The Blind Sun 2025
(This text written for The Blind Sun project by artist Sherko Abbas)
I’m always trying to find my toys beneath the mountains, under the rocks, on the extremely
long road ahead
But my toys are never there, I walk for miles and miles with no sign of them
I wonder if they’re playing hide and seek with me. Or if they went on a journey to see the
world? Or maybe they’re like paper puppets being moved by adults for us!
I tried and tried and keep trying, BUT I couldn’t find my doll’s eyes, my doll’s arms, my
doll’s dress, even her heart! Her emotions have been stolen, just like mine
Oh, my toys… where are they?
I lost my voice to scream and shout their names into the mountain echoes
I played with rocks, but they smashed them to pieces
I played with rain, but they mixed it with smoke
I played with leaves, but they dried out and turned to ashes
I played and played and played
With nature, but they destroyed it and took away our breath.
Still, I can find another way to play, but that game has never ended.
The clouds of smoke might block the vision of my doll, or the sound of explosions might
cover my doll’s voice, or she might be lost among other souls.
Oh, my toys… where are they?
Mountains can be my best friends when I’m toy-less and they’ve vanished from my sight. I
hope no one will ever be stronger or taller than my mountains, so I’ll never lose them like I
lost my toys.
Oh, my toys… where are they?
Some children still gaze at the sky, dreaming of their toys, their laughter filling the air like a
song.
Their eyes open wide, filled with the wonder of the world.
But some children cannot open their eyes.
The smoke has blurred their vision,
The darkness of war has stolen their sun
Their dreams were stolen by silence.
Still, in the quiet of their hearts,
They play the games no one can take away.
That one day, maybe, just maybe, they too will open their eyes and gaze again and be
able to find their toys at last!
Note from my diary
The Blind Sun is an ongoing project rooted in an old VHS archive filmed by Abbas Abdulrazaq
between 1980 and 1985 in the remote villages of Kurdistan. This project focuses on children and
young people who were victims of war, capturing their resilience amidst the devastation. Through
these archival images, The Blind Sun seeks to preserve their stories
2021
“Dictionary of Ease” Part of the Feminist Space project
N for Nipples
Yours are liberated, mine are enslaved
Yours are exposed, mine are covered
Yours are sign of attraction, mine are sign of shame
Yours are accepted, mine are rejected
Yours are yours, mine are not
without fear or apology to the world
I will free mine because…
yours are pointless, mine are source of life.
2016
(Arising) A project at Reykjavik Art Museum, Iceland, curated by Yoko Ono.
This text was created for the Arising project and is accompanied by a photograph of my eyes.
One day, I was walking down Mawlawi Street.
I was terrified, desperate to reach the end as quickly as possible, hoping the men on that street wouldn’t touch me.
I walked panicked, tense under the weight of their gazes.
When I finally reached the end, I heard a man shouting, he was selling men’s underwear, swearing loudly and fighting with another man.
In that moment, a memory returned.
The day my underwear became bloody.
I was too ashamed to speak, so I wrote a note:
“Mum, I’m bleeding. I think I’m on my period. Please help me.”
Then I hid.
I hid until evening, ashamed of something so natural.
When I was twenty, my mother was still buying my underwear, sanitary pads, and bras.
Until that day, until the day I saw the shouting man.
That was the first time I went to the bazaar to buy them myself.
I picked up a bundle of sanitary pads and handed them to the cashier.
He placed them in a clear plastic bag.
Then paused, smiled, and switched it for a black one.
“So that won’t be visible,” he said.
“Otherwise it would be a shame.”
That moment stung.
It made me ask:
Why should I be hidden?
Why should I be voiceless?
Why should my body be a source of shame?