September 5, 2026

What Is ‘Narrative Art’? The Lucas Museum Finally Shows Us Its Vision.

 

 

 After several delays, George Lucas’s legacy project is finally ready to open. There’s less “Star Wars” than you might expect.

 Matt Stevens and

It has been almost a decade in the making, but details about the new museum founded by the “Star Wars” creator George Lucas were long as closely guarded as Darth Vader’s true identity.

Among the most important questions: What exactly constitutes a museum of narrative art?

“A museum focused on storytelling in all its forms,” Tracey Bates, the museum’s chief executive, said in a recent interview.

“Narrative art is the universal art of storytelling through images. It’s existed throughout our lifetime,” she added. “Storytelling has always existed. We’re just now a museum that is platforming and showing that.”



After repeated delays and considerable staff turnover, the project is finally ready — as Hollywood says — for its close-up. The Lucas Museum of Narrative Art, set on 13 acres in Exposition Park in South Los Angeles, will open on Sept. 22 at an estimated cost of more than $1 billion, all of it provided by Lucas himself.

The director, 82, had made clear his intention to get it done during his lifetime. And now he has.

To get the obvious question out of the way — is this just a museum of “Star Wars” stuff? — the answer is that Lucas’s cultural juggernaut of a film franchise makes up only about seven percent of the museum’s gallery space. That said, an enormous Naboo N-1 Starfighter does greet visitors in one of the lobbies. And fans can encounter Luke Skywalker’s landspeeder in the cinema gallery and a statue of Yoda atop a fountain in the gardens.

Its architecture can be a bit intergalactic, and Luke Skywalker is never far, but most of the museum is devoted to art far removed from any “Star Wars” theme.

The rest of the museum’s content is largely 20th-century American art organized into broad categories like “family,” “work” and “sports.” There are Norman Rockwell scenes of everyday life; a Pikachu from Pokémon; art from the world of fantasy (“The Lord of the Rings” to Conan the Barbarian); and an entire gallery of graphic art and comic book images.

Also on display is a strip of “Alley Oop,” a comic about a time-traveling cave man; it’s the first artwork Lucas ever acquired. Lucas so reveres comic strips that the filmmaker once tried to make a version of the comic “Flash Gordon,” explained the senior curator, Ryan Linkof. But someone else got the rights, he said, so Lucas made “Star Wars.”

In the lead-up to the museum’s opening, Lucas and Mellody Hobson, his wife and business partner, have been loath to discuss details of the museum’s contents, and Lucas declined to be interviewed for this article.

But along the way they have made clear their general goals: to emphasize storytelling and to highlight illustration, an area often overlooked — and in their view undervalued — by the art world.

“For thousands of years, narrative art has illustrated our myths — the stories we believe that are not necessarily true, but that give us meaning, purpose and a sense of community,” Hobson said in a statement to The New York Times on Tuesday. “Our goal is to create a museum that celebrates illustrators and the art that shows us who we are.”

Critics have questioned whether the images have a thematic core beyond being fun and accessible. The museum has said, yes, there is, but there is also nothing wrong with being fun and accessible.
ImageThree images of a police figure and a child in a diner. They hang on a gallery wall.
Norman Rockwell’s drawing of an encounter between a police officer and child running away from home, its painted companion and a work by Richard Williams referencing it.
Batman and Frida Kahlo.Credit...Banco de México Diego Rivera Frida Kahlo Museums Trust, Mexico, CDMX/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Lucas’s phrase for what he hopes to display is “the people’s art,” and in walking the halls, one can see disparate examples of that, such as a painting by Frida Kahlo juxtaposed with a pop culture artifact like Christian Bale’s Batman suit from “The Dark Knight.”

While some of the artists featured at the museum are household names, many of the illustrators and artists are not included in leading institutional collections.

The inaugural exhibitions at the Lucas Museum include more than 1,300 objects installed across 33 galleries that occupy about 100,000 square feet — not gargantuan but in the upper ranks of museums for sheer size. The ground floor sets the tone with a “history of narrative art” starting with a light-box projection of prehistoric paintings from the Altamira cave in northern Spain and a digital reproduction of the Sistine Chapel.

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In a room, gave paintings are projected on the walls. Above is an image of the cosmos. Ahead, there’s a sculpture of a human figure.
The recreation of cave paintings in an exhibit designed to trace the evolution of imagery and narrative back to prehistoric times.

