A quest for identity
These photographs encapsulate a chapter of my life, documenting my daily experiences in Beirut within the four walls of various apartments. They bear witness to the profound impact of recent events on the country, including the Revolution of October 2019, the explosion of the port in August 2020, and the ongoing economic crises. Like a personal diary, these images unveil both the visible and the concealed, the desire to find a sense of belonging amidst the tumultuous confusion and chaos engulfing Lebanon. A reality often concealed or forgotten but ever-present in our surroundings.
During this period, I often turned the camera towards myself. At times, it provided clarity, helping me grasp my own identity, while other times it left me feeling lost or disoriented, struggling to find my rightful place. I anticipated finding answers, only to find myself trapped in the same familiar routine. The course of life changes, yet time remains suspended. It felt as if I were trapped in a frozen image, where the past and present entwine and loop, inviting eternity. These images become memories, sacred and nostalgic, preserving a delicate diary that illuminates the enigmatic nature of life and the passage of time.
June 16th 2018, Hotel Dieu
I want to remember every moment, every room I lived in - my first Lebanese apartment.
Mirrors and windows leave an infinite opening to the world and the possibilities of what one can be.
Almost every day I read my coffee book. Today I strangely saw a human form in there. An hour later, after setting my mug aside, this man transformed into some sort of Minotaur. Is this a sign of bad omen ?
The eternal fight of the mankind, lost in his thoughts, dominated by his impulses.
June 22nd 2018, Hotel Dieu
I sometimes wonder if I’m trying to take over a place or my own body.
August 04th 2020, Hamra.
Still confined. A few days later, the stores finally reopen.
It was 6pm when my friend and I felt a first - almost funny - quake. After a few seconds later, it is chaos. Glasses exploding, ceiling falling down, people are screaming, lost in the thick white smoke to the rhythm of the deafening alarm. We waited for a second explosion, not knowing where it was going to strike. At that moment, everything happens very quickly, you think about your life, you think about your loved ones. Should we stay or should we go ? People were panicking and running around. Once outside, we saw this huge red smoke in the sky. We still didn’t know what was going on. We still didn’t know whether we should run or hide nor how many bombs had fallen on Beirut.
When I got home, I sat for a long time, staring blankly, without saying a word. Then I cried. I cried all the tears in my body. I cried by fear, I cried because I survived, I wept for my murdered people and my destroyed city.
At home I always felt protected. My apartment was a cocoon where no one could ever reach me. After the explosion, I realized that even at home we are no longer safe.
Three years spent in Lebanon. Seventh move.
I had this ability to bury deep within myself every feeling that allowed me to love them more and eventually suffer from losing them. Was it better, for me, to lose them from an excess of love or from a few attachments?
Sometimes I no longer know where I come from, sometimes I no longer know where I belong. I feel closer to my thoughts but yet so distant and detached. To the point of sometimes feeling invisible.
Time stops and I feel trapped in it.