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.