July 13 Thursday, 13 July 2006 - It is war. Yesterday I came home from a dinner party where everyone wondered how Israel would react to the kidnapping of two of its soldiers. No one figured they would bomb the airport – least of all me, who was flying to Athens the next day for the opening of my photo exhibition at the Contemporary Art Museum. Its title, “1982”, named after the year of the last invasion of Lebanon by Israel. There are power cuts, planes are hovering in the skies above, and I’m walking around the house not knowing what to do. The telephone still works but for how much longer? (75x50) Beirut 2006
July 14 14 July - My neighbours left this morning after a frightening night of bombing raids on the suburbs. I’m alone in the building, surrounded by the humming of the generators that provide electricity a few hours a day. I put on a record by Marianne Faithfull in an attempt to drown the sound of the planes but I soon take it out: incompatibility of situation ? I think of my girlfriend in Alexandria who certainly worries like mad. I check my e-mails. No message from her among the ads for “Viagra”, “Cialis” and “Enlarge your Penis”, but one from a friend abroad who worries about me: “I don’t know what to say, there’s no such thing as a greeting card saying ‘Sorry, your city is under siege’ but I just want you to know you’re on my mind’.” (33x40) Beirut 2006
July 15 15-07-2006 - I can’t go on reading “The Brothers Karamazov”. Ever since the war started, I keep stumbling over this passage, page 807, in the chapter called ‘The Devil’: “[...] But till that happens I am sulking and fulfil my destiny though it’s against the grain – that is, to ruin thousands for the sake of saving one. How many souls have had to be ruined and how many honourable reputations destroyed for the sake of that one righteous man, Job, over whom they made such a fool of me in old days! Yes, till the secret is revealed, there are two sorts of truths for me – one, their truth, yonder, which I know nothing about so far, and the other my own. And there’s no knowing which will turn out the better... Are you asleep?” (32,5x50) Istanbul 2006
July 16 Sunday 16 - I’ve had my youngest son evacuated by boat a few hours before the bombing of the port. It’s a mere 400 metres away from home. I jumped at the noise of the planes ripping through the sound barrier, two loud bangs, before they dropped their bombs. From the living room, I could see the smoke rise from the port, the same that I see on TV. I’ve lost my appetite, the food in the fridge is turning bad. I live on nuts, coffee and cigarettes, and vodka at night to help me sleep. (26,5x40) Istanbul 2006
July 17 Monday, 17 July, midnight - My girlfriend just phoned from Alexandria, I’m overwhelmed with joy at her voice. After the initial intro, she tells me, with carefully chosen words, that she wants to leave me. The firm tone of her voice announces an irrevocable decision. – But we love each other! – Yes, more than anything else in the world, but I don’t love you the way you want. I’m walking up and down the room in the dark, I hear the planes in the sky and her breath over the phone. – Do you really think this is the right moment to say this? – Is there a right moment to say this kind of thing? (26x40) Beirut 2006
July 18 Tuesday, 18 July - I couldn’t sleep. I still can’t believe it. I can’t stop thinking about her, about the past three years we spent together. I regret the time I took to accept the difference in age between us, the time I took to overcome each crisis. “Seeing each other again at any cost, we can’t break up over the phone, we have to talk to each other straight in the face.” Will she accept? But where shall we meet? And how can I leave with these hordes racing toward the Syrian border? (50x33) Istanbul 2006
July 19 Wednesday 19 - Another sleepless night. I ring a friend for help. 7th floor, and no elevator. I take a pocket lamp and climb the stairs. In the middle of our discussion on today’s renewed attacks, I manage to confide my grief. She doesn’t quite understand my distress, the war prevails: today’s bombing of Beirut was massive, a power plant as well as a milk and a toilet paper factory have been destroyed, the body count keeps increasing. I return home alone, walking through dark streets, meditating on the ways of rationing toilet paper. (29,7x75) Beirut 2006
July 20 20 July - I wake up with the conviction that Israeli bombings are not the result of a thoughtful policy but of a pathological violence. One by one, my projects and predictions start going awry. I wrote to S. in Alexandria, asking her to meet me in Istanbul, the city she loves. Whatever dates she chooses, I go with – it’s easier that way, since I’ve lost all points of reference. She rings me back a few hours later, shortly after a bomb struck next to the house, targeted at a drilling truck that was (wrongfully?) mistaken for a missile launcher. My heart is racing as I listen to her voice... she agrees. In the conversation, she asks me if her CD collection has been damaged and wonders if I could bring along her orange court shoes. (40x50) Istanbul 2006
July 21 Friday 21 - The irony of the day: Israel has just warned the Lebanese army that, should it try and oppose the military strikes, it would immediately be attacked as well. “Israel is not at war with Lebanon”, insists its Prime Minister. Still, he evokes the risk of a ground invasion. I’m trying to find a cab that would get me to Syria on a safe road. Yesterday evening, Israel bombed the road to Damascus and took aim at the border post of Al Masnaa. (16,5x24) Beirut 2006
July 22 Saturday 22 - “Petrol is getting scarce, roads are becoming increasingly dangerous, prices are going up” – those are the main topics that I discuss with taxi drivers. I spend the rest of the day saying goodbye to friends. – Are you afraid of the war? – No, it’s something else. Someone offers me a can of petrol. – “Just in case”, he says. (39,4x50) Istanbul 2006
July 23 Sunday 23 - A three-hour journey with my eldest son, travelling over small mountain roads (the main highway has been bombed in several places). “I don’t love you the way you want” – the sentence keeps ringing in my head. What if we said it differently, for example: “You don’t love me the way I want”? Our driver drives well and fast, he keeps silent – except for the last part of the trip, just before the border, when he starts talking like mad. When we arrive, I ask him what this sudden speech was all about. “I wanted to distract your son’s attention from the burnt cars on the side of the road.” (26x120) Lebanon 2006
The "Cité Sportive" after its bombing by the Israeli Army on the first day of the invasion. Beirut 1982
July 24 Monday, 24 July - Amman. Breakfast is served in the garden of the hotel, the shower works, there’s electricity and a telephone. The TV in the corner broadcasts images from Lebanon. I feel like I’m floating. I’m watching the people going about their business. What are they thinking about? That Lebanon died in Congo? The war there caused 4 million victims, the equivalent of the entire Lebanese population. But Congo isn’t lucky enough to have Israel as its neighbour. I organise my eldest son’s departure to Paris and buy myself a single fare to Istanbul. Tonight, for the first time in ten days, I recover my appetite. I’ve left Lebanon behind me, with no sense of guilt whatsoever. (32x50) Beirut 2006