Tuktuk to Beirut

To endure the steep descent — both literal and economic — that Lebanon has faced since October 2019, 
I chose to become a tourist in my own country rather than a fully engaged citizen.
Not out of apathy, but as a conscious act of survival.
To wander instead of resist.
To observe without despair.
To hold a tender distance between myself and the unraveling.
Intrigued, I began sketching them — Then I met their drivers — craftsmen of survival, navigating broken roads with laughter and grit. Eventually I started shaping their forms in clay.
Through this process, the tuktuk became more than a vehicle: it became a symbol of movement, adaptation, and the quiet persistence of everyday life in Lebanon.

Each day, during my commute from our village in the Chouf mountains to my workshop, I began noticing the sudden presence of tuktuks — these three-wheeled vehicles weaving through the landscape. Red, yellow, black, white, blue, green, even pinkish ones. Some idle at street corners, waiting for passengers; others speeding up and down the mountain roads with a sense of purpose and stubborn hope.

Re-bounce: a personal diary in exile

Perceptible Rhythms, Alternative Temporalities - Middle East Institute - DC - 2022

Re-bounce: a personal diary in exile, reflects on the feeling of self-exile, of leaving Lebanon in times of crisis. It reconsiders the dryer sheets while doing the laundry in Montreal, missing family, friends, and home. 
Instead of hanging the laundry out in the sun like it is custom to do in Beirut, in Montreal they use the dryer. Each drying session consumes one "bounce" sheet, that is then recovered and used to embroider a daily personal story

 

BEIRUT URBAN RUINS: SAVE IT ON PAPER - the book

 

My mother chose Beirut as her home. She came in as a teenager from a small village in South Lebanon and never left. Even during the difficult years of the Lebanese Civil War, during the Israeli invasion of 1982, the destruction of our home and of the city at large, she never wanted to leave. If she had to leave temporarily, she would spend her days away from Beirut in agony. My mother loved Beirut, for better or for worse. She ingrained in me her unconditional love for a city that I miss, as if it was a member of my own body, when I am away from it. A city whose pain echoes my own, whose ugliness I perfected the art of screening out. Yes, I am biased in my love for Beirut. But I have a selective vision of my city too; I only see it through my personal screen of love and harmony. I censor everything else. My eyes have adjusted so well to this game, that when I started sketching it, everything unwanted was automatically left out, paper white. It is my way of making peace with my city. My way of loving it. My only condition.

Cities are meant to evolve and change with the passing of time. They are meant to develop and adapt, gradually, to our new ways of living. But legend has it that Beirut was destroyed and rebuilt seven times over the course of its history. Since the end of the Civil War, developers have sought to demolish what remained of old houses and replace them with towers, while city lovers and Conservationists pushed in the opposite direction to try and save as many houses and neighborhoods as they could, so they could keep telling the story of our city. These houses are our heritage, and we should care for them like we care for our elderly who carry our genes from the past and the wisdom for our future.

Then August 4, 2020 happened. And when everything falls apart, when hope is lost, something occurs to change it all. It is ironic, though, that as I write these words I am away from Beirut, in Montreal, my second home. Now that my mother has left this world, it feels easier, lighter, for me to leave my city. It is ironic that after I left my scarred city, this book became a reality. But so many things about Beirut are ironic, irrational, and that's one more reason I love this crazy city.

In my second year as a student of architecture, I was introduced to the magic world of watercolor by the master brush of one of our teachers, the charismatic brutalist architect Khalil Khoury. In just one hour, he demonstrated to us how to mix colors, how to apply the washes, how to let the paints travel with the water on the paper, and the trick was played: I was totally seduced and my love for watercolor sketching never tarnished.

Montreal, I Love you

 "Montreal, I Love You"

A series of sketches and collages of Montreal - 2020

After the August 4th Beirut Port blast, I returned to Montreal, a city that has always been kind to me in my most vulnerable times. This is how the "Montreal, I Love You" series started. 

"I Love You Urgently"

 "Thawra" 

part of the collective exhibition "I Love You Urgently", curated by Maya El-Khalil, Jeddah, KSA, January 2020 

Material: local red clay, bisque fired, then fired using waste material.