The fourth floor, home to most of the museum’s galleries, includes book illustrations by N.C. Wyeth, several works by Maxfield Parrish and a room filled with manga that has a full, 43-piece comic that reads right to left along a sweeping curved wall.

The fifth floor is devoted to large-scale public art and murals by the likes of the Mexican artist Diego Rivera, the activist painter Judith F. Baca and the French street artist JR.

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A reproduction of a mural by Diego Rivera shows multitudes of people. At center, a bald man appears to operate a machine surrounded by an abstracted version of an atom. Soldiers are top left. Protesters gather top right. Marx and Lenin are in the throngs.
Because much of the art on display is by illustrators, some of the artists are not as well known as others like Diego Rivera, who is represented by a reproduction of one of his murals.Credit...Banco de México Diego Rivera Frida Kahlo Museums Trust, Mexico, CDMX/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Given the widespread and enduring love of all things “Star Wars,” the museum is likely to become a popular destination, but it has also elicited a robust amount of skepticism. As early as 2017, Christopher Knight, the former art critic for The Los Angeles Times, declared the museum “a terrible idea” with a “dubious artistic mission.”

The Lucas Museum takes pride in being more user-friendly than esoteric — fun as well as serious. Bates said the museum was appealing to a universal love of storytelling in all its forms, and added that the mix of work on display “is what makes us really special.”

“I don’t think we’d ever want to apologize for feeling more accessible,” Bates said. The whole idea, she added, is to “create a lot of art lovers.”

Though initial plans to build it in San Francisco and Chicago were foiled, the Lucas Museum now seems to have the wind at its back in Los Angeles. Momentum is already building around the 2028 Olympics here and the museum’s location in Exposition Park — already home to the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County, the California African American Museum, the California Science Center and a Metro stop — is likely to help draw tourists and locals alike.

The 13 acres of landscaped exterior space is its own attraction, dotted with sculptures like this one of Jabba the Hutt and Princess Leia.

Visitors will find museum grounds that feature verdant parks and gardens, designed by Studio-MLA and the landscape architect Mia Lehrer, as well as 10 large outdoor sculptures. One depicts the impressively gelatinous “Star Wars” character Jabba the Hutt being vanquished by the diminutive, if formidable Princess Leia.

In an interview, Lehrer described how her team created meandering pathways and changing topography to surprise visitors as they round each corner. The landscaping is designed to mirror Southern California’s Mediterranean biome in its planting selections. Jacarandas and bougainvilleas — Lucas’s favorites — were a must, she said.

The building itself is also an attraction — a sprawling, spaceshiplike structure designed by Ma Yansong of the architecture studio MAD (with the company Stantec as the architect of record). It features an elliptical oculus and glass elevator tubes suggestive of a futuristic movie.

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Glass-walled elevators.
The building is filled with content, but is also designed to be an experience in itself.

Ma said in an interview that he was inspired by tree canopies and clouds, and that he sought to design a building that would respond to Hobson’s interest in inspiring young people.

“Curiosity,” he said. “Architecture has to attract people to explore.”

The museum joins several other building projects that have raised the city’s cultural profile, namely the $724 million Geffen Galleries, which opened this year at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art; Dataland, a museum highlighting A.I.-generated art; and the Academy Museum dedicated to the movies.

The Lucas Museum’s campus includes a research library; two theaters; and a rooftop restaurant called Skywalker Grill, which offers a burger made with Wagyu beef from Skywalker Ranch, Lucas’s compound in Marin County, Calif.

And then, of course, there is the gift shop, where 25-cent pencils can be sharpened down from “1st Draft” to “FINAL DRAFT” by would-be screenwriters. The collectible hand-painted porcelain cookie jar in the mold of R2-D2 retails for $210.

In addition to galleries, the museum has a library, two theaters and other spaces.

Gift shop proceeds will help generate revenue for the museum, along with admission fees of $25 for adults and membership packages starting at $140.

Such charges have drawn some criticism, but Bates said the museum — which would not disclose its annual operating budget — “has to be self-sustaining” if it wanted to “outlive its founders.”

Still to be seen is whether critics will come to embrace the museum as a professional cultural institution or dismiss it as Lucas’s vanity project. While its former director, Sandra Jackson-Dumont, was hired away from the Metropolitan Museum of Art to broaden the Lucas’s scope beyond Lucas, she departed last year in a move that was framed as a resignation.

