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Stories from Hama (Memories of Painter Khaled Al-Khani) Part I

A repost updated from  2012

Introduction by Off the Wall

A painting by Syrian painter Khaled Al-Khani

In few more days, the thirtieth anniversary of the massacre of Hama (February, 1982) will befall us. This time, the anniversary has a special meaning as Syrians, who have broken the fear barrier, are now openly talking about the events that transpired thirty years ago in their homeland. We are helped nowadays in that even the dumbest observer can recognize the lies of the Assad regime, and that has made many of us search for the real narrative of Hama, a narrative that the regime has for decades tried to suppress through its demonization of the Muslim Brotherhood, and to hide, by extension, the stories of the innocent victims of Hafez Assad and his henchmen which according to people from Hama, may have reached 40,000 murdered souls, not to mention the rapes, the pillaging and hateful acts of barbarism the aging thugs are now trying to blame each others for.

As the sons of the perpetrators of the Hama Massacre,  helped undoubtedly by some of those who participated in it, now attempt to suppress the current Syrian uprising through similar machination of brutality, lies, and deceptions, it becomes more necessary than ever for us to recover the real narrative of Hama. It is the narrative of the children who witnessed their fathers and older brothers being murdered, of women who were raped and killed in cold blood, and of entire city districts raised to ground out of vengeful hate that shames us all for its existence among our sentient specie.

My friend Khaled Al-Khani, then a seven years old child, is now a renowned Syrian painter. He tells the story of the massacre as he witnessed it and lived it through the murder of his father, his own epic journey with the few women and children who survived Assad’s murderous machine. In this and the next two posts, I will attempt to bring Khaled’s memories to English readers. It is only my way of telling the Assad gang, we will hold those who did it accountable, and we will not allow you to do the same, Never again.

This story can also be read in French, thanks to my friend annie

Part 1 (French) Histoire de Hama : souvenirs du peintre Khaled Al-Khani

**********

Stories from Hama (Memories of Painter Khaled Al-Khani) Part I

I do not know what happened to me today…? I don’t want to remain in hiding and I will go to my workshop and to every demonstration. I can no longer hide my real identity. I, the artist, have turned into a rebel ever since the Libyan embassy incident. My transformation has nothing to do with my distant memories, in Hama, of my father’s murder and the death of the city of my childhood, the rape our women, our imprisonment, our bombardment, and the subsequent conquering and forcible displacement of those who were left alive among us to the countryside as means to cover the crimes.

I swear to God I’m not hateful and I am not seeking revenge, but just retribution. My current sorrow is related to what I witness transpiring around me daily. We demonstrate, they shoot us with bullets, we then join funeral processions, and they rain a hail of lead on us. And as we walk once more in the next funeral procession, they reply with the same, and so on. We stay in our homes, they break our doors arresting us and intimidating our mothers, if I am not killed, someone else will be.

I swear to God I love life, but I love justice more. Please, tell me what to do. I do not know what befell me today? Today I remembered, more than any other day, I remembered my father. My father was an ophthalmologist in Hama. He was not a member of the Muslim Brotherhood, but he sided with the people of his ravished city. Believe me, and half the people of Hama testify to that. They gouged one of his eyes while he was a live, then they killed him and horribly mutilated his body. I was little when we buried him and I remember that he had no eyes.

In February 1982, I was a 6 year old first grader. We had just finished the first school semester and had gone on spring break, and what a holiday..  At night, and as we slept, we could hear loud sounds breaking the place’s silence and turning its serenity into a murderous horror.  Obvious was the panic on my aunt who raised me and next to whom I would sleep to compensate her unfulfilled motherhood because she never married, and thus lived with us in our beautiful two-story traditional Arabic home. The rest of my family and my father and my mother slept on the second floor.  Soon, I would hear the voices of my siblings and my father and mother becoming louder coming down the stairs and entering my aunt’s room as the shooting increased. My mother said to my father “Didn’t I tell you to stay on the farm?” For many year, this sentence did not go away from my memories, and the idea that my father left the farm hurt me a great deal and remained with me until I had grown up, forgiven him and  reckoned, It was destiny.

