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Tuesday, August 25, 2026

Suleiman Mansour 1947-2026... "Palestine has lost one of its most iconic painters, Sliman Mansour, who passed away today in Jerusalem. Mansour immortalised Palestine’s memory and steadfastness in his art, rendering eternal the struggle of a people living under the grip of the dystopian military occupation by Israel. Rest in peace."

A very young Suleiman Mansour of Palestine with his family

#Palestine has lost one of its most iconic painters, Sliman Mansour, who passed away today in Jerusalem. 
 
Mansour immortalised Palestine’s memory and steadfastness in his art, rendering eternal the struggle of a people living under the grip of the dystopian military occupation by Israel. 
 
Rest in peace
 

                           Suleiman Mansour 1947-2026

 

The Nazarene (الناصري), oil on canvas, 1993

The Nazarene (الناصري), oil on canvas, 1993
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Happy Easter and Happy Palm Sunday to all who are celebrating.
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فصح مجيد وأحد شعانين مبارك لجميع للجميع.

 

Hope (أمل)، oil on canvas, 1985

Hope (أمل)، oil on canvas, 1985
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As a new year begins, Palestinians across Gaza, the West Bank, and Jerusalem, those living within the 1948 borders, in refugee camps, and throughout the diaspora enter it carrying a familiar but enduring force: hope. Not the kind that depends on promises or timelines, but the kind rooted in continuity. It lives in memory passed forward, in faith and language preserved, and in the quiet insistence on belonging across generations and geographies. This hope does not reset with the calendar, nor does it forget what came before. It moves forward with intention, holding space for dignity, presence, and the belief that a people who continue to remember, imagine, and remain connected are already shaping their future. In this way, the new year is not an escape from reality, but a renewed commitment to life, endurance, and possibility.
 
The holy family (العائلة المقدسة), oil on canvas, 2020

 
My grandfather’s house (بيت جدي), oil on canvas, 2025

Colors of hope (الوان الامل), Egg tempera on paper, 1980
 

Today, on Palestinian Prisoners’ Day, we stand with our prisoners, held under occupation, many without charge or trial, and now facing the death penalty.
Freedom for our prisoners. Dignity and justice for our people.

 

Children of Jerusalem (أطفال القدس), oil on canvas, 1978 (lost artwork/عمل فني مفقود)

On Palestinian Child’s Day (April 5), it’s crucial to shed light on the unimaginable suffering endured by Palestinian children, particularly those facing Israeli genocide in Gaza. The staggering toll of over 14,000 children killed by Israeli forces paints a grim picture of the relentless brutality faced by these innocent young lives. Additionally, the heart-wrenching reality of 17,000 unaccompanied children, separated from their families or orphaned underscores the profound impact of conflict on family structures and the fragility of childhood in such volatile circumstances. Moreover, with 900,000 children displaced, their lives are marred by uncertainty and trauma, denying them the stability and security essential for healthy development. Palestinian children in Gaza face the added horror of a man-made famine perpetuated by Israeli policies that restrict access to food, water, and essential resources. This deliberate deprivation exacerbates their already dire living conditions, pushing them to the brink of starvation. Twenty-seven children have already perished from famine, their young lives cut short by the cruelty of occupation and genocide. Let us not forget the children of the West Bank and Jerusalem, who are growing up under the shadow of brutal occupation, subjected to arbitrary arrests, checkpoints, and violence that rob them of their innocence and dignity. The international community must stand in solidarity with all Palestinian children, condemning the violence and advocating for their right to live like any children in the world, free from fear, oppression, and the horrors of war.
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Children of Jerusalem (أطفال القدس), oil on canvas, 1978 (lost artwork/عمل فني مفقود)

Rituals under occupation (طقوس تحت الاحتلال), oil on canvas, 1989

 
Motherhood (أمومة), egg tempera, 1980

The last supper (العشاء الأخير), oil on canvas, 1994

A wild flower from Galilee (وردة برية من الجليل), acrylic on canvas, 2020

A wild flower from Galilee (وردة برية من الجليل), acrylic on canvas, 2020
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‎When people are living through genocide, through daily fear, through settler violence and the steady erosion of safety, love stops being a luxury. It becomes resistance. It becomes the quiet decision to protect one another, to comfort children, to check on neighbors, to share what little is left.
Palestinians have always known this kind of love. Not the easy version. The stubborn one. The kind that survives checkpoints, rubble, and exile. The kind that insists on weddings in hard times, on laughter in small kitchens, on planting trees even when you’re not sure who will get to sit in their shade.
And even now, in the darkest moments, something in us refuses to stop reaching for one another.
 
 

painted for Al-Awda magazine in the 1980’s, mixed media on paper, 1980’s

 

A scene from Jerusalem (مشهد من القدس)، 2024

Jerusalem, which has a special place in my heart and woven itself into the fabric of my life and soul, was the theme of the first painting after I suffered a stroke a couple of years ago. Every brush stroke was filled with profound gratitude for the gift of life and the lasting love of my beloved city. I hope that soon, all Palestinians from all over the world will celebrate their freedom here.
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A scene from Jerusalem (مشهد من القدس)، 2024


 

Suleiman Mansour of Palestine

Bright Stars of Bethlehem and Dar al-Kalima University mourn the passing of one of Palestine’s most influential artists and cultural voices. For more than five decades, Sliman Mansour’s art has carried his story and the story of all of Palestine through his art. Through his work, he showed the land, the olive trees, Jerusalem, and the people themselves, balancing the weight of the past and the fortitude needed to remain steadfast while highlighting daily life in Palestine. 
 
It was recently said, “He loved Palestine and gave it his life and art.” He not only created, but he also shared his gifts through mentoring, institutions, creating opportunities for young artists, and ensuring that Palestinian art would continue long after his own brush was put down. Sliman's legacy and poignant art will continue to stir hearts and educate future generations.
 
Rest in peace, Sliman. May his family and loved ones find comfort knowing the seeds he planted through a lifetime of art, education, and love for Palestine continue to grow.

 

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