Anish Kapoor: art therapy with Syrian refugee children

Anish Kapoor, creator of some of the grandest projects in contemporary art, admits to having felt a range of "complicated" emotions when he was invited by Unicef earlier this year to visit a Syrian refugee camp in Jordan. "At first I jumped at it," he says. "And then, immediately, I had second thoughts, wondering whether I was just being another glam interloper, and what could one actually do anyway?"

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The invitation alone evidently prompted some deep thinking. "Of course, I have always been deeply interested in these kinds of questions. But it is in a way a weird thing for an artist to do. Artists are, dare I say it, at the luxury end of society, who can afford themselves the great privilege of spending all day and every day on aesthetic matters. But that in itself obliges one to be mindful, if not involved, with other things: for example, that part of the world which is trapped by poverty and deprivation."

In the end, the sheer numbers clinched the argument. "There are between 50 and 60 million refugees in the world," he spells out slowly. "That's the population of Britain. That's a frightening number. And most of those people stay in camps for more than five years." Kapoor felt compelled to see for himself, and try to help.

. . .

He was invited by the charity to visit some children's classes in the Za'atari camp, which currently hosts about 80,000 Syrian refugees, and talk to them about art. Like many visitors, he was not prepared for what he saw. "That terrible sense of no hope really throws one. It was not what I expected."

The 60-year-old sculptor, who was knighted last year for his services to visual arts, took part in Unicef's art therapy programme, which is intended to help children to express themselves and their feelings through art. The charity says it is a vital part of the psychological process for children who have witnessed horrifically violent scenes in their native country, leaving deep emotional wounds.

This August marked a low point for the humanitarian crisis in Syria, accounting for more than 1,000 civilian deaths. Unicef estimates that more than 6.5 million children are in need of assistance, an increase of more than two million in the past year alone. More than 1.5 million have been forced to flee their homes.

"They have been through such traumatic experiences," says Kapoor of the children. "That part of southern Syria where they come from has a complicated history and reputation. But, of course, the children belonged to communities. And here, while they all do their best to turn their tents and caravans into homes, the thing that they have lost is that sense of community."

He admits to a sense of helplessness when speaking to the children for the first time. "What was I going to do? I am not an art therapist. It is a great and important practice but it is not my practice. But there are some things that art can do, and one of them is that it is quite good at galvanising. So I thought, we can do that - let's galvanise!"

He asked the children if they wanted to bring some of their relatives into the classes but they said no. "But what came out almost spontaneously were two things: they said they wanted to build a garden; and they said they wanted it to be about Syria."

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Once the children got to work, they came out with heart-rending images of what they missed from their homes. One 11-year-old girl, Lilas, drew a playground with swings, because they made her "feel free". Many of the children drew images of nature in abundance, and bright colours. Neither feature in the refugee camps. They stressed continuously that there would be no dust in their gardens: violent dust storms are one of the things they fear most in their new lives.

"One has to just jump in naively," says Kapoor of his experience in the classes. He helped the children make clay models of the gardens. "Of course, the things that concerned them were the ideas of public space, and their own homes." During one exchange, a member of his security detail joined in the conversation. "He said to me, 'You know, this is not a prison, we Jordanians have welcomed these people with smiles and open hearts.' And he started to make suggestions on how the models of the gardens should look. That completely floored me. There was, at least in his case, a real warmth and feeling for their plight."

. . .

Kapoor was in the camp for just a few days, and then he was back in the UK. "It was a drop in the ocean. What could we do to take things forward?" I ask if he had felt uncomfortable, allowing the children to indulge in their fantasies for a time, while not being able to follow through with practical support. "I was out of my depth," he says simply.

"It was a fantasy - and yet it seems to me there is so much to do. It is such a waste of human potential. For example: there is a wonderful tradition [in that part of the world] of making fabrics, embroidery, textiles - why can't we build on that? Why can't they make their own clothes and shoes, and things like that?"

But one practical thought did arise from Kapoor's visit to Jordan. "To think about 80,000 people in this area, means that there are many thousands of tents - and nobody has ever bothered to design them. They are make-do, hot, boxes - basic in the extreme. So one fantasy was to get together with designers and architects and there being a conversation about how to design a really good shelter.

"That is one thing we can do, try to bring a little inventiveness to the situation. Even if it is a symbolic act of memory of what life might have been like for some of those people. It's worth a go." It is the first time Kapoor has worked in this way with a charity. He says it presents its own problems. "We use NGOs to fulfil the need to placate our consciences but, really, we need to motivate ourselves. We have to do things, however small, however futile."

Kapoor has also donated a work that will be auctioned by Unicef, along with pieces by more than 20 other artists, at Phillips next month.

When he talks, he presents a portrait of the artist as someone who should help but does not necessarily know how. I ask if that is a dilemma that has sprung into his thoughts relatively recently. He replies that his 2011 installation at Paris's Grand Palais, "Leviathan", marked a turning point in his thinking. The giant inflatable work was inspired by the British philosopher Thomas Hobbes but dedicated, he says, to the Chinese dissident contemporary artist Ai Weiwei.<>

"He was in an even more difficult situation [in a Chinese prison] than he is now [under surveillance and not allowed to leave the country]. But I discovered in doing that, that it gave me a certain amount of power. As a result of it I got to speak to David Cameron, and to the Foreign Office. All sorts of things came out of it, and I never imagined that. I suppose I discovered I had a voice."

The voice urged the British prime minister and his ministers to speak more forcefully to the Chinese on matters of human rights. "And the answer was that they would speak very politely to them in public, but behind the scenes they would pursue a human rights agenda.

"And I'm afraid I found myself saying, 'That is what you have been doing for 30 or 40 years, and it hasn't done any good. Why don't you try the opposite? Speak nicely in private, and shout in public. Then we might get somewhere!'" He laughs heartily, recognising the unlikelihood that the voice of an artist could ever displace thousands of years of diplomatic practice.

I ask Kapoor if the scenes he witnessed at Za'atari will inform his art in the future. "Well, yes, but I am not sure how. I am not at all interested in narrative. It just isn't my thing. I believe very, very strongly in the autonomy of the object." He takes me for a little tour of his south London studios, which sprawl over several houses to take over most of the street. He shows me some of the models for future projects, which have yet to be unveiled, including one destined for Versailles next year.

He takes me past some of his famed mirror sculptures, honed and polished to perfection, and then, to another "house", where there are more organic, rougher works. Kapoor is one of the most successful and prosperous artists alive, and the workshop is a hive of activity.

He approaches another work on the wall, which has been covered in protective wrapping. He carefully removes it to reveal a vivid, blood-red sculpture that appears to be a conglomeration of severed arteries and distressed human tissue. It is not a comfortable piece to look at, and we exchange a silent look. Then he says: "You asked me earlier if my experiences have informed my work? Well …" and he points to the disturbing work with an air of inevitability and weariness.

Anish Kapoor is supporting Unicef UK's contemporary art auction, SyriArt, to raise funds to assist Syrian children in danger. All UK public donations to Unicef to help Syrian children will be matched pound for pound by the UK government. www.unicef.org.uk/Special-Events/syria-art-auction/

Photographs: Courtesy of Jordi Matas for Unicef UK; Kalpesh Lathigra, Getty

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