Vicious Stroke

Hard-hitting yet beautiful, Ayman Baalbaki's paintings offer a glimpse into the turmoil he had experienced during a lifetime of conflict   The past few decades of struggle in Lebanon have inspired a plethora of artists who have lived through the country’s tortured history. Painter Ayman Baalbaki is one who needs no introduction. Over the last ten years or so, he has tapped into Lebanon’s soul through his paintings and installations that are a reflection of the political turmoil he experienced while living in Beirut. Often seen in the city's streets with his trademark turban and hoop earring, the 38-year-old has used his paintbrush to explore themes such as conflict, refugees, destruction and the post-war reconstruction era.   The feeling of displacement is all too familiar for the artist. Born in 1975, the year the country's fifteen year civil war began, Baalbaki was a baby when he and his family were forced to leave the suburb of Ras el Dekwaneh and fled to Wadi Abu Jamil,  a neighbourhood in downtown Beirut. After the war, the area was bulldozed in the name of development, thus Baalbaki found himself displaced once again. ‘Despite the fact that I am originally from the South, I don’t feel like I belong there. In Wadi Abu Jamil, we were on the front line of West Beirut. It was a refugee platform for people from different religions and cultures. All those who couldn’t find shelter would carry their cultural luggage with them to wherever they were headed,’ the artist shares. Baalbaki says that his experiences, emotions and ‘mixed feelings’ are usually reflected in his work.   Bombed buildings, piles of rubble and destroyed hotels are depicted in a captivating array of colours on canvas, which when observed closely depict a temperament that is portrayed through his violent brush strokes. ‘I have a temper. It doesn’t always show but in some situations my temper flares up. It was war and displacement that made me tough. I developed an aggressive and defensive force in me. The violence I have witnessed was translated into painting,’ he explains.   Baalbaki’s paintings of Beirut’s destruction are based on archive material. However he says his memory forms the basis of his work. ‘I gather documentary material, my own photos and download images from the internet. It nourishes my eyes. The variations I discover inspire me to approach a subject from different angles. I can paint a building and then change it totally from my own memory. Here in Lebanon, it isn’t easy to photograph monuments because the authority and militia don’t like it. They consider the camera a dangerous weapon. They would laugh if they knew that my intention was to paint them,’ he grins.   Baalbaki’s works are thought provoking and dramatic. However, what sets the artist apart is the warmth that shines through his paintings. His freedom fighter series, more commonly referred to as Al Mulatham, is one of his most popular. Here, a young man’s face is shrouded in a keffiyeh, leaving only the eyes to be seen. The floral textile background provides a softening effect to an otherwise confrontational, hard-hitting portrait. Baalbaki explains how the flowers found in his works are his method of incorporating a feminine touch.   ‘By putting flowers in my paintings, I recall my grandmother more than my mother. They remind me of a certain era and environment, the dresses of my grandmother and my aunties, mattresses and textiles on the washing line. I consider this to be the feminine side of my work. For several generations, including that of my parents, the word 'metwall' has been used pejoratively and has meant that something is bad taste, as a reference to the colourful dresses of peasants from South Lebanon.’   Over the years, Baalbaki has branched out and experimented with mixed media installations. However, he maintains that painting remains his main strength. 'In Paris I studied public art at the École Nationale Supérieure des Arts Décoratifs). At the “Art Decos” several of my teachers kept telling me that my painting is stronger than my installations. I treated installation work as 3D painting.’   One of the artist’s most acknowledged installation works is Destination X. Initially showcased three years ago as part of Arabicity, a group exhibition curated by Rose Issa at Liverpool’s Bluecoat Gallery, the roof of a battered old Mercedes-Benz car is piled high with mattresses, chairs, fans, suitcases, kitchen appliances, a bicycle and tables. The bulging luggage acts as a poignant visualisation of families forced to flee their homes during the Lebanese Civil War.   Baalbaki points out how the common themes of loss and identity found throughout his work come back to the Al Mu’allaqat, a collection of seven odes by pre-Islamic poets. ‘Growing up during the war, my father would prevent us from going out by forcing us to recite the verses. If we learned and understood them, we were allowed to leave the house.I discovered by chance that there is a strong connection between the essence of these poems and my work.’   Tattooed in Arabic on Baalbaki’s hands is an American Indian proverb, translated as ‘love without doubt, strength without guilt.’ Asked about the meaning behind the distinctive markings, Baalbaki says ‘it’s very personal’ but shares how he developed a liking for them after seeing his grandmother’s arms inked by Bedouins.   Hailing from a family of artists and having witnessed the struggles his family encountered first-hand, Baalbaki says he always wanted to paint. ‘I didn’t know if I would relive my parents’ experience, but I was ready to explore the adventure.’   The artist, whose apartment-cum-atelier in Sanayeh is decorated with artworks produced by his family, admits that the situation has improved for artists in the Middle East, compared to 20 years ago. He says this is all thanks to prestigious exhibitions and the recent global interest in art from this region. Ask him what he finds most striking about his own work, the modest Baalbaki immediately responds and smiles, ‘No clue. Someone else would have to tell me. I can’t see it through someone else’s lens. I don’t like comparing my paintings. Time will show if there is uniqueness or not.’   Standing on his apartment balcony overlooking Beirut’s ever-changing skyline, Baalbaki reflects on his past. He says he loves his country, despite all its shortcomings. ‘But at the same time, I do dislike it. I think I will always have mixed feelings about this place. In the end, Beirut will go back to being Beirut. The places I love so much have an undecided fate and I don't know what will happen to them.’   Photography: Natalie Naccache