Art and the muse: The many shades of Bayt Ali Gana in conflict-torn Libya

Under the desert sun in Libya, a woman with salt-and-pepper hair and distinctive red-framed glasses stands beneath a simple but striking sign: “Café Said,” the name written in both English and Arabic.

The woman is Hadia Gana—artist, ceramicist, and the driving force behind one of Libya’s few cultural sanctuaries: Bayt Ali Gana (House of Ali Gana).

In a country more often defined by conflict than creativity, Hadia has carved out a place where art can survive, even thrive. She has done this not just in tribute to her father’s legacy, but as an act of resistance in a nation struggling to redefine itself.

Bayt Ali Gana, as it stands today, includes a small café, exhibition rooms, and a modest library. The villa bears the scars of war—a road sign riddled with bullet holes hangs from the gate, and in the garden, mortar shells have been turned upside down and repurposed as planters, in Tripoli’s old quarters.

It took more than a decade of dedication—and the help of numerous volunteers—for Hadia Gana to transform the villa her father built into this cultural sanctuary.

Inside Bayt Ali Gana which opened this year, visitors are greeted by a lush garden, leading them to an exhibition showcasing Ali Gana’s paintings, sculptures, and sketches. Other rooms host temporary exhibits and provide space for seminars and workshops.

One of the more striking features is a converted shipping container that serves as an artist residency, designed for curators and museologists—skills that are in short supply in Libya, according to Hadia.

Cultural oasis in fractured nation

In the early aughts, Hadia could never have predicted that her family’s home would become a museum. Yet when her father, Ali Gana died in 2006, everything changed. His passing marked not only the loss of a cultural icon, but a personal loss that shaped Hadia’s future in ways she never anticipated.

Ali Gana’s influence extended far beyond his own work. He mentored artists, contributed to national artistic projects, and helped lay the groundwork for modern art in Libya.

Yet, when he passed away, the reaction was muted. Hadia recalls the moment when hospital staff casually referred to him as “just an old man who died.” The comment struck her deeply. “That hurt,” she remembers. “I couldn’t let that be the end of his story.”

This wasn’t just about a daughter’s grief. It was about the broader cultural amnesia that threatened to erase her father’s contributions to Libyan art.

The 2011 revolution brought with it a new set of fears. Hadia feared that the violence could destroy the house and the trove of art it contained. She began scanning and archiving her father’s papers, research, and artwork—a small act of defiance against the war raging outside.

A pivotal moment came when a friend from the Netherlands intervened just as Hadia was considering selling a piece of family land to finance the project. Her friend’s advice was: “You don’t sell your land. Let Libyans support you.” That conversation transformed Hadia’s perspective.

With renewed determination, Hadia built walls, installed lights, and sought the help of family and friends for the renovations. Slowly, the house began to change. Neighbours, and local artists pitched in, helping to bring Bayt Ali Gana to life.

“It was built piece by piece,” Hadia reflects. “There were days when I felt completely overwhelmed. The country was in chaos, and I thought, ‘Will this place ever see the light of day?’ But I kept going because I believed in the vision.”

Art as act of resistance

What started as a personal project of preservation soon evolved into a much larger vision: Bayt Ali Gana, a cultural center that could hold and nourish Libya’s fragile artistic heritage.

For Hadia, Bayt Ali Gana was more about creating a space where art could flourish, even in a country grappling with its own identity in the wake of the revolution. Libya was not just a battlefield for political control; it was a battleground for cultural influence as well.

“Art is for everyone,” she says. “Bayt Ali Gana had to stay open to all.” For Hadia, the cafe was an act of resistance against forces that sought to constrict Libya’s artistic and cultural life.

Asked whether her father ever envisioned their home becoming a cultural centre, Hadia smiles. “I don’t think he expected it,” she says. “He was more focused on education, on passing on knowledge to the next generation.”

Nevertheless, Hadia believes her father would have supported what she’s created. “He cared deeply about education, so while a museum wasn’t on his mind, I think he would have appreciated what we’ve built here, especially with the educational programs we’re planning to expand.”

“It’s not a mausoleum,” she says, “but a vibrant hub of creativity and learning.”

Hadia’s vision for the future is far more expansive. One of her primary goals is to make art accessible to Libyan children. “Art isn’t a luxury,” she says. “It’s a necessity. It’s about expressing yourself, about building a better future.”

Workshops at Bayt Ali Gana already serve as meeting points for artists and art lovers to share ideas, exchange skills, and foster a sense of community. For Hadia, community lies at the heart of everything she does—and it is something she hopes to continue growing.

Symbol of hope and survival

In one room of the museum, an image of Ali Gana—focused on his craft—is surrounded by clippings and articles about his work. This corner is both a tribute and a testament to the idea that art, like history, must not be forgotten. The walls of Bayt Ali Gana are adorned with his legacy, but they also tell the story of Hadia’s unrelenting determination to preserve and build.

“I’ve learned that art isn’t just about beauty,” Hadia says, her voice steady with conviction. “It’s about survival. It’s about creating something that will outlast you.”

As Libya continues to navigate political turmoil and societal change, Bayt Ali Gana remains a powerful reminder that, even in the darkest times, art has the potential to be both a refuge and a revolutionary force.