25-05-2025
Al-Anbar's artisan: The pharmacist who paints souls
Shafaq News/ In the town of Ramadi, where the Euphrates flows steadily and the desert stretches wide, one man has quietly devoted his life to the care of both body and spirit. Naif al-Alousi, known throughout al-Anbar not only as a respected pharmacist but also as a painter of rare sensitivity, has spent decades weaving together the logic of science with the poetry of art.
His story isn't one of sudden fame or national headlines. It's softer, more enduring — the story of a man whose hands have dispensed healing prescriptions by day and brushed delicate strokes of color by night.
Where Art Began
Though trained as a pharmacist, al-Alousi always carried within him the quiet rhythm of an artist. Long before he ever dispensed medicine, he was sketching animals and birds as a schoolboy. Those early drawings earned him admiration, and something deeper: encouragement.
'My drawings were pinned on school walls,' he shared with Shafaq News, eyes tracing the memory. 'They stayed up for years. That meant something to me. It gave me the courage to keep going.'
Even as pharmacy took the lead in his professional life, his imagination remained tethered to nature and beauty. The discipline of anatomy, the curves of the human form — they offered a foundation, but it was nature that truly taught him. 'I learned by observing,' he explained. 'By feeling my way through.'
He never sat in a formal art schools. His education came through careful observation, long hours alone with canvas and color, and a quiet, unshakable passion.
Shifting Perceptions
In the 1970s, al-Anbar had yet to embrace the idea of design. Homes were built for function, rarely for feeling. But after visits to Baghdad and other cities in the Arab world, al-Alousi returned with a heart full of inspiration. He opened the province's first décor studio, not only changing homes, but gently shifting perceptions.
'Back then, no one believed in decoration,' he recalled. 'It was considered frivolous. But over time, people began to see how beauty could live in the spaces where life unfolds.'
He didn't just follow trends — he created them. He combined traditional Iraqi elements with contemporary elegance, crafting designs that felt both rooted and refreshing. 'A good piece of work should have soul,' he noted. 'It should feel like it belongs — not just to the room, but to the land and the people in it.'
His paintings speak of that land. Many carry actual soil from al-Anbar, ground and mixed into pigments, a gesture of deep affection for his home. 'I wanted the earth itself to be part of the story.'
A Quest for Recognition
Al-Anbar, home to over 1.8 million people, pulses with untold stories and quiet talents. Yet for artists like al-Alousi, space to grow and share remains limited. Institutions exist, but their impact often feels muted.
'They focus on bureaucracy, not on nurturing creativity. Art needs care and freedom — not control.'
He believes artistic identity doesn't come from degrees or titles. 'True art begins when a person opens themselves to the world with honesty. You don't need a certificate for that — you need heart.'
Much of his journey unfolded in solitude. He learned through trial, error, and persistence. He read extensively, experimented tirelessly, and created instinctively. 'An instinctive artist speaks from within. That's why the work resonates. It's real.'
Still, challenges remain. Exhibition spaces are scarce. Support is minimal. Even in the cultural centers of Ramadi and Fallujah, art often takes a backseat to politics and survival. But towns like Hit and Haditha offer glimmers of hope, where history and heritage have nurtured deeper appreciation.
Over the decades, al-Alousi left his mark in unexpected places — presidential residences, private villas, once-bustling restaurants, and the now-absent Ramadi cinema. 'I wanted to bring beauty into ordinary places, to remind people that their daily lives deserve it.'
Mastering Two Worlds
Today, al-Alousi continues his delicate balance — pharmacist by trade, artist by devotion. He prepares for two upcoming exhibitions, each a reflection of decades spent capturing the quiet grace of everyday life.
'I spend my evenings surrounded by buckets of paint and fragments of wood, chasing feelings I can't always name.'
Even in rest, he finds inspiration along the river while fishing, during solitary walks, or through the lens of his camera. His eyes are always open to moments others might pass by.
He believes in this generation's potential — the technology, the access, the speed — but wonders if they sometimes lose sight of purpose. 'Tools are powerful,' he offered, 'but it's the reason behind the work that gives it life.'
To the young artists of Iraq, his message is soft but steady. 'Let art guide your discipline. Let it lift your spirit. It can help you see the world with more tenderness.'
In al-Anbar, Naif al-Alousi stands as a quiet bridge between tradition and transformation, healing and imagination. His life reminds us that beauty doesn't need a spotlight to be real.
