From Catastrophe to Creative Agency

A reflection on the creative works of Dlkhwaz Yousif—who was 7 years old at the time of the 2014 genocide of Ezidi people—and how he turned to art to convey his experiences of violence and displacement. Many of his artworks include children, elements of Ezidi identity, religion and culture, and hopes about the future.

When Dlkhwaz Yousif was 7, he had to run from his home in the village of Tel Binat, south of the Shingal Mountain, to escape the destructive wrath of Da’esh in Iraq in 2014. He recalls hiding as Da’esh was advancing on them, a terrifying experience that he conjures up in his painting, “Hidden behind the Hills”:

'Hidden behind the Hills', Dlkhwaz Yousif

“We were near the Sherfadin Temple, and ISIS wanted to destroy the temple. I was alone with my mother behind one hill, while the rest of my family was behind another. There was also gunfire directed at us, which prevented us from reaching each other. I created the sky by dragging the paint downward with my fingers because, at that moment, I wished it had been completely dark, as if it were night, so that they would not be able to see or harm us. After the ISIS fighters were attacked from the air, they fled. Once everything had calmed down, we continued on our way. The experience is a big weight in my heart. But by making the painting I feel lighter.”

Dlkhwaz took to painting to convey the many experiences he had been through in Shingal, escaping through the mountain into the north of Iraq in 2014, and then staying in an IDP camp in Dohuk in northern Iraq for three years with his family along with his  brother and five sisters. His father left in the first year to trek across to Europe on foot, crossing several countries in search of safety and a better future for their family. Eventually, he reached Germany and the rest of the family were put on an aeroplane as part of a reunification programme that is now terminated.

Dlkhwaz’ memories of the Da’esh attack are indelibly etched on his mind and body. On the day of the Da’esh attack, he reflects:

“I still remember that day vividly. A few days before, we had heard gunfire and explosions, but we did not pay much attention to them. We thought it was just an attempt by the terrorists to frighten us. On August 3, however, everything changed. People began receiving phone calls from relatives and friends in other villages. We were warned that we had to flee because several villages had already been attacked.

We took nothing with us. Our only thought was survival. The gunfire continued, sounding like fireworks on New Year’s Eve. That is why I still fear New Year’s Eve celebrations today—they remind me of those terrifying moments.”

His family first went to his grandfather’s house. He was ready to fight for his land with an AK47, but they persuaded him that on his own he could not do it and eventually he agreed to leave. Dlkhwaz too was reluctant to leave but had no choice: “On the way, I cried because I had left my baby chicks behind at home.” They reached the mountain, hoping that they would soon be able to return home:

“Sadly, that never happened. We survived for seven days on the mountain with very little food and water. We had almost no water. Every drop was precious, and we had to drink it slowly, one drop at a time, hoping it would be enough to keep us alive.’

Even though deeply affected, art is one way of letting these traumas out in a way that makes him feel lighter even if the subject matter he paints remains troubling. One painting he had earlier made is of a tank (representing war and violence) coming towards a little boy in a landscape of destruction. Entitled  “Das Kind im Krieg” (“The Child at War”), he elaborates:

'Das Kind im Krieg', Dlkhwaz Yousif

“The boy is a symbol of freedom and fights for his future. Children suffer the most in war because their lives have not really started yet, but they are already in danger of ending. He is holding up two fingers, which stand for freedom, hope, and a better future.”

For “The Look of a Survivor”, he reflects:

'The Look of a Survivor', Dlkhwaz Yousif

“This is how I felt when I realized that it might be the last time I would ever visit my home and my school. The teddy bear shows that even material things seem to feel sympathy for the children, because their childhood is completely changing. The people did their best to protect and defend their children and their villages. I intentionally made the peacock white because it symbolizes peace, just like a white dove. In the smoke on the upper right side, there is a cage with a person inside. This represents the people who were taken captive and treated like animals. Many of them were then enslaved and sold.”

His sense of loss is complemented by a keen sense of retrieval. With his “Vergangenheit, Gegenwart, und Zukunft” (“Past, Present and Future”):

'Vergangenheit, Gegenwart, und Zukunft', Dlkhwaz Yousif

“The artwork is inspired by the Temple of Sherfadin. In the center of the painting, there is a fountain. Within the fountain, one can see the past and the traditions of the Ezidi people. The boy is looking at these scenes and learning from the past so that these traditions can continue to live on and not be forgotten…In the background, there is an Ezidi temple and a sunset that extends across the entire artwork. Surrounding the fountain are the Seven Angels of the Ezidi faith, who are always with us and protect us, even though they remain invisible.”

