Displacement, memory and survival are central themes in the paintings of Kurdish artist Harem Tahir. For him, they’re far more than artistic subjects, however. They are personal history.
Born in the Kurdish town of Halabja, Iraq, just 14 kilometres from the Iranian border, Tahir was only two years old when the regime of former Iraqi president Saddam Hussein launched a chemical attack on his hometown on March 16, 1988. Around 5,000 civilians were killed. By a stroke of fortune, Tahir and his family managed to flee to Iran before the attack. But many of their relatives and neighbours were not so lucky.
He spent his childhood in a refugee camp in Iran. For years, the camp was his entire world — a place where children played between tents and war trauma overshadowed normal life. “I grew up in a war zone,” Tahir says. “Bombs replaced bedtime stories, and refugee camps became our playgrounds.”
Now based in Vancouver, Tahir’s work has been shown across the globe — including at Italy’s Gallerie delle Prigioni for a 2024 exhibition by Fondazione Imago Mundi, where more than 200 international artists shared their stories of migration, survival and identity. His art has appeared in publications such as Tui Motu in New Zealand and Kurdistan Colouring Book in the U.K. He’s also contributed to Songs of Hope, a U.S.-based initiative in which musicians and composers have interpreted his paintings through live performance.
In March, his work was unveiled as part of the Hope Away From Home campaign by UNHCR Canada, the United Nations refugee agency. The virtual exhibition features more than 20 refugee and Canadian artists, celebrating resilience, connection and the healing power of art.
Tahir’s painting blends realism and abstraction to explore themes of displacement, memory and perseverance. His works often feature warm earth tones and textured layers, evoking the landscapes of Kurdistan and the emotional weight of exile. Some pieces, like Seeking Safety, depict figures in movement, capturing both the trauma and hope of the refugee experience. Through recurring symbols like the pomegranate, mountain and empty chair, his art speaks to cultural identity, human connection and a longing for home.
Tahir’s work and the projects he lends it to help extend his own story — as well as those of countless others — into a wider public awareness. But his art also stems from personal loss. At the age of nine, Tahir wasn’t in school. Instead, he worked in a brick factory with his family. “That stolen childhood shaped everything I create,” he says. “My art is infused with the weight of those memories, and with the determination to turn them into something meaningful.”
When Tahir’s family returned to Iraq in 1999, the country was still reeling from the effects of war. During this turbulent period, art gave him a vital outlet for expression, learning and healing. He later earned a bachelor’s degree in fine arts and developed a multidisciplinary practice that blends painting, storytelling and cultural memory.
In 2017, overwhelmed by violence and instability, Tahir resettled in Vancouver. Although he now lives in a quiet, safe neighbourhood thousands of kilometres from Halabja, his past still echoes through his days. “Even after eight years here, the memories don’t fade,” he says. “The pain and trauma still visit me.”
In the painting Looking Back, Tahir depicts a figure standing against an abstract backdrop, looking over their shoulder as if haunted by the past. The figure’s posture, both reflective and weighted, conveys a sense of longing and unresolved pain.
To Tahir, art has become more than expression — it’s also therapy. He uses visual storytelling not only to process his own history, but also to engage others. He has offered art workshops for refugee children, mounted exhibitions that introduce his journey to Canadian audiences and spoken to the media about the role of art in rebuilding after conflict.
“My art is my life story,” he says. “It’s the story of my childhood, and of thousands of others who grew up in the middle of war. Stories that need to be told.”
Tahir views the canvas as a kind of mirror, reflecting back what the world often forgets. “I don’t make art simply for esthetics; I make it because I must,” he says. “Creating is an act of remembering, of witnessing and of sharing the voices that are too often silenced.”
His work is also a tribute to those who didn’t survive — to those who never had a chance to tell their stories. “Regardless of nationality, religion or background, we are all human,” he says. “No one chooses to become a refugee. It’s a condition forced by violence, where people are uprooted from everything they love, everything they know.”
Today, Tahir continues to use his practice to build cultural bridges. In galleries, classrooms and community centres, he invites people to engage with the lived experiences of refugees and immigrants, especially those who have never faced displacement themselves. Through his work, he creates space for understanding and empathy across cultures and backgrounds.
He also challenges the harmful stereotypes that often surround immigrants and refugees. His art conveys that they are not here simply to seek financial opportunity, but instead arrive with skills, creativity and the desire to live in freedom. By sharing their stories and talents, they help reshape narratives, enrich their communities and assert their right to be seen and heard.
“I invite people to look closer and feel deeper,” he says. “To reflect on the privilege of peace — and to see the world through the lens of someone who had to start life over.”