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In one instant, our building was reduced to a skeleton. Nothing remained from it other than its initial concrete structure. It contrasted greatly with the chaos inside. We left right away, without being able to close our doorβthere was no door leftβand took the car. I had been quite shaken by all the postponements, cancellations, and shutdowns ensuing from the lockdown. The August 4 explosion blew that metal curtain away. Also blown away was the new gate on which I was going to make my intervention, and that had already been ordered and stored inside this property in preparation for the project.
As we drove away, we realized the scale of the damage. There was nothing but broken glass, torn up aluminum, smoke, trees, and people on the ground. Including the departure point of my family house, there would be thirty-eight incisions in total, the number matching my age. The shutter was going to be perforated using a gun, but this time, the shooting would happen from the inside out, to suggest a reversal of the cycle of violence.
After August 4, I was curious to see how my pristine new metal curtain, stored near the harbor, had been sculpted by the seemingly random force of the blast. It was, in a sense, another way for the work to be realized. But these dances do not take place anymore in Beirut. Search Icon. Search for: Search Icon.
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