Lucas installed himself as the head of “content direction” and named Jim Gianopulos, a former movie studio executive and Lucas Museum trustee, as interim chief executive.

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The Lucas Museum, as seen from above, in a landscaped setting. The building resembles a spaceship.
The museum is in an area of Los Angeles, Exposition Park, which is also home to other cultural attractions that will probably help draw visitors.

Jackson-Dumont’s exit was accompanied by several other senior leadership departures — including the chief financial officer, the general counsel, the head of development, the director of exhibitions as well as the heads of information technology, security and education.

Bates stepped in as chief executive in January, having advised the museum as a consultant over the last six years.

She downplayed the staff turnover. Lucas, she said, “has always been the chief curator.” She added that “the planning, the mission, vision and values of this organization have never changed.”

Some of those values are evident in a gallery devoted to illustrations from children’s books. The Cowardly Lion stands in the middle of the room, brave and tall, near drawings of Winnie-the-Pooh and creatures from Maurice Sendak’s “Where the Wild Things Are.”

Bates calls this one of her favorite, most emotional spaces in the museum. It is in the pages of storybooks, she said, where we learn “things aren’t hiding in our cupboards” and where our relationship with art so often begins.

THE NEW YORK TIMES 

Filmmaker Joel Coen Puts His Spin on the Photos of Lee Friedlander

  

Two women in glamorous get-up at a party in 1969, the black-and-white photo is splintered by two posts.

It was a happy fallout of Covid.

During the pandemic shutdown, the filmmaker Joel Coen and his wife, the actress Frances McDormand, hunkered down in their home on the Marin County coast of California. The photography dealer Jeffrey Fraenkel and his husband, Alan Mark, a real-estate consultant, relocated from San Francisco to their weekend house in a neighboring town. The two couples, who knew each other casually, began spending more time together.

One evening, Fraenkel asked if Coen and McDormand were familiar with the work of Lee Friedlander. At 88, Friedlander is one of the greatest living photographers, whose pictures Fraenkel has been exhibiting for more than 40 years.

“I thought Lee was ripe for an outside approach and inviting a filmmaker seemed like the way to go,” Fraenkel said of his matchmaking inspiration. “Anyone who’s seen Joel’s movies knows he has a special eye for images.”

Although the subjects of Friedlander’s black-and-white photographs since the early ’60s have been wide-ranging — public monuments, motel rooms, party scenes, portraits, self-portraits, nudes and landscapes — what unites them is his unerring sense of composition. In his ability to create harmonious wholes out of urban fragments, he is the contemporary heir to Eugène Atget, who memorialized Paris in the early 20th century. Like Atget, too, Friedlander finds unexpected juxtapositions in the reflections in plate-glass windows.

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Two men in glasses looking at a large group of prints by Lee Friedlander. Other hands are in the photograph, pointing at images on the page, but we don’t see those people.
Jeffrey Fraenkel and Joel Coen looking at Lee Friedlander prints.Credit...Lee Friedlander

The witty and carefully crafted movies that Coen has written and directed — most with his brother, Ethan, including “Barton Fink,” “Fargo” and “No Country for Old Men”— display a similar flair for revealing the mystery in what might seem at first glance to be ordinary and banal.

Fraenkel’s question about Friedlander landed on fertile ground. “I certainly knew of him, and I think Fran did a little,” Coen said recently, in a joint video interview with McDormand from California. “Jeffrey floated the idea of doing a show of Lee’s photographs. He said it could be whatever you want. ‘Just 10 photographs if you like.’ ”

Coen and McDormand visited the Friedlanders in New City, N.Y., to make sure they were simpatico. The meeting was a great success. “They came here with Jeffrey,” Friedlander recalled. “We were ready for them with food, but they brought food, too. We had a sort of picnic indoors. When Joel and I met, we both thought we might have known each other. We didn’t, but we were so familiar with each other.”

Over the last year, Coen expanded the project into a sequenced book of 70 Friedlander photos, “Framed,” that is the basis for two exhibitions, at the Fraenkel Gallery in San Francisco, from May 6 through June 24, and at Luhring Augustine in New York, from May 13 to June 24. Each show will display about 45 photos.