******

The sound of firing fills life. It was the first time I heard its wheeze. It rose further and then began the thunder of explosions. As the hours passed, we got used to these sounds. Time passed and some of the neighbors started flocking to our home. Chaos is everywhere, children crying, women reading the Qur’an, and great concern. This continued for three days, and then we heard a big explosion. Father said that a shell hit the top floor. The house shook as dust filled my lungs like it filled the place and women recited Surat Yassin (the verse of Yassin). Meanwhile, a wave of sharp cries rose and father said we must leave the house as fast as possible, so we went out and people started to gather while shouting. Panic dominated everything, and we went to the house of a neighbor, then to a dark cellar thought by the men a more secure place. There were more of us than the place could accommodate. We stayed there for three days while the firing continued with no stopping. Then an artillery shell, Surat Yassin kept rising all the way to the sky, a second shell and a third, causing the cellar to vibrate madly. While no one of those who took refuge in the basement was hurt, many residents of our neighborhood perished and many were wounded. The doctor who lived in the neighborhood was able to save some. We stayed in the basement until the bombardment and firing calmed down and they got us out saying that we must leave towards safer neighborhoods. Little they knew, for they were wrong as it did not occur to them that a campaign of genocide was taking place. We went out hurriedly through the Hadher market to reach the Ameeriyyah district. We encountered streets through which we had to crawl because snipers were everywhere.

After incredible difficulties, we reached the Ameeriyyah neighborhood having just crawled the last street with my father helping my aging aunt to whose side I was totally stuck. My mother and sisters crossed with the rest of the people, and the three of us stayed. But then my father asked me to leave with everyone and I refused because I wanted to stay with my aunt who raised me. He forced me to catch up with my mother and the others and he stayed with my aunt, and this was the last time I saw my father alive.

In the Ameeriyyah district, we continued to search for a shelter and we found a cellar packed with people, but they could not let us in because our numbers were very large (most of the population of Baroudeye neighborhood). Later, they let my father and my aunt in because they were only two. The refuge in the Ameeriyyah is where my father was arrested and  where my aunt survived to witness and tell of what happened.

****

Our group followed the road towards Northern Ameeriyyah where we found a shelter large enough for all of us. We stayed in that shelter until the arrival of the “Syrian Arab Army” whence the shelter was turned into a prison. They took all the men including young men out of the shelter and promptly executed some of them right at the door and arrested the elderly men. Only women and children remained in the place. Some were crying, while the majority were forced to shout, at gun threat (“with our blood we sacrifice ourselves for you Hafez“, بالروح بالدم نفديك يا حافظ  and  “O God, it is high time for  Hafez to take your place” يا الله حلك حلك يقعد حافظ محلك) in order to worsen our humiliation. Our imprisonment lasted three days while they murdered whomever they wanted. I swear to God we stayed without food, and I still remember the smell of the place. It was unbearable. We constantly heard screaming voices outside the basement, voices of women being raped, and of and torture that would still visibly affect me whenever I recall or try to describe. Some women had few candies ad Chocolate with them, and before they took the men, one of them brought a few loaves of bread and olives that we shared, and which was barely enough for one man.  Women kept reading Qur’an continuously, albeit in hushed voice.  Then the door opened and they ordered us to get out because they said they will now execute us. We got out as we were shouting “we sacrifice our blood for you …..”, but then they told us that we must head in the direction of the Aleppo Road outside the city.

We walked, raising our arms and repeating what we were told to repeat. The landscape was surreal, the place was full of corpses, swollen, of black blood, and as we moved from one street to another, bodies and destruction were everywhere. We proceeded until we reached the Omar Ibn Khattab Mosque (of which you have been hearing lately as the place where demonstrations to demand freedom started). The Mosque was  destroyed completely, with the washing room being the only section left.  In there, there were some army soldiers who terrified us by pointing their rifles and machine guns at us forcing us to lie face down on the ground. Then they  brought us into the washing room and shut the door tightly. Some women begged the army men to kill us and let everyone else out of the city, but they refused. When we entered the washing room we found fungus covered stale bread that we ate. There were also two ornamental statues of white doves. I do not know why they were there, but to me they signaled the beginning of salvation from the bloodbath. The door remained locked for a day and a half, after which one of officers shouted a speech at us in which he said:

“she who awaits her husband or brother or son or father, don’t be waiting for him because he will not come out alive and will never return.”

They released us in the direction of Aleppo, we walked more than ten kilometers racing against time as we cried and barefoot women kept reading the Qur’an, and whenever we heard the shooting, we instantly lied down, until we reached the point where they had allowed the villagers access to help the survivors. What can I say … I swear by God, this is only the tip of the iceberg.

……….. To be continued

I encourage you to visit the online gallery of Khaled Al-Khani and see how Hama echos resonate in his work

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100 Most Creative Street Art

Richard Sidey

 

His website http://www.richardsidey.com/

Theo Jansen Strandbeest

Khaled al Khani – The Beginning

SEE the artist’s website with full presentation

The Schleswig-Holsteinischer Kunstverein is showing a temporary installation by the Syrian artist Khaled al Khani (b. 1975) which was especially made for the space in the Kunsthalle zu Kiel.

 

Khaled al Khani studied painting in Hama and Damascus. In 2011 he fled from Syria and is now living in exile in Paris. The artwork he has created for the Kunstverein with the title The Beginning is Khaled al Khani’s first museum presentation in Europe. It draws on the existential experiences of the artist in his homeland, the Syrian civil war and his hopes for a future of peace.

