EIP: Tell us about your Lebanese / Armenian heritage and how it influences your artwork.
MURIEL: As a Canadian artist of Armenian, Egyptian and Lebanese descent, my paintings focus on genealogy, intergenerational trauma and historical violence. In my work, I create a narrative based on the history of my family; one of diaspora, immigration, and genocide. My maternal grandparents are survivors of the Armenian Genocide of 1915-1923. My grandfather lost his parents and thirteen siblings, who were massacred in 1915 in Mardin, Turkey. He and one brother survived and were exiled to Alexandria, Egypt, though their family originally came from Baghdad, Iraq. My grandmother also lost her parents and sister in Mardin, Turkey. She fled by boat and was exiled to Alexandria, where she lived in an Armenian orphanage. On my father’s side, my grandfather’s side have been in Alexandria, Egypt, since the late 1800s, though the family originally comes from Deir El Amar in Lebanon. On my grandmother’s side, there is also Syrian and Coptic Egyptian heritage in my paternal lineage.
My research is based on oral histories, photographic archives and objects bequeathed to me. I draw on archival records of family albums, memories, secret histories, gaps, silences or moments shared through oral interviews. I become a receptacle. I transform this knowledge and create narratives using memory and imagination. When stories and memories are subjected to time, the narratives become blurred, on the borderline between reality and fiction. My images serve as metaphors for the impact of intergenerational trauma. Decolonizing is about recognizing and naming the worldview forced, reinforced, and enforced by this colonial experiment and picking up the teachings and practices of our ancestors. The work speaks of ancestral grief. Such grief work invites an ongoing practice of going deep, caring, and listening. Dealing with the undigested anguish of our ancestors frees us to live our present lives. In turn, it can also relieve ancestral suffering in the other world.
EIP: What did the very beginning of your artist journey look like?
MURIEL: Pursuing an artistic path is something I could never have imagined, especially with parents who immigrated from Lebanon and Egypt and had to rebuild their lives from the ground up. I was raised to follow a traditional path, becoming either a doctor or dentist. Instead, I ended up working for companies in Silicon Valley and later for nonprofits like UNICEF. But something always felt off. Due to my own trauma and a lot of dissociation, it took a long time to reconnect and find my path. Therapy and incredible meditation teachers like Daryl Lynn Ross and Pascal Auclair were instrumental in that journey. I never gave up on searching for something that resonated more deeply, and slowly, it was revealed to me. My spiritual practice is deeply intertwined with my art; they support and enhance each other in a symbiotic way. Coming from a faith-oriented background on my maternal side, I grew up attending Armenian church every Sunday. Alongside this, I pursued my own spiritual exploration by studying Buddhist philosophy and participating in extensive meditation retreats, including one six-week retreat in silence. These experiences have profoundly shaped my worldview and way of life. My paintings are an extension of my sensitivity, living through me as I create. I feel profoundly guided and supported by my ancestors during the painting process.
EIP: How would you compare your artwork from when you just started to your work in the present moment? How did the Egyptian influence in your current works come about?
MURIEL: The real turning point came when I embarked on my MFA journey. Here’s how it unfolded… At the start, my focus was on understanding and reconstructing the historical memory of the Armenian genocide through both personal and collective perspectives. I wanted my artistic research to generate new forms of knowledge. Through painting, I explored the potential of rebuilding personal and collective memory around the traumatic aftermath of the genocide. I also aimed for the work to play a political role, using humor to tell an alternative narrative rooted in my own life and field experiences.
I engaged in oral history-based research, delving into matrilineal stories of mothers and daughters within the context of family histories. My mother’s oral narratives became a gateway to using the familiar as a tool for uncovering the unknown. I sought to link personal and familiar experiences to something broader—collective, social, and far beyond my individual story. My mother, Anahid, shares her name with the Armenian goddess of fertility, healing, wisdom, and water. This prompted me to ask: Does the study of goddesses in Armenian mythology and other myths help us understand the dynamics between women, power, and spirituality? What layers of memory and patriarchal violence can be uncovered and discussed?
My iconography evolved dramatically in my second year, during what I call the “summer of sorrows” in 2021. My father became seriously ill and lost the ability to speak. His voice’s disappearance urged me to understand where he came from. His slow decline stirred a deep need within me to integrate my Egyptian heritage into my work. From an early age, I was exposed to Ancient Egyptian art, including painting, sculpture, and papyrus drawings, through my paternal grandparents who were still living in Alexandria during my childhood. I also realized that Alexandria, Egypt was where my maternal grandparents sought exile from Mardin. Egyptian iconography became my safe space, shaping the next series of paintings.
My Armenian-Egyptian-Lebanese heritage, along with the long- standing conflicts between the West and the Middle East, deeply influence my work. I’m interested in critiquing the ongoing forces of colonization and highlighting the value of cultural artifacts that have been lost, looted, or destroyed, as well as the human toll of continued violence. I see my paintings as a transformative force, capable of moving us into spaces where we can reclaim our power.