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A photo of a broad street, or highway, that curves around to the left of the photo. In the background is the Memphis Pyramid, and the back of a Yield sign in the foreground meets the pyramid so we see one triangle on top of the other. Barbed wire is on a fence on the left.
Lee Friedlander, “Memphis,” 2003. The landmark Memphis Pyramid touches tips with a Yield sign that is mounted on a slightly off-kilter vertical post. Along with the post’s shadow, the shadow of the photographer can be seen at the bottom right.Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York
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A street scene with cars coming around a corner. Buildings are in the background and the corner has a post that’s tilted to the left, bisecting the photo.
Lee Friedlander, “Tucson, Arizona,” 1970. A post that was once vertical has tilted diagonally, so it resembles a giant arrow shot into the ground.Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York

Coen began by leafing through books of Friedlander pictures and decided to arrange the new book to draw attention to Friedlander’s compositional approaches. “Looking through these books and going back and forth, it was a pattern recognition for me — patterns which I know are instinctive but are manifold in everything he does,” he said.

He began with the artist’s simplest formal structures and advanced into greater complexity. “The first thing I noticed was the splitting,” Coen explained. Friedlander repeatedly organizes a picture with a vertical post dividing the frame. “The post, the post,” Coen continued. “Then I see the posts are slightly diagonal, and the affinity between the diagonal post and how car interiors are designed. Then I see how he uses diagonal shadows like the posts. Now I see how he is using television screens like windows. Now I see how he is using light to define the same areas.” As the book unfolds, the themes and variations become evident.

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A street scene in Seattle with four bystanders by a building. One woman is standing holding a baby, while another is looking toward the camera, holding books. The photo is shot from the back seat of a car, the car door is open, creating various angles and bisecting the photo.
Lee Friedlander, “Seattle,” 1967. Putting together the new book, Joel Coen found “an affinity between the diagonal post and how car interiors are designed.” The door and window frames of the car divide the street scene of bystanders.Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York
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An interior scene, with a television on the left and a mirrored door opening to a bathroom with a toilet seat up on the right. The mirror on the door reflects a window and we see a blurry urban skyline in the distance.
Lee Friedlander, “Nashville,” 1963. “I see how he is using television screens like windows,” Coen said. In both “Nashville” and “Waddy, Kentucky,” a scene outside the window is complemented by another on the TV set.Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York
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The interior of a wallpapered room. A television set is on the left with a closeup of a man facing the camera; on the wall is a photo of a man's head and shoulders. A window reveals a man leaning over an old tractor (or what looks like a tractor).
Lee Friedlander, “Waddy, Kentucky,” 1969.Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York

“Because he’s a filmmaker, he would show me the sequences on an iPad,” McDormand recalled of the way her husband storyboarded the book.

In addition to the book, Coen created for the two gallery shows what he calls a “flip book” — a three-and-a-half-minute video of images arranged in an order that highlights these strategies.

To learn what the artist thinks of Coen’s curatorial approach, I traveled to suburban Rockland County on the west side of the Hudson to pay a call on Friedlander and his wife, Maria Friedlander, driving down a wooded road, past an apple orchard, to the rambling 1947 house faced with brown shingle and stone from a local quarry that they have inhabited for over half a century.

Friedlander said he found Coen’s observations intriguing. “I tend to put posts in,” he remarked. “He says all kinds of nice things that I don’t recognize. Splitting, splintering. Evidently my pictures are that way, but I didn’t think, ‘I want to take a splintering picture.’ If you’ve done the same thing for 60 years, you don’t think of motive very much. I just walk and see something interesting.”

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A view from a bridge of a river, foliage on either side. On the right we can see buildings in the background. The shot is murky and gray; two large cables cut through the center of the photo vertically.
Lee Friedlander, “New York City,” 1973. “The post, the post,” said Coen. “I’ve always been very much of the opinion that the obligation of the person who makes the work is to make the work, and the obligation of the people who view the work is to think about it.”Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York
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A street corner where two multi-lane streets come together. A star is embedded in the pavement, suggesting the Hollywood stars. In the foreground, a man leans against a post with a box at the top that says "Fire." The post is for calling the fire department.
Lee Friedlander, “Los Angeles,” 1967.Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York
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A split image. On the left is a large building with State Bank of Albany spelled backward; it’s a mirror image. On the right a woman is standing on the sidewalk. A trash can near her reads, Keep Albany Clean. Across the street are large buildings.
Lee Friedlander, “Albany, New York,” 1967. Only after printing the negative did Friedlander realize that the left side of the image is a building reflection that merges seamlessly into the directly viewed building on the right.Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York

