We are honored to introduce the first work of this collection. Titled If you bury me I might bloom, this work was created in a moment of profound powerlessness, yet it radiates both resistance and hope. As Nadia Sawas reflects, “On one level, it speaks about how expectations placed on women (about how we should be or behave or what we should wish for) can bury certain parts of us that don’t fit in those ideas. We kind of feel the need to kill those parts, muting them.“

On the surface of the work, abstract layers of paint, pencil, and fragmented text float across the canvas, while a translucent white wash — conceived as a shroud (Leichentuch) — envelopes everything in a veil of loss, transformation, and the tension of the Madonna-whore dichotomy. Words appear in varying scales; some bold, large and loud, others small and whisper-soft. Sometimes almost completely hidden, at other times hovering just under the skin of the painting. These lyrical fragments, together with nearly transparent symbols and color strokes, might suggest the internal monologues, the hidden pain and hopes — the unspoken demands that shape identity.
The brushstrokes are delicate yet dynamic: soft color transitions meet sharper and blurry lines, as though the suppressed is pushing through. Yet beneath this quiet mourning lies a force of regeneration. Inspired by the artist’s love of gardening, the layers evoke seeds pushing through soil: what is buried is not extinguished, but nurtured for rebirth.

Presented on this day, November 25, the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, the work gently invites reflection: It calls us to examine the biases and roles that constrain us. Not only for those who identify as women, but for everyone, and to consider: which parts of our humanity are we ready to unearth, to let bloom?

In Switzerland, every week a woman from any social and cultural background survives an attempted femicide. In 2025, 25 women have already been killed. Official statistics only capture known cases; the true scale of gender-based violence remains unknown, as there is no national registry of femicides. 
Each year, around 50,000 women and girls worldwide are killed by partners or family members.

More artworks will continue to emerge within the next month, each offering a voice to the silenced and space for reflection, dialogue, nurturing awareness, and the hope that buried truth can bloom.

Gentle Call to Action:

Hold a moment of quiet awareness for those who have lost their lives to gender-based violence.

Acknowledge the signs of silencing — in yourself, in others — and choose to respond with compassion rather than dismissal and judgement.

Reach out with presence to someone who may feel isolated or unheard; sometimes being seen is a form of protection.

Commit to speaking gently but clearly when you notice harmful patterns, jokes, or attitudes that normalize gender-based violence, gender bias or diminish someone’s worth.

Seek help if you are in an unsafe situation. In the canton of Zurich you can call Opferberatung Zürich: +41 44 455 21 42 or visit https://www.opferhilfe-schweiz.ch and https://www.stopfemizid.ch/kontaktliste

By Anna Maurrasse, Founder & Director ARTPOWHER Contemporary

Artist Statement:

In my work, I explore how internalized imprints – cultural, emotional, and personal – shape the way we perceive ourselves and the world. At the core of my practice are self-perception and self-reflection. I aim to create spaces where emotions become tangible and accessible: where feeling takes precedence over aesthetic perfection, and where art becomes a place to remember, confront, and connect.
My paintings and installations are often allegorical. They are built on layers of tension, contradiction, and emotional texture, interconnected through both subtle harmonies and deliberate discomforts. I see myself as an interpreter of the world, using painting and writing as forms of translation: attempts to render inner states into a visual, emotional language.

I often revisit ancient myths and symbols. I believe there is a reason these visual narratives continue to accompany us. They have lost none of their relevance. Storytelling is a deeply human instinct. It speaks to our longing for connection, for meaning, for a shared way of interpreting experience and making sense of the world. At their core, these stories mirror each other across time and culture. We still encounter them today: in literature, music, and even in something as mundane as a Netflix series.

My visual language is intentionally raw. As a woman of my generation, I was taught – both directly and implicitly – that value is tied to beauty, neatness, and being pleasing. My way of countering that is by working with brushes from the hardware store and embracing a rough, expressive style. This deliberate coarseness is an act of reclamation: an effort to let the surface breathe, to keep the image imperfect, unafraid, and alive.

I think of my paintings as color poems or blind mirrors – images that don’t reflect back clearly, but instead invite slow recognition. Many of them carry echoes of phantom pain: the residue of years in which I could not fully live out my purpose. Through art, I attempt to open portals - places where something ancient remembers, and something deeply human is finally allowed to feel.