How Art Scenes Transform Under Conflict?

“In moments of war, the art world doesn’t go silent. It changes tone.”

Over the past month, the war between Iran, Israel, and the United States has been framed largely through oil prices, regional instability, and geopolitical risk. But beyond economic and political analysis, another question quietly emerges: what does war do to an art ecosystem? How does it sustain itself, and how is artistic language reshaped under pressure? Not in theory, but in real time.

When we look at art history, it becomes clear that artists have always found ways to express themselves, even in times of conflict. This is evident in wartime Europe, where artistic language moved away from direct representation toward abstraction, fragmentation, and coded symbolism. Violence was not always depicted as it appeared; instead, it was often translated into visual systems capable of carrying meaning without stating it explicitly. From Pablo Picasso’s fractured bodies in Guernica to Salvador Dalí’s dreamlike distortions and Alberto Giacometti’s fragile, elongated figures.

A similar shift can be traced beyond Europe, in the context of Iran. During the Iran–Iraq War (1980–1988), artistic production did not follow a single trajectory. Alongside state-supported imagery, where martyrdom and religious symbolism constructed a highly visible and legible narrative, another quieter visual language began to take shape.

Pablo Picasso, Guernica, 1937, oil on canvas, 349.3 × 776.5 cm.  Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, Madrid.  Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

During the war, much of this quieter language remained grounded in observation. Photographers such as Bahman Jalali and Kaveh Golestan stayed committed to a documentary approach, recording the realities of conflict as they unfolded. Turning away from spectacle, they focused on its aftermath: ruined cities, emptied spaces, moments of stillness that resisted dramatization. Their images do not interpret violence; they bear witness to it.

What emerges more clearly in the postwar period is a shift from documentation to translation. Artists who experienced the war directly begin to process it through memory rather than immediacy. In Shadi Ghadirian’s Nil, Nil series (2008), war enters the image through substitution: domestic objects are replaced with military elements, were absence registers as presence. The disruption is quiet, understated, yet persistent, embedded within the ordinary rather than set apart from it.

Bahman Jalali, Abadan Fights On, c. 1981. Courtesy of PICRYL.

Shadi Ghadirian, Nil, Nil, 2008. Courtesy of One Art Gallery.

Similarly, in Gohar Dashti’s staged photographs, war appears obliquely. Everyday scenes unfold within landscapes marked by conflict, where normalcy and disruption coexist. Here, war is no longer an event to be documented, but a condition embedded within daily life; subtle, persistent, and unresolved.

Gohar Dashti, Untitled #5, from the series Today’s Life and War, 2008, chromogenic print. Courtesy of the Artist

The recent war has placed significant pressure on Iran’s art scene from multiple angles. Galleries have postponed or cancelled exhibitions, international engagement has been disrupted by logistical constraints, and internet blackouts have limited visibility and communication. Beyond these visible disruptions lies something less measurable: emotional fatigue. The question is not only how art survives war, but what role it continues to play in its aftermath.

‘As a curator working in Iran , I feel our role is not to immediately translate crisis into projects, but to remain attentive, to witness how conflict alters language, memory, and visibility over time. When everything becomes suspended, perhaps our role is not reaction, but the preservation of that suspension.’ said Shahed Saffari, a Tehran based curator.

And yet, even within disruption, the art world resumes, often faster than expected. Within days of the ceasefire announcement, galleries began reopening, circulating PDFs of available works, and re-engaging with collectors. Sales resumed, and within weeks, a full calendar of openings returned across Tehran, with sold works already visible in previews before exhibitions officially opened.

What follows is less about disruption than recalibration. Moments like this reshape the rhythm of the market. How trust is re-established, how collectors engage, and how acquisitions are approached. “Moments of crisis are precisely when collectors need to stay engaged. Our role is to remain present and keep the art scene alive”, said Khashayar Gerami, an art collector based between Tehran and Dubai.

Sara Soleimani Qashqai,  War and Peace, Pateh Douzi on traditional wool fabric, courtesy of the artist and Aaran Gallery

But how will the market continue to operate under these conditions? Iran’s art market has long functioned within a distinct structure. Years of sanctions have shaped a system driven largely by private collectors and a network of commercial galleries. International circulation has required constant adaptability, logistics have remained complex, and trust has been built through experience and relationships over time.

In contrast, the UAE has not experienced the same level of disruption. The infrastructure has remained largely intact, allowing the art scene to continue operating, albeit with adjustments. Programming across Alserkal Avenue shifted in format rather than being cancelled, and Art Dubai, marking its 20th edition, adapted by presenting a modified format.

 And yet, despite all of this, art finds its way back, not through grand gestures, but through continuity, in reopened spaces, in shared encounters, and in the quiet insistence on staying connected.