Q and A with David Hovan (685 words 4 min. read )
1. Your background in art spans between acting, directing, film making, as well as painting. How do you see that all of these are connected somehow, and does that reflect in your art?
Absolutely. For me, they’re all manifestations of storytelling—each with its own language, but rooted in the same desire: to explore the human experience. Acting taught me empathy, directing sharpened my sense of visual rhythm and intention, filmmaking gave me structure, and painting provides the freedom to collapse time and narrative into a single image. These forms don’t compete in my work—they echo each other. Often, what begins as a cinematic idea ends up as a painting, or vice versa.
2. Having lived in many countries around the world, which experience and in which country did you have the most enriching artistic experience and why?
The country that left the deepest impression on me during my formative years is, without question, Lebanon. Those summers by the Mediterranean — swimming under moonlight, the rivers so pure they felt almost sacred, the sunsets that etched themselves into my visual vocabulary — all of it shaped my artistic sensibility long before I knew what that really meant.
Beirut, when it was the ‘Paris of the Middle East,’ was a magnet for creative minds from every corner of the world. There was a raw elegance in its contradictions: mountains brushing against the sea, ancient villages next to a city that never slept, the warmth and openness of people who knew how to celebrate life even in uncertain times.
The richness of those cultural encounters, the shared tables overflowing with food, the music and festivals that seemed to pulse year-round — they became part of my palette, my sense of color, light, and human connection.
3. We understand you were born in Beirut, Lebanon. Do you still visit Lebanon and do you plan any exhibitions there?
Beirut is part of my emotional DNA. I carry it with me wherever I go — its intensity, its contradictions, its resilience. Although I haven’t yet had the chance to return since I left, I remain hopeful that the right opportunity will come to reconnect with the city’s art scene and find a gallery that truly resonates with my work.
Ideally, I’d like any exhibition in Beirut to be more than just a show of my contemporary pieces. I’m interested in engaging with the city’s fragmented visual memory — how the past and present collide in its streets, its architecture, its collective psyche. For me, showing my work there wouldn’t just be about being seen; it would be an act of returning and reimagining what Beirut means to me and hopefully to others too.
4. We are interested in your expertise as an art critic. How do you see that art coverage by journals and art platforms is headed, and do you support constructive criticism in art coverage?
Art criticism is in a state of flux. The digital age democratized opinion, but it also diluted the rigor of true critical engagement. I believe deeply in constructive criticism—it’s not about passing judgment, but about entering into a dialogue. We need more voices that challenge with care, and fewer that echo consensus. A thoughtful critique can nourish an artist more than praise.
5. Sometimes artists take a step to change directions, be it venturing into other forms of art or getting out of their routines. Do you see this as a welcomed step for an artist, or should artists stick to their comfort zones?
In my experience, comfort can easily become the enemy of meaningful growth. I believe it’s important for any artist to be willing to step beyond what feels familiar. Changing direction doesn’t mean abandoning one’s voice — it means expanding its range and staying responsive to where the work wants to go.
Some of my strongest pieces have come from moments of deliberate risk, when I allowed myself to stand in the unknown for a while. That space — where you’re both vulnerable and curious — is often where the most compelling work takes shape.