Like many of the paintings of the artist, the mural in the Kunsthalle zu Kiel depicts the adumbrations of groups of people against a light background. The faces of the figures are only vaguely defined. Al Khani’s expressive and figurative painting style encompasses the entire walls of the room as well as most of the ceiling. At many points it oscillates between figuration and abstraction. Painting with acrylics directly on the wall, the artist has created a space that allows beholders to individually experience and interpret what is depicted in the installation: in their perception inside and outside, the past and the future merge. Only an oval in the middle of the ceiling has been left unpainted. This compositional device opens up the pictorial space into a realm above, and alludes once again to the title of the installation.

At work in the Kunsthalle (Photo Gallery)

 

 full catalogue here

A Day in Pompeii – Full-length animation

Watch in full screen

www.zerooneanimation.com

A Day in Pompeii, a Melbourne Winter Masterpieces exhibition, was held at Melbourne Museum from 26 June to 25 October 2009. Over 330,000 people visited the exhibition — an average of more than 2,700 per day — making it the most popular travelling exhibition ever staged by an Australian museum.

Zeroone created the animation for an immersive 3D theatre installation which gave visitors a chance to feel the same drama and terror of the town’s citizens long ago, and witness how a series of eruptions wiped out Pompeii over 48 hours.

Ebru Art @ American Islamic College

from the comments :

                  Yahya Guzide                                            

The art of this is called ebru its a osmanli art of drawing,, the color are with oil its oilcolor thats the reason why the color swimm on the water!! Sorry about my bad english ?!:

 

Tammam Azzam: Syrian museum

The Syrian Museum series created for the ‘Syria’ exhibition incorporates iconic subjects from the greatest European masters such as da Vinci, Matisse, Goya and Picasso – paralleling the greatest achievements of humanity with the destruction it is also capable of inflicting. Each is particularly relevant to what has befallen Syria. ‘The Syrian Museum’ series uses Western masterpieces not only for their notoriety and instant recognition, but to demonstrate that Syria has no world-class museums and the regime is presently killing its own cultural heritage. Klimt’s ‘The Kiss’ shows the love and relationship between people and I have juxtaposed this with the capacity of hate the regime holds for its people. A work from this series which has gained international popularity on social networking sites is ‘Freedom Graffiti’. Featured on Saatchi’s Facebook page, this work recieved over 15,000 likes overnight and has been featured in such publications as the NY Times and the International Herald Tribune.This digital composition appropriates Gustave Klimt’s ‘The Kiss’ upon a bullet-ridden wall, displaying the love and relationship between people and I have juxtaposed this with the capacity of hate the regime holds for its people.

text by Tammam Azzam

  Tammam Azzam: Syrian museum

Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss (Freedom Graffiti) | 2013 | archival print on cotton paper edition of 25 | 112 X 112 cm

Tammam Azzam: Syrian museum

Paul Gauguin’s Tahitian Women (On the Beach) | 2012 | archival print on canvas 45 x 40 cm

Tammam Azzam: Syrian museum

Edvard Munch’s The Scream | 2012 | archival print on canvas 100 x 70 cm

Tammam Azzam: Syrian museum

Matisse’s La Danse | 2012 | archival print on canvas | 45 x 60 cm

Tammam Azzam: Syrian museum

Dali’s Sleep | 2012 | archival print on canvas | 40 x 40 cm

Tammam Azzam: Syrian museum

Goya’s The 3rd of May 1808 | 2012 | archival print on canvas | 100 x 133 cm

Tammam Azzam: Syrian museum

Van Gogh’s Starry Night | 70 X 100 cm. Archival Print on Canvas | 2012

Tammam Azzam: Syrian museum

Andy Warhol’s Elvis | 2012 | archival print on canvas | 80 x 120 cm

Tammam Azzam: Syrian museum

Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa | 2012 | archival print on canvas | 100 x 130 cm

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Biography

Tammam Azzam
Tammam Azzam

Born in 1980, Damascus, Syria Lives and works in Dubai, UAE
Tammam Azzam graduated from the Faculty of Fine Arts in Damascus with a concentration in Oil Painting and subsequently obtained a Fine Arts Certificate in 2001 from Darat al Funun’s Al Kharif Academy, an esteemed artist workshop series led by Syrian master, Marwan Kassab Bashi. Since joining the Shabab Ayyam Young Artists Programme in 2008, he has been featured in several significant events including the group show, ‘Stories from the Levant’, Scope Art Fair, Basel, in 2009, and Art Miami 2010, and has held solo exhibitions at Ayyam Gallery, Damascus in 2010 and Dubai in 2011 and 2012.

A Walk Through Vigeland Park

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