For a young man, Dlkhwaz’ work is remarkable, even more so as he started painting only three years ago. He charts out his creative journey:

“My dream was to study architecture. I began with small sketches. It was one of the first times in my life that I had seriously tried drawing…For an entire year, I drew every day. It became part of my daily routine. I developed a passion for art. Soon, however, I started working with oil paints on canvas because I wanted to bring my ideas to life and challenge myself creatively. From that point on, I no longer pursued art simply because I was thinking about studying architecture. I continued because it brought me genuine joy.

Through art, I discovered my potential and my talent. With my art, I want to raise awareness while expressing the emotions I felt then and the feelings that still live deep inside me today. Art is the most powerful way for me to communicate this message. The goal behind many of my artworks is often to make people think, reflect, and connect with emotions they may not have explored before.”

In an art workshop led by Ezidi artist, Qasim Alsharqy, and surrounded by a treasure house of the senior artist’s inspiring works, Dlkhwaz was encouraged to “listen and respond to your emotions”. He surely did immerse himself in the turmoil therein - one dominated by tragedy but also rays of resilience, creativity and hope. This is striking in a painting that he went on to name, “Die Spuren verschwinden, der Stempel bleibt“ (“The Traces Disappear, the Stamp Remains”). On his approach, he elaborates:

'Die Spuren verschwinden, der Stempel bleibt', Dlkhwaz Yousif

“I have lots of emotions to express about the genocide. Sometimes I feel paint brushes get in the way of conveying them and I need to use my hands. While creating it, I felt a deep sense of anger because our story could have been completely different if the genocide had never happened. Everything people had built for themselves was taken away by force and destroyed. People were enslaved and sold in markets. Children were turned into child soldiers, and men were murdered in large numbers.

The sadness and anger I felt inside were overwhelming as I created this piece. I poured paint onto the canvas. I swirled my fingers around in the paint. I painted the footprints in blue using my index and middle fingers to symbolise freedom. I mixed the sand-colored paint with water and spread it over the footprints because footprints gradually disappear over time and become difficult to see. Finally, I painted a feather from our angel—Tawus Melek. It is a stamp on our land. And it will always be our land, not the terrorists.”

No matter where he is, Shingal calls out to him. In another work influenced by the artists, Van Gogh and Salvador Dali, “Die Blume der Zeit” (“The Flower of Time”), swirly peacock-like patterns interspersed with clocks suspended in mid-air dominate the canvas:

'Die Blume der Zeit', Dlkhwaz Yousif

“At the center of the composition stands a person with their head tilted back. The person holds a rose in their mouth, and the roots of the rose grow inside them. The roots are visible along the neck, as if the person and the rose have become one. This symbolises experiences, thoughts, or traumas that are so deeply rooted within us that they become a living part of our identity…The background is chaotic, and the clocks serve as symbols of memories. The longer something lies in the past, the deeper its roots can grow.

The connection between the human and the flower is not intended as an ideal of beauty, but rather as an almost melancholic metaphor for the things we can never fully remove from ourselves. They become a part of who we are, just as roots no longer leave the soil once they have taken hold. There is a quiet sense of acceptance within the image. We live with what we have experienced, whether we want to or not.”

Dlkhwaz has gone on to paint a vast range of subjects including “pieces that address environmental pollution, the influence of social media, and other important social issues.” His painting, “Der Sonnenuntergang” (“The Sunset”) for instance, depicts a boy on a polluted beach looking out into the sunset hoping for a better future. In addition, many of his works reflect his religion, culture, and identity: “The Ezidi faith is beautiful, and our culture is rich and unique. I want to share it with the world. Diversity is something beautiful, and it deserves to be celebrated.” Art has become the perfect medium for him to do this, commiserating while celebrating.

'Der Sonnenuntergang', Dlkhwaz Yousif

Now aged 18, Dlkhwaz is studying to do his Abitur in Hanover so as to gain entry to a German university. He is also learning to play the saz, an instrument that perfectly captures Ezidi poignancy of bittersweet memories—of good as well as horrific times: “It helps me express my emotions. I can play sad and slow melodies, but I can also play fast and cheerful ones. For me it is a form of therapy.” He elaborates:

“Art helped me process my experiences of war. It gave me a way to cope with everything I had lived through. Through my work, I want to send a message: war is one of the most terrible things in the world, and children are often the ones who suffer the most. No child should ever have to experience what I experienced. This is my story.

It is not a special story.

But it is an untold story.

And I want to change that.”

Raminder Kaur, June 2026

Photographs of paintings taken by Khalat Yousif.