Friedlander works with film. Unlike a digital photographer, an artist who shoots film doesn’t see the images until the film is processed and printed on contact sheets. Photography thrives on accidents; there can be surprises. “In one photograph, the reflection looks like part of the building,” Friedlander said of “Albany, New York, 1967,” a picture that Coen chose for the book. “I didn’t notice until I printed it.”

Friedlander is the most cerebral of photographers, making intricate images marked by divisions, reflections and repetitions; and yet, discussing his work, he insists that none of this is on his mind when he takes the picture. “It’s just a great game,” he said. “As complicated as a picture could get, it’s done in 1/100th of a second — or less.”

When asked about this paradox, Coen said, “I’m extremely sympathetic to Lee’s point of view in how he thinks about his own work. It comes up with any writer, photographer or filmmaker, because you’re always asked to analyze your own process or the obsessions of your own work. I’ve always been very much of the opinion that the obligation of the person who makes the work is to make the work, and the obligation of the people who view the work is to think about it.”

“You’re not living retrospectively,” McDormand interjected. “You’re living alive in the moment, creating something.”

“But when I look at someone else’s work, I take on the mantle of the opposite side of the fence,” Coen continued. “Whether you intended it or not, I’m telling you what I see and what I’m drawn to.”

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A man stands against a wall, he’s wearing a V-neck T-shirt and has glasses hanging around his neck. His eyes are closed, and a square of light illuminates his face and casts a shadow of his head on the wall.
Lee Friedlander, “Tokyo,” 1994. The artist is a master manipulator of shadows, as seen in this self-portrait.Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York

A still photographer and a filmmaker have very different aims, Coen said. “I take photos with my iPhone like everybody else, but I was looking at a visual form that I have no connection to. The primary thing in cinematography is a narrative, and everything else is secondary. Often the director of photography will set up a shot that is so beautiful but so deficient from a narrative point of view.” And the shot is scrapped.

Coen said that Friedlander’s photographs are animated with his idiosyncratic wit. “They are extremely cerebral, they are extremely formal,” he explained. “At the same time, they have a sense of humor, a very delicate one. For that reason, they’re not cold. I love the fact that they’re so complicated that way, but he doesn’t talk about them analytically.”

McDormand is drawn to the long, close marriage of the Friedlanders, who were wed in 1958. “I think Jeffrey was interested in us meeting them,” she said. She remarked that for her, this was a story about three married couples. “The six of us, we don’t have to do anything we don’t want to do,” she said. She was especially moved by Lee’s portraits of Maria, in particular “Maria, Las Vegas, 1970,” which is also in the new book.

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The photographer’s wife Maria was often his model, as seen in this black and white photo of her partially nude in their bedroom.
Lee Friedlander, “Maria, Las Vegas,” 1970. “There is a tenderness,” Frances McDormand said of this photo. She found the casting of “his shadow across her partially nude body” to be “resonant of their whole relationship.”Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York
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A room that leads into other rooms, all spare. The shadows of a man and a woman standing next to each other are in the foreground, illuminated by a rectangle of light.
Lee Friedlander, “Santa Fe,” 2005. Married since 1958, Lee and Maria Friedlander are side by side in the mirrored image at the end of the corridor and in the looming shadows in the foreground.Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York

“There is a tenderness,” she said. “One of the most resonant ones, for both of us, is his shadow across her partially nude body. For me, and then meeting them, that photograph is resonant to their whole relationship.”

Friedlander continues to photograph, and six days a week, he prints from his old negatives in a spacious darkroom he constructed in the basement of his house. “I love working,” he said. The prints he is making now are of the landscapes he photographed 20 years ago in the West — thick tangles of branches, boulders and pine needles.

“I’m still shooting the same subjects when I go out west,” he said. “The more jumble, the better I like them — if they work. I don’t want to repeat Ansel Adams. It wouldn’t be any fun to do that.”

