Walking in Beirut in the late 90s was like taking a tour of scents. If you sniffed too hard, you could detect the smells of dried blood, welding fumes and fresh vomit. Beirut smelled like the moon, a mix of fired gunpowder and lunar dust, the consequence of dying stars.
My life is very terribly documented. Consequently, I have no interest in collectibles. It’s a curse but also a treasured possession. I can reinvent my childhood. My soft shadow just appears from time to time but memory is a kind of fiction. A vigorous attempt to retrieve it is never close to a triumph. I have sort of let go of this idea to find value in other things. Simple things. Things like making a sponge cake. Sponge cakes are thought to be the newbie baker smooth sailing ground.
"She was shackled but fierce. She was inhibited but impactful. She was everything I was. She was my self discovery. A state of candid freedom!"
Mali Wali is a visual and rhythmic exploration of the momentary power of self discovery. A woman is drawn into a choreographic experience that contorts and reshapes the framework of her body.