The Destruction of the City of Homs, 2016, Deanna Petherbridge (courtesy of the artist). Photography by John Bodkin.
Since leaving in 2011, I have never been able to return to my hometown of Homs. In my exile in the UK, the city remains with me – in memories of the years I spent there since the late 1980s, and in stories of a city that became a symbol of rebellion, revolution and, ultimately, of ruin and destruction. Far away from Homs, I search for glimpses of it, devouring any articles I find, poring over photographs and videos that emerge from travellers (many of them war tourists). I watch street interviews with locals who remain in the city, as if peering through a window into a life I can no longer live, into the suffering and misery endured by those still there. Although I can’t be there physically, I strive to keep the city alive in my mind and remain connected to its memory – even as it fades from my current reality in the UK.
One day, while visiting the Tate Britain in London, one of the UK’s best known museums, my eye was caught by a drawing of collapsed buildings as I entered the vast gallery room. The black and white piece, divided into three sections, depicted a haunting scene: the mass destruction of peoples’ homes, a chaos of demolished architecture. As I drew closer, examining each carefully drawn empty room, I was struck by how much it reminded me of Homs, not because of any specific landmarks, but because of the overwhelming sense of ruin – a ruin that used to be a city. Over half of Homs’ neighbourhoods have been razed, and around a quarter of them have been partially destroyed.
To my astonishment, the title beside the drawing read: The Destruction of the City of Homs.
My astonishment was not only due to the fact that Syria has largely been fading from global consciousness, but also because Homs has usually received less attention than other cities such as Damascus or Aleppo. This drawing’s power and profoundness lay in its focus on ordinary architecture, representing the destruction of everyday buildings rather than ancient heritage sites (which have been the subject of much research and publication since the Syrian Revolution began in 2011). Intrigued, I noted the artist’s name: Deanna Petherbridge. Little information about the artist accompanied the drawing. Who was she? What drew her to my city? What compelled her to create this work?
As I continued through the gallery and perused a drawing by Tracy Emin in a room for women artists, Deanna’s drawing stayed with me. Once home, I researched the artist, and found out from the Tate Britain’s website that Deanna had created the Homs drawing when she was 79 years old. My admiration and curiosity only deepened. Why would someone with no connection to Homs dedicate over six months to drawing this city?
The Artist Behind the Drawing
Further research revealed Deanna’s impressive body of work, spanning drawing, curating, lecturing, and writing (including her seminal book, The Primacy of Drawing: Histories and Theories of Practice, published by Yale University Press). In a 2016 article reflecting on her drawing of Homs, she wrote:
A photograph of the bombed-out shell of Dresden, destroyed in February 1945 when I was six years old, has lived potently in my life-long memory bank. This, like other black and white photographs of the time, depicted a ghastly desolation in which empty-windowed facades tapering sharply from jaggedly pointed upper stories to the debris-surrounded bases seemed to mimic the triangular infrastructure of the Gothic.
It seemed that something about the horror of war had deeply influenced Deanna’s life and art. Though we were strangers to each other, and she didn’t know me or my city, I felt a connection and a desire to thank her for the time she’d spent contemplating and drawing my beloved Homs. On June 26, 2019, I decided to email her.
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Dear Deanna,
I just wanted to say thanks a lot for the work you did on Homs, my city in Syria. I saw the piece at the Tate recently, and found it extremely powerful and heartbreaking. It is a great contribution to the history of war in Syria and tells the story of the violence, displacement and war of our times. The absence of lives and people from this creatureless drawing seems to truly reflect many areas in Syria where people were killed or forcibly displaced from the place they call home.
I hope our paths cross at some point, I am a great fan of your work.
Best regards,
Ammar
I did not expect a response from this formidable artist. But the very next day, Deanna Petherbridge emailed me back.
Thank you so much for contacting me, Ammar; I most appreciate it. As an artist, one produces art in a terrible vacuum, no matter how much one wants to communicate – so to hear from you that this work, over which I agonised for many months, has moved you, makes everything worthwhile!
I note that you have been doing PhD research at Bath University, which of course does have such a good architecture school; and I was most interested to see that you also draw. I’m always writing about such things, so do send me a website connection if you have one (I don’t subscribe to any social media) and keep me up to date about what you are doing.
Best wishes,
Deanna Petherbridge
Our communication by email continued, and a little later, Deanna invited me to her beautiful studio in London. I did not expect that initial email to lead to years of friendship, mutual respect, and appreciation.
Deanna was born in 1939 in South Africa, moving to London in 1960. Throughout her career, she explored various artistic mediums but focused primarily on drawing, investigating historical and contemporary themes such as forced displacement, wars, and violence. War and destruction have featured in her art since the 1970s, and have been the focus of her recent work, Political Commentary, War & Migration, the Pandemic. Reflecting on this series (which includes Crossing the Abyss), she wrote on her website:
Recent multi-panelled drawings from 2018 and 2019 deal with the hazardous passage of political and economic migrants across oceans and continents to the horrors of displacement camps. Attempts to stem these migrations, such as Donald Trump’s ‘big beautiful wall’, Hungary’s border barriers or the concept of Fortress Britain embedded within Brexit demagoguery are profoundly irrational in the face of the seamless interconnectivity of cyberspace and global surveillance capitalism.
Deanna often combined her passion for art with writing about it, seeing the writing as part and parcel of the drawing. To fully appreciate Deanna’s artwork and understand her unique perspective on the world, one must understand how in her practice, writing and drawing were two sides of the same coin, impossible to separate.