Images like “Albany, New York, 1967,” where a woman stands by a post that divides a row of tall buildings from the mirrored reflection of other tall buildings, or “California, 1970,” with the diagonal struts of Plexiglas pay-phone enclosures interrupting and refracting the city scene, organize urban chaos miraculously. Coen said that as he perused Friedlander’s photographs, he thought at one point, “‘These are impossible compositions. How does it happen that these things that seem to be so impossible are so perfect?’ Thinking more about an artist I admire was the whole motivation.”

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A busy urban corner. At right is a man in a phone half-booth; at left is a rotary phone in a half-booth and much of the photo is shot through its glass, refracting light and images. A woman is in the middle of the photo; we see someone’s legs near her, as if the person is lying on their side. People and street signs and buildings are in the background.
Lee Friedlander, “California,” 1970. A street scene that is jazzily syncopated with diagonal metal frames and plexiglass transparencies and refractions. Credit...Lee Friedlander, via Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Luhring Augustine, New York
 
THE NEW YORK TIMES  


 

 

 

Sliman Mansour, Artist Who Depicted Palestinian Struggle

 

 

A black and white photo of Sliman Mansour sitting before a painting depicting laborers in an orchard.

His idealized images of heroic Palestinian women, men and children made their way into hundreds of homes as inspirational posters.

 

Sliman Mansour, a painter and sculptor whose socialist-realism style of images depicting the struggles of Palestinians made their way into hundreds of homes as inspirational posters, died on Aug. 24 in East Jerusalem. He was 79.

His death, in a hospital, was announced by his family, who did not specify a cause.

Mr. Mansour painted idealized images of heroic Palestinian women, men and children against the backdrop of a landscape — filled with olive groves, orange trees, terraced gardens, stone houses — that he had known as a child but that now in many cases no longer exists, after years of Israeli settlement.

His brightly colored canvases — reminiscent of the Mexican muralist Diego Rivera, whom he admired, and with hints of Chagall — were explicitly political. The symbolic images that bedecked his paintings, including olive branches, guns and doves, were easily understood and translated readily into widely reproduced posters.

That earned him unwanted attention from Israeli authorities but also hundreds of thousands of dollars from rich collectors and museums in the Arab world. Major collections — the Arab World Institute in Paris and the Guggenheim Abu Dhabi, among others — hold his work.

ImageA painting of a man bent over from carrying the load of a satchel that bears the image of Jerusalem.
“Camel of Hardship” (1973) is Mr. Mansour’s best known image. It exists as a poster in many Palestinian homes.Credit...Sliman Mansour

His best-known image, the oil painting “Camel of Hardship” (1973), is of an elderly, hunched-over Palestinian man struggling under the burden of an image of Jerusalem, which he carries in a sack on his back. It exists as a poster in many Palestinian homes.

Another painting, “The Sea Is Mine” (2016), shows a boy, a girl and a woman striding impassively forward along a beach; in the background, impervious Israelis sun themselves, while the three figures, under a flying dove, hold aloft a gun, a key and a set of paint brushes.

“The artistic was the vehicle for the political” in Mr. Mansour’s art, the Palestinian art scholar Sascha Crasnow, an assistant professor at Drake University in Iowa, said in an interview. “He’s creating the Palestinian iconography, an iconography that clearly had national meaning,” Professor Crasnow said, calling Mr. Mansour “extremely foundational” for Palestinian art.

“He is an important artist,” the Palestinian-American artist and scholar Samia Halaby said of Mr. Mansour in a 2012 interview with the online magazine Jadaliyya. She also called him one of the best-known of all Palestinian artists, noting his role traveling back and forth through Palestinian villages after the 1967 Arab-Israeli war to connect artists and youth and to highlight the importance of art as a tool of liberation.

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A painting of three figures, two with raised fists -- with one clutching a gun, the other a key -- and a third with a raised open palm. A dove soars overhead.
“The Sea Is Mine” (2016). “I reflect, in my art, my way of life; and my bad luck is that I am under occupation,” Mr. Mansour said in 2018.Credit...Sliman Mansour

Mr. Mansour depicted the commitment of his own art to politics less as a matter of choice than of necessity.

“I reflect, in my art, my way of life; and my bad luck is that I am under occupation,” he told Germany’s Deutsche Welle radio in a 2018 interview. “I didn’t choose that. It would be surrealistic to live under occupation and to paint nice flowers and beautiful women, and everything is so nice.”

