First MADE. design forum in Jeddah gave ‘equal weight to the mind and the hand,’ says organizer 

BEIRUT: Art lovers may embark on an astonishing exploration with Joana Hadjithomas and Khalil Joreige into the depths of the waters and soil of Lebanon in search of the hidden secrets of its unseen subterranean worlds.

At the Sursock Museum on Beirut’s historic Sursock Street, Hadjithomas and Joreige have unveiled the results of a decade of research and experimentation in an exhibition titled “Remembering the Light.”

This exhibition serves as a transcendent experience that explores various expressive forms, delving into reflections on time, memory, and the profound transformations of cities, bodies, and history.

The outcome of this research has taken the form of artistic installations, photographs, and sculptures that narrate the intricacies of archaeology, infused with imaginative elements and references to fragility and permanence.

These works evoke perspectives on materiality, memory, and undiscovered narratives, delving into what is buried, forgotten or obscured, at depths reaching 45 meters in a remarkable journey through time.

The exhibition derives its title from a video produced in 2016, in which the two artists explored the spectrum of light underwater and the glow emanating from its depths, addressing the present by collaborating with geologists, archaeologists, poets, divers, and scientists.

The artists said that through the exhibition’s paintings is shown how “unexpected phenomena occur underwater. Sensory perception changes as one descends deeper into the water. The light spectrum diminishes and colors fade, with red disappearing first, followed by orange, yellow, green, and blue, until everything is engulfed in darkness. However, when the dark seabed is illuminated, the obstacles recall the memory of light and reflect it.”

Hadjithomas and Joreige state that the experience undertaken by the divers they enlisted mirrors the dangers faced by migrants crossing the Mediterranean Sea. They accompanied this with a scene of a scarf cascading downward, symbolizing memories of a war submerged over time.

The exhibition features a pile of earth layers bearing the material traces of archaeological and geological times in the cities of Beirut, Nahr Al-Bared in northern Lebanon, and Tripoli, completed over the past decade.

The rubble of cities, Palestinian refugee camps, and construction sites was rearranged into images and transparent capsules, revealing shattered scenes of people’s lives over time. The land has therefore turned into a notebook on which Hadjithomas and Joreige recorded the erased stories.

One unfolds in Nahr Al-Bared (Cold River Bed) camp, which was established in 1948 and destroyed after the 100-day conflict in 2007 between Fateh Al-Islam and the Lebanese Army. As reconstruction efforts began and rubble was cleared, layers of archaeological ruins unexpectedly surfaced: the remains of the mythical Roman city of Orthosia, believed to have been destroyed by a tsunami in 551 AD.

At the exhibition, the artists, guided by archaeologists, present the city’s entangled history through sculptural forms echoing both the soil and red sand used to cover the land.

A slideshow of images or testimonies narrates a story that vertiginously weaves together human displacement, military conflict, and archaeological discovery.

Matter extracted from core samples — soil, rocks, clay, and limestone — is carefully stored for analysis by engineers, prior to any construction.

Guided by those archeologists and geologists, the artists collected and re-sculpted these remains of buried worlds to make visible the imprints of successive human occupations, ecological upheavals, and lost civilizations.

History does not unfold as a coherent succession of chronological layers, but rather as a dynamic entanglement of epochs, marked by ruptures, where traces and civilizations intermingle.

Joreige dedicated part of the exhibition to his uncle, who was abducted in 1985 during the Lebanese civil war, piecing together some of his memories.

He gathered whatever undeveloped films he could from his abandoned home, each lasting 180 seconds, and before they faded, he printed them on blank sheets, producing faint impressions that could only be deciphered by looking closely.

Joreige describes them as “an attempt to resist disappearance.”

He said: “It’s a form of mourning that has yet to find closure, memories that have faded but won’t disappear.”

AL-AHSA: Saudi Arabia’s lush oasis of Al-Ahsa will be in full bloom in Italy next week at the 24th Triennale Milano International Exhibition, which runs from May 13 to Nov. 9 at Milan’s Palazzo dell’Arte. 

Al-Ahsa is officially recognized as the world’s largest oasis, and is home to more than 2.5 million date palms.  

The Kingdom’s debut pavilion at the exhibition is “Maghras: A Farm for Experimentation,” which, according to the exhibition’s website, is “structured as a transplanted maghras — a unit of land demarcated by four palm trees” and “symbolically frames the dialogues, material traces, soundscapes of field recordings, and speculative gestures emerging from the space.” 

