It takes a whole village to raise a child, but Ahmad Amer had to make do with his family. Lebanese villages are sometimes so rigid. He wanted to be an artist in a patriarchal environment where, arguably, men “don’t do that.” His pencil stroke, his drawings made freehand but without raising his hand, slowly but almost without breathing, surely but guided by all his uncertainties, are reproduced today in embroideries-manifestos on loose, genderless, similar and assemblable, unstructured, to be reconstructed as one constructs oneself.
Until the shipwreck is a video filmed by Tala Amer, a film student at the Lebanese University, in tribute to this brother who dragged his whole family with him into the grace of art and perhaps a form of social disgrace . Shrouded in a bluish light, the images follow a tense, minimalist, intimate coherence, of admirable elegance. We admire the maturity of a beginner who sought in this first project, even before her year of diploma, to send a powerful message to a society which might have, by the violence of her rejection, stifled a talent in the egg. What better way to resolve a conflict and return contempt to the contemptuous?
A family photo, faded colors, of three children, one in a high chair. Photos Until We Drown, Tala Amer, screenshot
“I remember, I was eight years old”
Three young women, wearing white veils with embroidered faces, walk in the twilight on a country lane. A trumpet tune adds a poignant sweetness to the atmosphere. The camera pans to the hands of an elderly woman kneading dough. Back to the three women of whom we only see the veils. They are bent over, three hands resting on the ground. One of them performs a ritual (or is it a game?), she touches the other hands in turn. On a tray, perfectly aligned, four cups of coffee, one empty. And then a family photo, faded colors, three children, one in a high chair. A woman’s voice (the mother?) calls: “Hamada! A young man seated, in the open air, wrapped in a blue cloth embroidered with stylized white flowers, holds his face up to the razor of a man leaning over him. Voice-over of a young girl: “I remember, when I was eight years old, how I observed my brother. My father had asked him to draw whatever he wanted on our bedroom doors. From the outset, the presence-absence that one imagines that of Ahmad, the interior designer who began his career as an illustrator before yielding to the passion that makes him today the one of the brilliant representatives of the new Lebanese fashion guard.
A man’s hand draws with a black marker, with determination, sinuous lines on a large sheet of brown paper. Photos Until We Drown, Tala Amer, screenshot
“So that visitors can see my brother’s drawings”
Close-up on the sea: “That day was one of the most beautiful days for me. As if we were rebuilding our house. I don’t know how my brother felt at the time. I believe he was flying away. Of joy or fatigue. Back to the shaving scene: “The assignments have been distributed. Mine was to fill the water in the bowl, open the second door to the house, fill water for my grandfather. If all this had happened now, I would have been ready to film the scene. A woman hangs a black canvas, embroidered with designs in white thread, on the clothesline.
A woman hangs a black canvas, embroidered with designs in white thread, on the clothesline. Photo Until We Drown, Tala Amer, screenshot
The sea extends at the bottom of the landscape: “Three rooms, three doors. My mother puts her thoughts in order. My brother adds touches. My father redid the corners of the door. And I’m standing there, blissfully happy, even though I’ve given up soccer matches with the neighborhood boys for my brother’s fingers. A man’s hand draws with a black marker, with determination, sinuous lines on a large sheet of brown paper. “The doors have been reinstalled. I chose to close mine each time it was opened, so that visitors might see my brother’s drawings. I opened the door by the edge. I was afraid to alter the paints, although I knew they were dry. Today I am a sophomore in college, talking to my brother who left the old house and left us with fond memories.
A young man seated in the open air, wrapped in a blue cloth embroidered with stylized white flowers, holds his face to the razor of a barber bent over him. Photo Until We Drown, Tala Amer, screenshot
“With these people…”
A young woman wears a large jacket printed with flowers: “If I asked you to wear this in the village, would you do it? “Of course not,” a man’s voice replies, laughing. ” Why not ? Be honest,” she insists. “It’s pretty, but I wouldn’t wear it in the village with those people,” he replies. Infinitely slow, moving, tense with contained emotion, the video culminates with the completed drawing and this sober confidence: “I am looking for my brother in the corners of the places, in my mother’s eyes, I am looking in each difference, in the line , in the color, in the trembling of my hand in my blue dress, I search in my prayers, in my bed and in the flower drawn by him that I keep copying. »
It takes a whole village to raise a child, but Ahmad Amer had to make do with his family. Lebanese villages are sometimes so rigid. He wanted to be an artist in a patriarchal environment where, arguably, men “don’t do that.” His pencil stroke, his freehand drawings without raising his hand, slowly but almost without breathing, surely…
