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The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

The Memory in Our Bones. Installation view at Green Art Gallery, Dubai, 2022

Press Release

Oftentimes, memories live on in parts of our body that we don’t necessarily think about when we think of sadness. We classify them as side effects; responses to lived experiences and trauma; conditions to fix.

              a patch of skin that becomes shiny and scaly, like that of a fish, flaking away in small grey chips

              an ankle that clackity-clacks with every step taken; like a musical tempo, reliable, always there

              ears that can’t hear much anymore but cannot seem to shut out the ringing in the head

              a scar in topographic relief, where the skin healed unevenly over sutures and pulls sometimes

Like clockwork, we are told: walk it off, stretch it out, submerge it in heat, nourish it with that which we aren’t already consuming. Take care of it and the condition will go away. But should we try to send it away, or could we instead massage it into our bones so that we can live with it?

I don’t believe these are side effects; I believe these are pockets of memories finding space in the body that is home—a pliable architecture of nebulous space; I believe these memories are also not always our own. Sometimes they pass down through blood, other times through proximity, and often they sit in the hollow behind the knee joint, or at the nape, or somewhere in our stomach. We are no longer called crazy when we use the term intergenerational trauma. We always knew our bodies could carry the grief of others, even strangers, and that of the land.

___

A remnant of slower living, and even slower practice of consuming, is the act of darning. Taking a needle and slowly teasing apart the edges of a ripped hole in a beloved piece of cloth and gently, gently, carefully, steadily, weaving a fine thread into the soul of the fabric and healing the tear. If the wound is small and the job well done, the scar is so fine that one would never know there was anything there. Preservation or pretence?

Taking apart items is a form of healing too, I realise, watching Majd meticulously shred a bedsheet, thread by thread, to the soundtrack of harrowing testimony. The act seems driven by a quiet rage that trembles under the skin and cascades out from the fingers. In other instances, where he adds and creates through embroidery (encompassing all the gentleness of action and weight of history), he lets us know how his gesture isn’t always accepted: son this is a waste of time.

Is it not the same, this latent torment, that makes Nasser build little monuments to loss—personal and collective— that, in time, themselves will be lost as well; where disintegration becomes the narrative tool? That which flows from the hands (and feet) onto objects, potent enough to both erect and dismantle preciousness. And that which resounds back from the objects, rushing up from the soles of the feet, coursing through the body as a shiver, and pushing out again, but this time transformed into poetry. He says: Ain. Eye. Ain. Tears.

Beyond the lyrical realms of melancholia or despair, Gulsah puts forward an empirical theatre of the commonplace. Potatoes: are not like sand; are not like thread; cannot become glass; cannot become tapestry. And yet, as she draws patches of skin from them, stitched together like quilts and chest cavities, and then lets them disintegrate to the ravages of time and heat, they embody all of those conditions. I think of food and human flesh as interchangeable actualities and shudder. No, as long as there is body memory, ordinary is not the same as innocuous.

Strips of vegetable hide and rising steam, cotton doilies and unavoidable architecture, packed sand casts and singing by/about water—where does the permanence end and the transience begin?

___

When distressed, sometimes the mind makes the body engage in the most unimaginative tasks to distract from the malaise. Anything that finds a way to systemize chaos into appropriate cupboards and shelves. I grew up watching my aunts peeling and chopping vegetables endlessly. I presumed they had resigned to this act as an extension of their prescribed character profiles. Decades later, as I absentmindedly rolled a pea between my fingers, I had a flashback of one of them declaring that shelling peas was her favourite activity.

Text by Saira Ansari

Majd Abdel Hamid, Son this is a waste of time (140 hours), 2022, Embroidery, cotton thread on fabric, 22 x 19 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Son this is a waste of time (140 hours), 2022

Embroidery, cotton thread on fabric, 22 x 19 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Son this is a waste of time (48 hours), 2022, Embroidery, cotton thread on fabric, 12.5 x 13.5 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Son this is a waste of time (48 hours), 2022

Embroidery, cotton thread on fabric, 12.5 x 13.5 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread IV), 2022, Cotton thread on fabric, 21.5 x 27.5 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread IV), 2022

Cotton thread on fabric, 21.5 x 27.5 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread IV) (detail), 2022

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread IV) (detail), 2022

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread II), 2022, Cotton thread on fabric, 29 x 23.5 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread II), 2022

Cotton thread on fabric, 29 x 23.5 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread III), 2022, Cotton thread on fabric, 30 x 19 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread III), 2022

Cotton thread on fabric, 30 x 19 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread V), 2022, Cotton thread on fabric, 27.5 x 19.5 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread V), 2022

Cotton thread on fabric, 27.5 x 19.5 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Walls are the notebooks of the insane (It doesn't have to end like this), 2019-ongoing, Cotton thread on table cloth, 41 x 27 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Walls are the notebooks of the insane (It doesn't have to end like this), 2019-ongoing

Cotton thread on table cloth, 41 x 27 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Walls are the notebooks of the insane (It doesn't have to end like this) (detail), 2019-ongoing

Majd Abdel Hamid, Walls are the notebooks of the insane (It doesn't have to end like this) (detail), 2019-ongoing

