Prequel: Jana and I first crossed paths in Lebanon in 2017, before reconnecting in Montreal a couple of years later. Our circles overlapped, and soon our friendship began to grow. When the pandemic hit, like many of us, we found ourselves trying to navigate the uncertainty of what came next.
A core memory of Jana that has never left me began in the most ordinary way—running errands. We ended up in a hardware store, standing before an endless wall of tools and gadgets. I watched her take it all in, her eyes wide and curious, almost laughing at the sight. I asked, half-joking, “Do you even know what these are for?” She smiled that unmistakable smile of hers and replied, “No, but we’re about to find out.”
Not long after, Jana disappeared from sight for a while. What I didn’t know then was that she was quietly discovering a new love for painting. She began experimenting with textures, materials, and the very tools that had once left us both bewildered. From that playful curiosity emerged a practice that feels both fearless and deeply original—culminating in one of the most powerful art pieces I’ve seen come from our generation.
– Stephani Moukhaiber
Founder and Publisher of Al Rawiya
The vynile that keeps on spinning wood canvas plaster acrylics oil pastels oil paints coloring pencils, size / 40 x 60
How did this all start? When did you notice you were good at it?
It wasn’t one moment. There were many small ones.
A leftover brush. A stain on a wall. A silence too loud to leave empty.
I started making art the way people start writing letters they’ll never send—to remember, to release, to survive.
It came from places I couldn’t explain in words:
from childhood mess, from inherited chaos, from softness I was told to hide.
Plaster and pastels became a way to rebuild what cracked, a way to speak without shouting.
Every piece is a pulse. Every layer, a decision I once hesitated to make.
I didn’t study this formally. I studied life. I studied people. I studied grief, color, and movement.
And somehow, all of that became a language on its own.
This is how it started.
This is how it keeps beginning.
In 2019, I found myself at a crossroads.
I was working as a visual effects artist for video games—fully immersed in the digital.
But something in me needed more. Something tactile. Messy. Honest.
I felt the urge to express myself using materials I could touch, bend, break, layer.
So I picked up plaster, paint—anything I could get my hands on.
And when I created my first painting as an adult, I was surprised by myself.
It felt natural. Intuitive. Like something I had known all along.
It was the first time I saw a spark of talent in myself—not just a skill, but a voice.
And I’ve been following it ever since.
How’s your level of expertise with tools now?
Before I ever worked in construction, I was already using tools..just… not how they were intended.
Putty knives? Texture brushes.
Plaster trowels? Emotional smoothers.
Sandpaper? Mostly for my nervous system.
But in 2024, I needed a job—like, a real job.
So I started working in construction.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it grounded me.
Suddenly, all these tools I’d been misusing in the name of art actually made sense.
I learned what they were really for—measuring, leveling, sealing, building.
And weirdly, it felt like coming full circle.
I already knew how they felt in my hands. I just needed to learn their “official” purposes.
That said, I still use them in deeply experimental ways.
A drywall knife? Still a palette.
A trowel? Still a sculptor’s secret.
A drill? Still chaotic but loved.
So yes, I worked in construction because I had to.
But it taught me things I never expected about precision, patience, and how to bend the rules beautifully
Your pieces are very multilayered not only literally with the use of various materials– but metaphorically too – you can see a melting pot of many emotions through the use of colors, shapes, and what looks like many memories – can you tell us more about it?
Yes, definitely. My work is layered in every sense of the word—physically, emotionally, and even historically. I use plaster, paint, fabric, dust, whatever I feel belongs in the piece. I like materials that carry weight, texture, or memory.
But underneath all that, what I’m really doing is translating a feeling. Or many at once.
Some pieces hold grief and softness at the same time.
Others carry confusion, nostalgia, or something I haven’t fully named yet.
The shapes, colors, and textures are never random—they come from very real emotional moments or states of mind. Sometimes I’ll add a layer and then scrape it back down. That’s a process I go through internally too. There’s something about covering and revealing, building and undoing, that feels honest to me.
In a way, I’m archiving my inner world. Each piece holds fragments of memory, ancestral energy, personal chaos, and calm. It’s all mixed in, like a visual diary that doesn’t need to make sense to anyone but still speaks to something familiar.
And yeah—sometimes I look at a finished piece and realize it knew more than I did while I was making it.
How does your character show up in your art?
My character shows up whether I want it to or not.
There’s no hiding in my work—it catches everything: the tenderness, the frustration, the chaos, the humor, the contradictions. I think people expect artists to be consistent, but I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in honesty. And honesty isn’t always clean.
Some days I’m soft, so the piece is delicate and layered in pastels.
Other days I’m agitated, so I scrape, press, throw things, leave marks that feel impulsive but end up being the most intentional.
I think my character shows up in how I let things be imperfect—raw edges, uneven surfaces, unresolved spaces. It shows up in how I build, destroy, and rebuild within a single work. That’s who I am outside of the studio too: layered, always evolving, emotional, stubborn, hopeful.
Even the materials I use say something—I choose things that don’t behave. Just Like me.
Jana El Kurd
Jana El Kurd, born in Lebanon and currently based in Montreal, is a self-taught artist whose work wrestles with her profound connection to the histories etched into the landscapes of her past. Using plaster and pastel tones, she reimagines memories of buildings weathered by political strife, capturing their quiet defiance and fragile beauty. Her process is instinctive and unpolished, allowing each piece to emerge on its own terms—part excavation, part surrender. Jana’s practice is a love letter to the haunted wonder of childhood, holding space for moments of softness and exploration of what lingers: the ghosts of places, the traces of innocence, and the uneasy magic of belonging to something fractured and enduring.
Stephani Moukhaiber
Stephani Moukhaiber is the founder and CEO of Al Rawiya, a media company amplifying voices from the Levant and its diaspora. She also leads Al Rawiya Studio, the creative and strategic arm of the company, providing branding, content, and media services to clients. In addition, she serves as the Director of Programs and Operations at the 2048 Foundation, overseeing program strategy, communications, grants management, and operational excellence. Originally, Stephani worked as an organizational development consultant specializing in workplace strategy, including roles at global tech and consulting firms.
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