LET US STOP AND WEEP is a narrative-based participatory performance and installation. It is a body of work, divided in short tales, based on the experience of uprooting and inspired by the poetry and life of Imru’l Qais – امرؤ القيس, a nomad Arab tribal king and author of one of seven famous “suspended poems” from the time of Jahiliyyah, the pre-Islamic era. It's composed by images, documents, archives, texts, audio-visual materials and objects that do not participate in History, they do not have causes or effects; They’re just locked in their own reality and decaying in time. They are also a meditation on origins; its ruins and wanderings. Along the way, a sedimentation of narrations forms and one's self starts to be defined by what identity has essentially lost and by a sense of amnesia and loss.
Installation/Performance
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Since my escape from Lebanon on a high-speed ferry, toward the end of the civil war, the visits to the country of my birth are rare. After several failed attempts to document these few "returns", I ended up discovering locations, real or metaphysical, of unexplored territories and forgotten traumascapes*, extending my travel towards "home". Instead of approaching destination, the journey has become endless, as if returning was impossible and self-exile had metamorphosed into a state of spirit.
Awaiting oblivion, these findings were molded into short narrations, visual or written. Some elements were rescued out of the Treasure Island's box called 'childhood' and some were lost forever. Since the beginning of this endeavor, I also harbored some objects and items, 'survivors' from my own and other relatives' migrations. They became the only witnesses to my narrative footprints.
I’ve been standing before ruins and sediments, recent and ancient, for more then two decades, watching myself age. I try to write mostly with images since I can’t do it with any of the five languages I speak. These remains, traces, trails, gapping became the beginning and the end of all my wandering. I created out of that heirloom debris some sparse chapters. New forms of interactions come out of these unfinished tales but they remain mostly questions and questions of identity yet hasn’t stopped from re-morphing in a continuous flux.
In the last years I have also been trying to understand the function of forgetting, which is not for me the opposite of remembering, but rather its lining. I believe that we do not actually forget. We rewrite oblivion with a profound suppressed need to forgive.
*Traumascapes are sites associated with the painful past (not necessarily related to the Lebanese civil war). Remembering and representing this bitter past plays a crucial role in shaping the future through learning and experiencing.
**This body of work is divided in several narrated chapters. Some are also autonomous.
وقوف على الأطلال
... No other memory remains for the time of my childhood, and I have even forgot my father's features. Of my mother, a floating figure, I only remember the smile that covered her face and a gold ring, set with a pearl, which she wore on her ring finger.
But I have not forgotten the last chapter of my life there, the one that led me so far, under the sparkling sky of this "White Middle Sea", the Mediterranean. No matter what distance I travel on rough waves, nothing changes here. I can never escape this shore. I have not forgotten that chapter, but I have rejected it, fearful for my sanity.
Now, I know that the day I walked on that sand, my memory, everything I once experienced, has become a book that forgets its pages. No sooner does a precise memory emerge on the surface of a page, it vanishes into an abyss. My life is written on sheets, that no binding can assemble, and the wind disperses when I brush them.
The poems and prayers I repeated once, in recitation, or with my grandmother, those that all the elders of my tribe knew by heart, I have forgotten! And since I am now deserted by all memories, crawling like a black crab on the glowing sand, what can I do but remember that one chapter of my life, so long avoided, led me so far?
But I have not forgotten the last chapter of my life there, the one that led me so far, under the sparkling sky of this "White Middle Sea", the Mediterranean. No matter what distance I travel on rough waves, nothing changes here. I can never escape this shore. I have not forgotten that chapter, but I have rejected it, fearful for my sanity.
Now, I know that the day I walked on that sand, my memory, everything I once experienced, has become a book that forgets its pages. No sooner does a precise memory emerge on the surface of a page, it vanishes into an abyss. My life is written on sheets, that no binding can assemble, and the wind disperses when I brush them.
The poems and prayers I repeated once, in recitation, or with my grandmother, those that all the elders of my tribe knew by heart, I have forgotten! And since I am now deserted by all memories, crawling like a black crab on the glowing sand, what can I do but remember that one chapter of my life, so long avoided, led me so far?
Perhaps the solitude and the tears break me apart. Perhaps my soul that dwells in this labyrinth of sand will finally find a bit of peace. Perhaps the darkness of the well of my childhood will close in on me. Perhaps I will finally find, among the wrecks and their sedimentations at the bottom of the sea, a trail to walk through the human world and finish performing this poem.
* CLICK ON IMAGES TO SEE LARGER & MORE
Claw Machine
the eighth day
holy visits
swing
Imru' al qais
map
slide
Deir El-Qala'a's view
Corniche
Georges + Toufic
ceader
blood stream
intersections
naked roots
Vassiliki
Burj El Murr
six columns
my room
Beirut
Constantin
cursed castle
stone house
Nabil & Corni
wrestling
abandoned painting & Abu Ali river flood
pier
building entrance
Karl
the rock and the tree
blue towel
Asaad
mule
piece of the puzzel
cinemascope
balcony view
Oliver
electricity company
the bank and the puddle
sweeper
snow scene
power station
goat feet
Red Poker
lovers' spot
house
Roy
cabaret
chandeliers
Holiday Inn
air pump
smile
monk
concrete & rubble
Asnam
bouquet
Suha
Achrafieh
secret
my father's house
traces
farewell
mosaic
for sale
olive sacks
cypress
stamps collection
tribe fathers
Danny, Ingrid, Tarek & Julian
Samir
Immigrant
Roni
slogans
Rouba
soldier
Nabil
Mounir, Rosi & Camille
faces and footsteps
El Atlal
demolition site
tripes
spear
tailor
white clothes
Wissam
Joseph
street vendors' parking
shoes & shoemakers
Elias
Tobacco
bagels
backgammon
blue sheep
score
castle of the sea
Tania
fuel station
terminus
tresaures
backstage
Saint Charbel's monastery
Jerusalem
Yousif
plastic bags
ciment church
Deir el Qalaa
labor & idleness
mother & infant
Maameltein
canon
outpost
sharpnel
building & destruction
Ramlet al-Baida
pinkish
concierge
lamp
neighbours
valet
purple veil
Éros & Thanatos
Ferris wheel
Nabil & Vasso
after the revolution
dusk
Interview
Publication
exhibition
Hafez from Anfeh - Antonopoulou Art Gallery Third Nature (Athens, Greece June 2010)
Red Poker - Détours Santorini S8mm Film Festival (Oia, Greece August 2010)
NABIL & CORNI - Depression Era - Biennale 5 (Thessaloniki, Greece July-Sept 2015)
NABIL & CORNI - Origini - Museo Riso (Palermo, Sicily, March 2016)
LET US STOP AND WEEP - Eglise (Palermo, Sicily Feb.2020)
LET US STOP AND WEEP - Scafolding (Athens, Greece May 2023)