘Something is happening. We’re feeling that the borders will be shut.’“It is the same story with Maroun. He left his paintings; he left his life. Palestinians were asked to put all their belongings in one room and lock it. So they left with a key. They thought they were coming back. And people moving into that neighbourhood were given their pick of houses to live in. And they lived in houses with a locked room with people’s possessions inside.”Maroun’s family grew up Lebanese. His artist son, Fouad, who is now based in Canada, shows a brightly coloured, half-abstracted painting of cacti in the exhibition. Fouad’s daughters, Lorena and Sandra, also have work on show. The Garden by Maroun's son Fouad, oil on canvas (2024) “Maybe it comes by DNA,” he suggests. “My father used to love cactus, but I wanted to give it my own feeling. The main colour,” he says, gesturing, “is this one. But these show the resilience of the people in Palestine. It is kind of a resistance. When I painted it, I felt his hand helping me: what to do, what colour to choose.” He points to the fruit in the painting. “Have you ever tasted it? It’s good.” [ A Belfast-Palestine dance collaboration: ‘The project is fraught with problems, but that didn’t stop us’Opens in new window ]The Lost Paintings opened in Montreal in August 2025, before travelling to Boston. After the Belfast showing it will go on to London and Bristol. The curators are clear that the exhibition is intended to be an emblem of diasporic communities rather than a focus specifically on Maroun Tomb, although the attention it has gathered, and the networks it has created, have yielded a remarkable result. “We wanted to build a community of artists,” Joëlle says. “And through this we discovered family members, cousins. People started to feel heard and seen.” Maroun Tomb, The Broken Vase (1946)
Then, through a connection via a great-grandmother, they came across an old oil painting in Lebanon. Depicting two vases, one of them broken, it was signed Maroun Tomb, and dated 1946. The work is now on display in Belfast. Is it one of the lost paintings? “It’s a hypothesis. It would be lovely if it was,” Joëlle says. “It is his signature,” Fouad adds. “We found one which was lost. My God, it makes me so happy.” The Lost Paintings: A Prelude to Return is at the Mac, Belfast, until March 29th; admission is free
