This feature, by Arab Media Watch chairman Sharif Hikmat Nashashibi, was originally published in British-Arab magazine Sharq.

At first glance, one could be forgiven for perceiving Gazan artist Laila Shawa as quiet and reserved. But scratch the surface and one finds a passionate, opinionated critic of our times, whose views are as strongly held as they are coolly conveyed.

I think it is very important to point out what is ridiculous in people's existence," Laila tells me in London's October Gallery, where her work was exhibited from April 28 to May 21 this year. "I was always very intrigued by the relationship of man to the world, and I always saw the absurd in that relationship, the contradictions in life."

Perhaps she is able to do this so effectively because she seems to present contradictions of her own. Though "immersed" in art, she fell into it by "pure accident". Non-religious and "very removed from nationalism", she has nonetheless focused on both. She is as quick to oppose certain aspects of the Arab world as she is to defend it. While greatly respected and featured in some of the world's most prestigious museums and galleries, she is her biggest critic, "constantly unhappy" with her work. But it is these contradictions that make her so fascinating and intriguing as a person and an artist.

"I really like her ability to distil images into pure emotion," says gallery owner Hammad Nasar. "You are left touched when you see her work, and it is not just because of the content. Her use of colours is striking, and the way she evokes emotive responses."

Laila studied politics at the University of Cairo, but was persuaded by a friend of her father to join the Leonardo Da Vinci college in Italy, which she enjoyed so much that a year later she won a scholarship to go to the Academy of Fine Arts in Rome. At the same time she attended the San Giaccomo Free Academy, and spent her summers in Austria's School of Vision, run by Oscar Kokochka, one of the world's most renowned expressionists.

"I thought my parents would never let me go," says Laila. "But I was very privileged that they believed in one being educated, and I do not think it even crossed my father's mind that a girl at that age cannot just travel abroad."

Upon returning to Gaza, she focused on the "hypocrisy and double standards in that society, which I think exists in all societies."

She later discovered a love for architecture. "From total abstraction of landscapes, I went into very detailed landscapes that were more inspired by Islamic and Byzantine architecture. But I always invented cities that had no people in them, almost as if to suggest that it is a better world without people because they ruin everything."

Laila put her career on hold for 10-12 years during the Lebanese civil war as she was living between Beirut, London and Gaza. "I almost thought I lost it and that I was not going to go back to art."

But the revival of the Islamic movement in the Middle East motivated her to return. "I did a series on the re-veiling of women and the hypocrisy of that re-veiling, and the fact that it is a political rather than a religious movement. Women were being manipulated."

She says this caused great controversy because it was taken the wrong way. "I was not criticising women wearing veils, but the reasons behind it. I was criticising the escapism I see in women veiling themselves or accepting to be veiled in that manner. It caused quite a stir."

It also, however, produced one of her most popular pieces, "The Impossible Dream", which portrays women trying to eat ice cream over their veils.

Laila then did a series on the use in the Middle East of magic to resolve problems. "We have a tendency to blame our shortcomings on the unknown. We have nothing to do with our failures. I did a lot of research in Gaza and Egypt and I was startled to find that 60-70% of the population believe in magic and the use of magic."

This coincided with the start of the first intifada. "Although I was completely opposed to nationalist art as such, I found myself very intrigued by what was happening in Gaza, and I felt that because it was a very critical period in the history of the fight against occupation, I had to do something about it, and the only thing I could do was photograph it, because the landscape changed constantly. People were writing on the walls, then the writing would be removed. The next day, it was a completely different wall to the one you were looking at the night before."

The hundreds, if not thousands of pictures she took turned into her next series, "The Walls of Gaza".

"I was not photographing graffiti. We do not have graffiti. We have the history of a people, a conversation, a dialogue on the walls of Gaza. It was amazing. People were not allowed to use any form of communication like radios or newspaper, nothing, so the only way they could communicate with each other was through writing on the walls. If you wanted to know who has died yesterday, all you had to do was go on the streets and you would read it on the walls, so they duplicated newspapers if you like. What was also intriguing was the layering of the writing, and the effect of the traces of what people leave behind. I got involved in the messages, I got involved in the lives of people and it became almost a crusade in my mind."

This led to Laila focusing on the trauma of children in war zones in a series entitled "Children of War, Children of Peace". "Children are the future of a country, and if this future is cut short then the country has no future. What I feel the Israelis are trying to do is to totally eliminate any chance of a future generation taking over and making a viable country stand next to Israel."

This led to another of her most popular pieces, "Target", which portrays a gun aimed at the head of a Palestinian boy standing against a wall. "'Target' has been published just about everywhere in the world. It is extremely popular. It has left a big impact."

Most recently, Laila was so sickened by events in Palestine and Iraq that she started painting flowers, which she says is totally against her nature. She also painted people with fruits on their heads, "because I think we live in a mad world that has no logic."

What is perhaps most notable about her work is its timeless nature, the fact that her themes, particularly walls and Islam, are as relevant today as when she produced them.

Laila says she has no plans to do comparative work on the wall Israel is building in the West Bank because it "is very much there, it is evident, there is no reason for me to do anything. It speaks for itself."

However, just before its construction she produced "Letters to Omaya", a blade wire mounted on a wall with written letters stuck inside the wire. It tells the very sad, personal tale of one of Laila's cousins in Beit Hanoun who was unable to travel to Jerusalem for cancer treatment. She died a prisoner in her own home, surrounded by Israeli tanks.

"I could not even go to Gaza to see her or be with her. This work is about that. It is this barrier that is stopping us from living our lives and is participating in our lives. We cannot even bury our dead."

Laila's work is received well in the Arab world as well as the West, but in different ways. She says Arabs prefer her decorative work because they do not like to be challenged. "I am not an easy artist for them to digest, because my work either has a critical angle of one thing or another, or it is political, in which case they do not want to know."

She says the opposite is true in the West, and feels that although there is a very large Arab art movement, it is in need of support that is not sufficiently provided by Arab governments and people. She laments this because while "Arabs are not doing anything near enough to alter the image they have in the West," Arab artists have an important role to play in this regard.

"Art is a very important language. It changes the perceptions of people. It is the ability to shape the world the way you want."

You can read more about Laila and view her work at www.lailashawa.com.