Painting in Exile: Masuma’s Story of Survival and Strength
Afghanistan is a name too often linked with extremism and restrictions against women. But this is only half the story. My country was once a pioneer, one of the first in the world to grant women the right to vote.
I am Masuma Anwari, an Afghan female artist, and this is my story.
Beyond the shadows of war, Afghanistan boasts a rich cultural heritage, particularly in the arts. The Behzad School of Painting is a shining example of this legacy, inspired by master miniaturist Kamāl ud-Dīn Behzād. Known for its intricate miniatures, vibrant colours, realism, and storytelling, this artistic tradition has left a lasting impact on Persian and Mughal art.
An instrument for positive change
I am a product of that legacy. As an Afghan female artist, I proudly stood among the artistic elite of Kabul. My paintings found their way into prestigious national and international exhibitions, including one held in Tajikistan in 2009, as well as galleries, embassies, and even the presidential palace itself. My art was not just an expression, it was a voice, a movement, a reflection of the people’s suffering, innovation, and beauty.
But I was more than just an artist. I had a notable career, working closely with international organisations, including serving as an ambassador to the British Council. I advocated for street children, championed women’s education, and helped shape policies that aimed to uplift the most vulnerable in society. I believed art is a powerful instrument for change, allowing untold stories to be heard. For two decades, Afghanistan was moving towards normality, healing from the wounds of war. But political elites and global allies failed to secure a sustainable peace. Then came August 2021.
Plunged into darkness
In a single moment, everything I had built turned to dust. The Taliban’s return plunged the country back into darkness. For women, there was no future. For artists like me, there was no space for creativity, for expression, for hope. It felt as if all my paintings had turned black. How could I paint peace in a land silenced by fear? How could I depict hope when hope itself was vanishing?
Escape became my only choice. Thanks to the Afghan Relocations and Assistance Policy (ARAP) I was among the fortunate ones who found safety in the UK. But survival was just the first step. Starting over in a foreign land, with a new language, a new culture, and no familiar faces, was daunting. Moving from a high-profile career to sudden unemployment, visiting job centres, explaining a life that no one seemed to understand, was a reality I had never imagined facing.
Steps towards a more colourful future
Yet, I refused to be silent. RMC supported me to integrate and find my feet, becoming part of a new community. My steps were slow, uncertain, but I never stopped walking. With time, the darkness started to lift. Eventually, I picked up my brush again, the colours returned, hesitant at first, but then more vivid. My paintings became a bridge between the past and the future, carrying the untold stories of Afghan women, the resilience of my people, and the light that still burns behind the shadows.
It has not been easy, but today, I see a glimmer of hope. I have an agreement with The Courtyard Fine Art Lounge in Lichfield, a gallery that sells my paintings. I am a member of East Side Projects in Birmingham and volunteer at the Walsall Art Gallery. Slowly, I am finding my place again. My art breathes once more. Through my work, I speak for those who have been silenced. I paint to empower, to inspire, to remind the world that even in the darkest of times, there is light.
On this International Women’s Day, I stand as an Afghan woman, an artist, a survivor. I am here to tell the world that no force can erase our stories, no darkness can dim our light. Through my paintings, I break through the curtain of oppression, allowing hope and light to shine through.
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