Majd Abdel Hamid, Quarantine series I, 2020-2021, Cross-stitch, cotton thread on cotton fabric, 39 x 27 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Quarantine series I, 2020-2021

Cross-stitch, cotton thread on cotton fabric, 39 x 27 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Quarantine series I (detail), 2020-2021

Majd Abdel Hamid, Quarantine series I (detail), 2020-2021

Majd Abdel Hamid, Burj (Tower) III, 2020-ongoing, Cross-stitch embroidery, cotton thread on table cloth, 30 x 29 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Burj (Tower) III, 2020-ongoing

Cross-stitch embroidery, cotton thread on table cloth, 30 x 29 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research I, 2022, Cotton thread on fabric, 34 x 30 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research I, 2022

Cotton thread on fabric, 34 x 30 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research II, 2022, Cotton thread on fabric, 34.5 x 27 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research II, 2022

Cotton thread on fabric, 34.5 x 27 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Quarantine series III, 2020-2021, Cross-stitch, sewing, cotton thread on cotton fabric, 26.5 x 14.5 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Quarantine series III, 2020-2021

Cross-stitch, sewing, cotton thread on cotton fabric, 26.5 x 14.5 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread I), 2022, Cotton thread on table cloth, 37 x 23 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread I), 2022

Cotton thread on table cloth, 37 x 23 cm

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread I) (detail), 2022

Majd Abdel Hamid, Research (how long was the thread I) (detail), 2022

Majd Abdel Hamid, When time stopped (6:10), 2021, Clock, cotton thread on night gown, 25 cm (Diameter)

Majd Abdel Hamid, When time stopped (6:10), 2021

Clock, cotton thread on night gown, 25 cm (Diameter)

Majd Abdel Hamid, Double Sheet, 2021, Video, fabric, sound, 5’51

Majd Abdel Hamid, Double Sheet, 2021

Video, fabric, sound, 5’51

Nasser Alzayani, Watering the distant, deserting the near, 2016-ongoing, Sand, sodium silicate, carbon dioxide, memories, collected recordings, works on paper

Nasser Alzayani, Watering the distant, deserting the near, 2016-ongoing

Sand, sodium silicate, carbon dioxide, memories, collected recordings, works on paper

Installation: Dimensions variable
Sand tablets: Composed of 5 pcs, 30 x 40 x 50 cm each
Prints: Composed of 15 pcs, 53 x 41 cm each

Unique in a series

Nasser Alzayani, Watering the distant, deserting the near (detail), 2016-ongoing

Nasser Alzayani, Watering the distant, deserting the near (detail), 2016-ongoing

Nasser Alzayani, Watering the distant, deserting the near (detail), 2016-ongoing

Nasser Alzayani, Watering the distant, deserting the near (detail), 2016-ongoing

Nasser Alzayani, Watering the distant, deserting the near (detail), 2016-ongoing

Nasser Alzayani, Watering the distant, deserting the near (detail), 2016-ongoing

Nasser Alzayani, Watering the distant, deserting the near (detail), 2016-ongoing

Nasser Alzayani, Watering the distant, deserting the near (detail), 2016-ongoing

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III), 2021, Potato-based bioplastic, copper, clay, water, insulated USB cup warmers, thread

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III), 2021

Potato-based bioplastic, copper, clay, water, insulated USB cup warmers, thread

Dimensions variable

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Merging Fields, Splitting Ends (Sequence III) (detail), 2021

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_1, 2022, Silkscreen on hand-made paper, 32 x 65.5 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_1, 2022

Silkscreen on hand-made paper, 32 x 65.5 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_1 (detail), 2022

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_1 (detail), 2022

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_2 & 5, 2022, Silkscreen on hand-made paper and leather made from food waste

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_2 & 5, 2022

Silkscreen on hand-made paper and leather made from food waste

Composed of 2 pcs, 31 x 73 cm, 18 x 21 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_2, 2022, Silkscreen on hand-made paper, 31 x 73 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_2, 2022

Silkscreen on hand-made paper, 31 x 73 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_2 (detail), 2022

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_2 (detail), 2022

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_2 (detail), 2022

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_2 (detail), 2022

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_ 5, 2022, Silkscreen on leather made from food waste, 18 x 21 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_ 5, 2022

Silkscreen on leather made from food waste, 18 x 21 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_3 & 6, 2022, Silkscreen on hand-made paper and leather made from food waste

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_3 & 6, 2022

Silkscreen on hand-made paper and leather made from food waste

Composed of 2 pcs, 22 x 35 cm, 20 x 21 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_3, 2022, Silkscreen on hand-made paper, 22 x 35 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_3, 2022

Silkscreen on hand-made paper, 22 x 35 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_6, 2022, Silkscreen on leather made from food waste, 20 x 21 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_6, 2022

Silkscreen on leather made from food waste, 20 x 21 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_3 & 6 (detail), 2022

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect_3 & 6 (detail), 2022

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect _4, 2022, Silkscreen on hand-made paper, 27 x 30 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect _4, 2022

Silkscreen on hand-made paper, 27 x 30 cm

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect _4 (detail), 2022

Gülşah Mursaloğlu, Dog Days in Retrospect _4 (detail), 2022

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