In his compelling new body of work, Syrian painter Elias Izoli turns the familiar imagery of the circus—a world of clowns, tight-rope walkers and trapeze artists—into a searing metaphor for life under the regime of Bashar Al Assad. Vibrant colour meets desperate stillness, and spectacle gives way to survival.

Izoli’s return to painting after several years of hiatus emerges in his exhibition titled Inside Out ’25 at Ayyam Gallery, Dubai. In this series, the circus acts are no longer about entertainment: the performers look burdened. Tight-rope walkers stare into the distance with the thousand-yard gaze of the obligated, trapeze artists swing with their eyes shut not in fear but in yearning to be anywhere but here. Clowns applying make-up stare at themselves through sullen eyes, as if their stage masks resemble daily masks of endurance. 

“Every Syrian… knows what I’m talking about,” says Izoli: “You’d wake up in the morning, have to pass through checkpoints and barriers, not say a word. You’d feel like you’re in a circus, walking a tightrope and trying to keep your balance.” 
In other words: the magician’s illusion is replaced by the political spectacle; the trap-door opens but there is nowhere to hide.

Technically, his work blends acrylic and paper-collage on canvas, offering a textured surface through which his figures inhabit a space that is both guard-and-gate-like. The barrier between them and the viewer is felt. 
His palette—bright circus hues at first glance—carries a weight of anguish, colour used like a child’s love of paint, yet the subject is anything but childish. “It has nothing to do with whether I’m happy or sad… I just like using colour,” the artist remarks. 

At its heart, the exhibition invites the viewer to question what it means to perform: to smile, to juggle, to walk the line—not for applause, but simply to stay standing. Izoli describes this as survival: “You try to prove to yourself that you need to survive… Not for the public or for others, but for yourself.” 

Though the Syrian context is central, Izoli does not stop there. One painting—a black-suited juggler—evokes broader regional trauma (for instance, Gaza). 
Thus, the circus becomes a universal metaphor of tension: joy under constraint, spectacle under surveillance, motion that stills.

Izoli’s practice of naming each work “Untitled” deepens the ambiguity: the performer could be you, me, them. The tent pulls back and exposes a truth: the show goes on, but the cost is invisible. 

For viewers and researchers alike, Inside Out ’25 invites us into a world where the bright lights can blind, where laughter hides dread, where we all – knowingly or not – walk a tightrope.