He made money from his art — a print of “The Sea Is Mine” sells for more than $1,000 at the Zawyeh Gallery in Ramallah — but he was hardly immune from the humiliations of Palestinian life.

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A photo portrait of Mr. Mansour, bearded, in a white shirt.
Mr. Mansour in 2009. “His art was deeply rooted in the Palestinian experience,” his son Bassel wrote in an email.Credit...Fares S. Mansour

As he recalled in a 2018 interview with the BBC, an Israeli officer summoned him to his office in 1980 and said, “Why are you making political paintings, why don’t you paint a nice flower?” After that, Mr. Mansour vowed to never make paintings of flowers.

In 1981, he was arrested and jailed for two weeks. “No reason,” he told the BBC. He was with family in Nablus, “photographing villages,” he said, when the authorities, “stopped me and took my film.”

A bag was slipped over his head, and he was handcuffed and beaten, he later told the art news website Hyperallergic in 2023.

Despite this, he refused to leave the land from which he drew inspiration.

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A painting of a woman standing in a desert with a pack, depicting Jerusalem, balanced on her head.
“Woman With Jerusalem” (1978). The outbreak of the 1967 war interrupted his studies, but he found camaraderie with other like-minded artists with whom he formed political artist groups.Credit...Sliman Mansour

“Everything is complicated here,” he told Deutsche Welle. “They want to complicate our lives, and their end aim is for you to be fed up and leave. That’s why I don’t want to leave, no matter what happens.”

Sliman Anis Mansour was born on July 27, 1947, in the village of Birzeit, north of Jerusalem, in what was then the British Mandate of Palestine.

He was 4 when his father, Anis Mansour, a farmer, died, and Sliman and his five siblings were largely raised by their mother, Kamal (Shaheen) Mansour. She “spent all her time working, sewing clothes to make a living for us,” he recalled to Deutsche Welle. “She didn’t have time to talk to us.”

He developed an early interest in drawing and was accepted for study at the Art Institute of Chicago but was prevented from going by the outbreak of the 1967 war. He then enrolled at the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design in Jerusalem but left in 1970 before graduating.

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A black and white photo of Mr. Mansour painting a wall mural.
Mr. Mansour in 1966. He sidestepped the more popular mode of abstract expressionism at the time to cultivate his interest in realism.Credit...via Mansour family

The fashion, then, was for abstract expressionism, but Mr. Mansour said to Deutsche Welle that he detested it, sticking with a kind of realism to which he remained faithful throughout his career.

In the early 1970s, he and several peers co-founded the League of Palestinian Artists and committed themselves to producing work that could be printed on posters, to gain the widest possible diffusion.

In 1987, in response to the first intifada, a series of Palestinian protests and uprisings, he and others founded a group they called New Vision, vowing to boycott Israeli-produced artists’ supplies and opting for natural materials derived from the soil: mud, straw, wood, leather and henna.

Mr. Mansour produced a number of sculptural works using mud, a material he told the German radio station “reflects the human fate, with the cracks, people waiting to disappear, fall down and go away.”

In 1978, he married Hanan Kattoua. Besides his wife, he is survived by two sons, Fares and Bassel; two daughters, Sahar and Abeer; three sisters, Hilaneh, Adibeh and Aniseh; two brothers, Adib and George; and five grandchildren.

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A painting of a dove, high in the sky, with an olive branch in its beak. People below raise their arms to it.
“Symbol of Hope,” 1985. “Everything is complicated here,” Mr. Mansour said in 2018. “They want to complicate our lives, and their end aim is for you to be fed up and leave. That’s why I don’t want to leave, no matter what happens.”Credit...Sliman Mansour

“His art was deeply rooted in the Palestinian experience,” his son Bassel wrote in an email. “He used it both as a form of resistance to the Israeli occupation and as a means of preserving Palestinian identity, memory and attachment to the land.”

Increasingly pessimistic about the prospects for peace, and for his own people, Mr. Mansour told interviewers toward the end of his career that he was turning away from the “heroic” subjects of earlier years.

“I can’t make heroic paintings like I used to,” he told the BBC in 2018. “I can’t make nice landscapes now. Everything is destroyed.”

Alain Delaquérière contributed research.

Adam Nossiter has been bureau chief in Kabul, Paris, West Africa and New Orleans and is now a writer on the Obituaries desk.