2019 witnessed an international resurgence in popular movements seeking new approaches for the world. People gathered together for marches in more than 100 countries as part of the Global Week for Future, weekly climate strikes took place in Fridays for Future, and popular uprisings swept Beirut, Baghdad, Hong Kong, Barcelona, and Santiago. Though distinct, they share a common commitment to collectively rethinking attitudes towards the environment, whether climate, socio-political or economic orders. Expressing a clear message of urgency to change the world, they also articulate a shared fear for the future.

Unlike earlier generations, these movements are connected, informed and creative – they know that time is running out. One of their shared actions is the closing of roads, whether through sheer number of people gathered together or with the use of other devices such as overturned burning bins or water canisters. Both practical and symbolic, these gestures stop the ordinary day-to-day flow of life in the city. By blocking movement, they create spaces for conversation and togetherness. Though these actions are disruptive in the short term, they are intended to draw attention to the more significant long term shifts and changes that will take place if our attitudes do not evolve. They provide a stark and powerful warning: without adjustment, life as we know it will not continue.

Made of clay, the work recreates a scene of disorder, stopping unconscious movement through our ordinary, unaware day-to-day lives. By re-appropriating and overturning common and unremarkable artifacts such as bins, the work causes a re-assessment of the daily structures we take for granted. 

A natural material, clay is both an old resilient material still discovered during archaeological excavations, telling us the story of time, yet an ephemeral and fragile one as well – it can break into pieces and return to earth. By bringing together these two distinctive qualities of clay, the work depicts is both a historic and precarious moment in the story of humanity.

https://www.e-flux.com/announcements/306543/21-39-jeddah-arts/
https://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/art/the-2020-edition-of-21-39-opens-in-jeddah-1.971152
https://thesaudiartcouncil.org/show-item/the-black-boxes-talking/
http://artasiapacific.com/Blog/HighlightsFrom2139JeddahArts2020

World War Two Museum & Park

Client: Mercy Corps & Khiam Municipality
Location: Khiam, South Lebanon
Photo Tile: Scarecrow

I designed this riveted metal structure with architect Samar Rizkallah to scare away Israeli planes, and it was built in 2004 as part of the renovation and rehabilitation of the abandoned WWII English bunker/hospital into a WWII museum of war. It was totally ravaged and destroyed during the 2006 Israeli invasion, however, and to this day, the scarecrow still stands tall and proud.

"Visible"

Title: “Visible”

Materials: Red clay, waste materials firing (rusted steel dust, wood ash, wood saw dust, shredded paper)

Date: 2018

33rd Salon d'Automne

Sursock Museum

“Refuse containers are overturned in front of the Environment Ministry by Lebanese activists who demand the Environment Minister Mohammed Machnouk resign due to the ongoing rubbish crisis in Beirut, Lebanon, on 15 September 2015 (AA)”

http://www.middleeasteye.net/news/beyond-garbage-crisis-lebanon-defining-moment-1641444107

“Visible” captures that moment when protesters took to the streets of Beirut in September 2015 and overturned the garbage bins. The “Sukleen” canisters that represent the object we have designed to hold our waste, when turned over their side, or top down, they become a sign of protest, a symbol of the unresolved garbage crisis that still lingers on since 2015 in Lebanon.

When the bins are no longer used to collect our trash, our waste becomes visible, revealed, and we are face to face with the quantity of garbage we produce daily. We got used to throwing our waste into a bin. Not asking what happens to it afterwards. As if the bin was its final destination. As if it was there that it all ended. By not dealing with our waste on a daily and individual basis, we are disconnected from it. We do not realize the amounts produced. And when it has no place to go, it starts to accumulate in front of our eyes.Beyond the protest, the crises revealed a bigger problem, triggered a new awareness: It made the trash visible. To eliminate it, fire was often used. The “Visible” canisters are burnt using a similar process: waste materials such as rusted steel dust, wood ash, wood saw dust and shredded paper become the combustibles for firing the clay canisters. “Visible” is the reminder that the waste crisis can only be solved once we truly see the problem.