When I first met Deanna in her studio, I felt an immediate connection. She was an attentive listener, eager to learn about Homs, my life there, the story of the city, and my family, and was happy to share the story of her own life, artwork and writing. She confessed she had never visited Homs, but was deeply affected by the sight of the city in ruins. In a later meeting, when I asked why she had drawn the city, she explained, “I feel the most terrible outrage that people can eat a meal in front of the television and watch the destruction of a city, and be unmoved by it… I can’t watch the destruction of environments anywhere without having some attempt to understand what it means to people to lose their livelihoods, to lose their families, their identities.”
Deanna had the ability to truly understand me and make me feel heard. I admired her and always valued her advice and approval of the writing or ideas I was working on. Our conversations continued after our first meeting in 2019, exchanging thoughts on the role of art and writing in times of war and upheaval. We shared works in progress, gave each other feedback, laughed and cried together about life. To me, Deanna was a revered figure, an artist who never bowed to fashion but created her own world. Always sharp and critical, extremely well-read, and above all, a kind and witty human being true to herself, who lived by her own principles. Her ideas, writing, and courage were constant inspirations.
The Destruction of the Everyday
We had many overlapping interests, particularly around cities in ruins: as I wrote obsessively about Homs, Deanna was actively writing about and drawing cities in ruins, including Homs. As I prepared my book, Domicide: Architecture, War and the Destruction of Home in Syria, I asked Deanna if I could use her drawing of Homs as the cover, and she kindly agreed.
Deanna’s drawing shifts our gaze, as viewers, to the domicide that reshapes millions of lives in times of war. It also raises questions about reconstruction: the white spaces of cleaned passages in the drawing represent further destruction yet to come. When we hear about wars and destruction, like in Gaza today, the world insists on ‘normalising’ the destruction of people’s homes. This cannot, and must not, be accepted. Deanna’s drawing is something of an anti-war statement, urging viewers to remember the suffering of civilians in wartime – civilians absent from the drawing itself, just as they are from countless destroyed neighbourhoods throughout Syria.
In my book, I examined how war impacts cities and communities, not just by destroying cultural heritage sites, but also by shattering people’s everyday living spaces – their bedrooms, living rooms, and homes. The book focused specifically on Homs, a city which, in March 2011, was a site of radical hope as people from all backgrounds took to the streets calling for justice, freedom and dignity. The actress Fadwa Souleimane, who led protests in the city, embodied this spirit of hope, openness, and tolerance.
The Syrian regime and its allies, however, responded to these peaceful demonstrations with brutality. They besieged various parts of Homs over the years, targeting both armed rebel groups and civilians in the neighbourhoods under siege. From the very beginning of the revolution, people were forced to flee – sometimes to other neighbourhoods of the city, other parts of the country, and often to leave the country altogether as their lives were at risk. Many civilians were imprisoned or “disappeared” by the Syrian regime, and thousands lost their lives. By 2022, the UN estimated that at least 306,887 civilians have been killed in Syria.
Homs, once known for its vibrant sense of humour and laughter, had become a place of profound suffering and pain.
In my view, Deanna’s drawing is the piece of art which most powerfully encapsulates these themes. This focus on the human cost of domicide was at the heart of Deanna’s drawing, encouraging us to pause and reflect in a world saturated with images, and to consider the people whose homes have been devastated. Deanna always emphasised that her drawing was a tribute to the people and city of Homs. I often told her how I dreamed that her drawing might one day be exhibited in a free, peaceful, and rebuilt Homs. When that day will come, though, remains uncertain.
Life, Art and Exile
In December 2023, I visited Deanna in her studio. She was very ill and in too much pain to draw. But she was indomitable, always ready to challenge and be challenged. I asked if she was writing about Gaza, knowing how deeply wars troubled her. Our eyes met and did the talking for us. “I think I’ve said everything I wanted to say,” she replied. I regretted asking, given how much pain she was in, but I knew she preferred discussing writing over dwelling on her illness. Saddened, I listened as she turned the conversation to my future writing projects. We began brainstorming ideas, exploring the connections between architecture, exile, art, and revolution, and she told me how she wished to write a book on these themes.
“I’m preparing to go,” she said. “I’m tidying up.” Inwardly, I was grieving; outwardly, I was at a loss for words. That was our last meeting.
I left Homs in 2011 and have never been able to return. Exile is living one’s everyday life far away from one’s homeland, deprived of the right to return. One never truly “moves on” from the pain and grief of exile – one can only try to live with it. Exile is the pain of feeling misunderstood, the sorrow of starting a life from scratch without family or friends. It is the emptiness of no-one in your new home knowing your last name or your history.
Deanna was one of the people who made my exile more bearable and less painful. She made me feel heard, understood, and valued as a human being with a history that matters. Her depiction of Homs is powerful not only as a statement against the horrific destruction of people’s lives, but also because those who live in exile from Homs – as the city and its story start to fade from global memory – can feel heard, understood, acknowledged, and their sense of identity can be to an extent restored.
I don’t know if Deanna felt a sense of exile herself. Was she self-exiled from her homeland? She had lived in several countries and loved many cities, including London, which was a site of imagination and hope for her, despite her changing attitudes towards it. We often joked about where we would escape if the UK collapsed. We never settled on a destination.
Deanna passed away in January this year, a day before my birthday. In my years of exile, I encountered no one quite like her – a talented, fierce intellectual with boundless creativity and indomitable spirit. Her legacy will endure: her approach to life, her art, and her tribute to the city of Homs.
