These Memories Won't Last

Rayya Khuri

Summary
Final work

I am a painter. I am a writer. I am a storyteller. I am player of the game. I have spent years reading stories. How do I tell a good one? I transform what one could be. I am from here. I am from there. I am Arab American.

In my work, I pursue truth, letter by letter and let the ink drip.

I am an artist. No medium, no matter. Words will fill the gap.

I will write with a voice whose sound never ends. I have always been afraid that my brain is a double-sided pencil, scribbling away with an eraser ontop, waiting to erase my existence. I will write myself out of my own narrative, examining the repercussions of the past. I will paint my dreams, my dreams are to be, out here, in the world, simply.

I earned a BFA at Pratt Institute, majoring in Painting and minoring in Writing and Literature and Art History ('21). I earned a MA at Central Saint Martins in Fine Arts, independently focusing on the written word and painting ('23). After my MA, I am starting a magazine with a friend, writing a novel, and continuing to paint my dreams in a studio in East London. Please feel free to contact me in regards to my paintings or writings via email or instagram.

I am a painter. I am a writer. I am a storyteller. I am player of the game. I have spent years re...

CollegeCentral Saint Martins
CourseMA Fine Art
Graduation year2023

"These Memories Won't Last" is a multi-media installation, consisting of 2 paintings, and 3 tables which hold 3 sets of risoed poems: these memories won't last (an edition of 101), hung to dry, these true words linger (an edition of 101), and words on a page (an edition of 21). The paintings are diptychs, where the canvas is empty of all but a stage, a liminal space mirrored imperfectly. The tables below the paintings have stories that were made during my time at Central Saint Martins. My poems tell stories of home, dreams, desire and illness. I am a poet. My writing speaks of my stories and my paintings speak of my dreams.

So little lies between the canvas and the viewer. So little lies atop it, but what lies upon it? An image that contains my dreams, each tick marking time, illness, and presence. Every tick is a mark made on canvas. The scene is set but the actors have left the stage. Where have they gone? All that is left is an image corrupted by an unreliable narrator, and what falls between traditional narratives. Narratives fall upon the page. Words on a page, pages on tables, and pages on the floor. Words on a page that must be lifted up to be read in the light.