Flowers keep appearing in the work of these Lebanese artists. They approach floral forms with care and affection, using them across different mediums and visual languages.

For some artists, flowers grow out of routine and familiarity; for others, they open space for emotion and abstraction. Treated with control or allowed to drift into colour, they hold personal experience in place while everything else shifts.

We have written about the lily in Lana Khayat’s work more than once. For her, the flower has long moved beyond its usual associations with purity or delicacy. Instead, the lily becomes a stand-in for the female experience — a living body shaped by tension, pain, and the need to rebuild.

In Khayat’s work, damage is never hidden. What is broken is acknowledged, worked through, and made visible. Repair isn’t something that happens quietly in the background; it becomes part of the form itself. There is strength in that choice — in deciding to show the fracture rather than erase it.

You can see this clearly in her Lilies of Marrakech series, and even more so in her recent works shown this year in Valencia at El Titan in the Laboratory of Grace. In these new pieces, Khayat begins stitching the lily directly onto the canvas — a move that feels both intuitive and deeply personal.

As she explains, stitching came from the idea of repair:

“As women, we experience pain, yet we rise again. We heal, we continue. Stitching felt like a natural extension of that idea. It is what you do when there is a wound.”

The thread becomes more than a material. It turns into a gesture of care, of persistence, of closing something that has been torn. In her current practice, Khayat works with thread and silk, cutting the material into floral forms and sewing them onto the surface. The flowers read as marks of injury and healing at once, while the stitch itself does the quiet work of holding things together.

Have you seen Zena Assi’s surreal flowers — the recent series she created for Mix & Match at Galerie Tanit?

At the centre of the series are flowers in pots: familiar, domestic, seemingly grounded. And yet, something is always slightly off. A stool appears, too small to make sense. Scale slips. Logic softens. The flower feels present, almost aware, while the surrounding objects seem to carry their own histories.

Assi uses these subtle disruptions to explore our age of mass production and the way everyday objects begin to function like portraits within the home. In these compositions, plants, furniture, and fragments of domestic life take on emotional weight.

In other still lifes from the series, flowers are paired with bones, pets, or toy weapons — references to vanitas and impermanence. Life, death, play, and care exist side by side.

Louma Rabah is best known for her abstract landscapes and cityscapes of Lebanon, painted in bold, expressive colour. Her compositions are vibrant and immediate, driven by a deep fascination with nature's beauty.

You can see this clearly in her paintings of wildflower fields — poppies, sunflowers, open landscapes filled with colour. Sometimes she still goes into nature and paints what she sees. But more often, the starting point is a feeling she wants to put onto the canvas.

She doesn’t plan the painting in advance. She knows what colours she is drawn to in that moment, what mood she is in — but the final result is always a surprise. That freedom is essential to her process. She wants to paint without restraint, without thinking about what people might like or expect.

In Kelly Halabi’s work, floral forms become objects you can almost feel — solid, weighted, and grounded. They speak about fragility and strength at the same time, without leaning into sentimentality.

In a project developed with BEIT Collective (Memories of Lebanon), Halabi created a series of hand-finished metal flowers. These are not delicate impressions of blooms, but tactile, resilient forms. By casting and painting flowers in metal, she brings tenderness and durability together — a reminder that beauty doesn’t have to be fragile.

For Halabi, flowers are less about nature itself and more about what these forms carry. In this series, they reflect Lebanon’s complex history. Set against themes of destruction and renewal, her work explores how ruins hold the aftermath of conflict, while flowers stand for perseverance — and the possibility of growth, even after rupture.