It was the first or second week of the war, we were in a small village. My brother and I ran barefoot through abandoned fields full of rocks and broken glass. We tortured insects and made molotov cocktails. My father, out of concern, bought each of us a rabbit, a male and a female.  We petted them, fed them and played with them. I don’t remember if we named them. They roamed around my mother’s garden and ate her flowers. She gave them to our neighbours and they ate them. Our neighbours were a big and joyous family, I used to run away from our home and sit quietly at their kitchen to watch them cook, laugh and tell stories. I never saw my rabbit at the center of that happy kitchen.
My father built a small concrete swimming pool in the side yard of the old house. We swam in it sometimes. For a week or so we had fish in it. My brother and I watched the fish and ate mulberries from the tree overhanging the pool. I helped my father scale the fish. Placed the knife against the grain and moved it quickly. A quiet tinkling sound as they broke from the fish’s body, the scales sprinkled around the sink like coloured snowflakes. My mother cooked the fish, and my brother, terrified, ran out screaming that it smelled bad. 

My maternal uncle brought four chickens home. He and my mother sat at the front steps of our old house. My mother, disgusted, held the chickens as my uncle beheaded them. My cousin and I watched the headless chickens running around. We picked out the chicken heads from the garbage bin, counted them and played with them. We moved them around like a chess set.  Some of their eyes were open.
My uncle tied the headless lamb to the garage frame in our front yard. He placed a plastic bucket underneath to catch the dripping blood and started to skin it. My uncle was a gentle, sweet man. Seeing him slaughter the animal felt more like affection than violence.  I think he was singing. It was a celebration of the end of the war. I placed my hand in the bucket. Vivid, rich, warm, red - I ran and imprinted my hand on the exterior wall of our house. Pretending to be the serial killer that had been roaming around the city that year.

20 Sep. – 20 Oct.  ‘19
Sundus, Rasha
Animals, Site:Brooklyn Gallery, Brooklyn, New York

1-30 June ‘19       
Sundus, Sahar
Discovery: Emerging Artists
, Stone Quarry Hill Art Park, Cazenovia, New York

19-29 May ‘19
Every Woman Biennial, 222 Bowery Gallery, New York

9-13 Jan ‘19  
Surrealism Group Show, Con Artists Collective, New York