The pavilion, commissioned by the Architecture and Design Commission under the Ministry of Culture, and curated by longtime friends Lulu Almana and Sara Al-Omran, along with US-based creative director Alejandro Stein, is inspired by Al-Ahsa’s Al-Sbakh Farm, established by the late Noura AlMousa. The farm is now managed by the Abdulmonem Alrashed Humanitarian Foundation (named after its founder, AlMousa’s son) and the Noura AlMousa House for Culture and Arts, housed in AlMousa’s former home. 

“We’re really continuing on the lineage of the matriarch,” Al-Omran tells Arab News when we meet the curators at the farm. “Her spirit feels very present because she really cared about craft and culture.” 

Almana and Al-Omran commissioned three Saudi artists to work on the pavilion: Leen Ajlan, a London-based designer from Jeddah; Mohammad Alfaraj, a contemporary artist whose family have been farming in Al-Ahsa for generations; and Tara Aldughaither, founder of Sawtasura, an audio research and learning platform focused primarily on female voices.  

Through videos, sound installations, and participatory programs, the pavilion will invite visitors to engage with the evolving agricultural ecosystems of Al-Ahsa.  

The maghras concept symbolically ties the exhibition to the land, offering an immersive experience that bridges past traditions with contemporary agricultural practices. 

“Technically, there are three participating artists but it’s more than that — there is a big team,” Almana says. “Then there’s all the research that’s being displayed through illustrations and maps and texts that the team worked on. There’s also all the programs and workshops that have been a big part of it.” The fruits of this collective effort will be published in a book later this year.   

Al-Omran explains that her grandparents are from Al-Ahsa. “I always hear, particularly from my grandfather, these stories of Al-Ahsa. And when he speaks about it, it feels like this mythical place that doesn’t really connect to what I see here (now),” she says. “I grew up in (Alkhobar), but would come here every week. Many of my best memories were here; running around on the farm, seeing the frogs and the rabbits and the sheep and playing around. And also understanding seasons and seeing crops and produce. But through conversations with him, I saw this contrast of the place that he talks about and the place I’m witnessing. And I realize that it’s really within a lifetime that the environment has shifted so much.” 

Al-Omran’s family, including her grandfather, attended the opening event at Al-Sbakh Farm last autumn, where they saw their hometown celebrated in a new light. 

“They’re proud. They’re really happy to see that Al-Ahsa is spoken about,” Al-Omran says. “They see that it’s not just about the past, but a way of thinking about the future.” 

The unfolding narrative of the project has emphasized community engagement. “It was really nice and natural,” says Almana. “It didn’t feel forced in any way. People were saying, ‘You’re doing something important.’ It felt impactful despite its small gestures.” 

After nearly a decade of living abroad in large, congested cities including London and New York, Almana says the initial intention for this project, for her, “was that I needed to get rooted into a place, build knowledge, and build a community of like-minded people who share similar concerns, questions and values: How do we preserve the identity of a place that’s constantly changing? How do we share our concerns and ideas for regeneration, for reviving certain things? It matters to build a community around these questions. Then everything becomes more meaningful and interesting.” 

Almana had only visited Al-Ahsa briefly up until five years ago, during COVID, when she finally spent a significant amount of time there. She found the place inspirational. “It hit me that there’s this urban-rural tension. The big cities get attention, but the rural, historic agricultural places are overshadowed. I wanted to dive into agriculture and build a community of like-minded people,” she says. 

Almana’s partnership with Al-Omran added an insider’s perspective to the project. In Milan, visitors will experience the “true essence” of Al-Ahsa, the pair say.  

“We really wanted to represent Maghras in the most authentic way,” Almana explains. “It’s a community-based project within a morphing landscape, not just a static thing.” 

And Milan, she hopes, is just the start. “We want this to grow into something longer-term, and we’ve conveyed that to the ministry, which supports this vision,” she says. 

Al-Omran stresses the amount of research that was involved in creating the pavilion. “We’re looking at a display of research material that we assembled for our first event back in October. And at that point we had spent about three or four months looking at archival research and doing a lot of interviews.” 

The first activation was both a presentation and a checkpoint.  

“We wanted to take a moment to sift through the material we’d come across and the conversations we’d listened to. It was important to do that during the opening, where we welcomed the community and spoke about the project, because it was important to hear people’s reflections on the research as it emerges; we felt that would influence the direction,” she says. 

“Sometimes we don’t really realize what’s lost until generations have passed. And it felt like we were in a moment where the shifts are happening,” she continues. “So it felt urgent to talk about it now, while that generation is still around.”