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Khaled al Khani – The Beginning

SEE the artist’s website with full presentation

The Schleswig-Holsteinischer Kunstverein is showing a temporary installation by the Syrian artist Khaled al Khani (b. 1975) which was especially made for the space in the Kunsthalle zu Kiel.

 

Khaled al Khani studied painting in Hama and Damascus. In 2011 he fled from Syria and is now living in exile in Paris. The artwork he has created for the Kunstverein with the title The Beginning is Khaled al Khani’s first museum presentation in Europe. It draws on the existential experiences of the artist in his homeland, the Syrian civil war and his hopes for a future of peace.

Like many of the paintings of the artist, the mural in the Kunsthalle zu Kiel depicts the adumbrations of groups of people against a light background. The faces of the figures are only vaguely defined. Al Khani’s expressive and figurative painting style encompasses the entire walls of the room as well as most of the ceiling. At many points it oscillates between figuration and abstraction. Painting with acrylics directly on the wall, the artist has created a space that allows beholders to individually experience and interpret what is depicted in the installation: in their perception inside and outside, the past and the future merge. Only an oval in the middle of the ceiling has been left unpainted. This compositional device opens up the pictorial space into a realm above, and alludes once again to the title of the installation.

At work in the Kunsthalle (Photo Gallery)

 

 
Kunsthall-photos_5
Kunsthall-photos_16

 full catalogue here

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Syrian Tears in Istanbul

Syrian Tears in Istanbul

On my way back from   applyinginformation but also the fact that the building was full of Syrians, a babble   of various Syrian dialects grumbling at the 200 Turkish Lira fee, a small   price it may seem for security but still a hefty sum nevertheless for most,   handing over my privileged claret passport cost another 175 TL on top of that,   I also grumbled in various dialects but mostly cockney, the air of   despondency followed me into a shopping mall just down the road, sitting   beside a water fountain performing to orchestral commands beyond my   comprehension, I logged onto Starbucks fading wifi signal while some tourists   from the far east snapped away at the aquatic display.
A more depressing globalized environment would be hard to imagine I thought   as I surveyed my surroundings, once again it’s the Syrians that grab my   attention, this time a young women pushing a child in a buggy, she looks   upset and as though she’s about to burst into tears, she’s followed by a   couple of young lads, aged about seven and eight they all sit down on the   step of the plaza and no sooner sitting she does burst into tears, the boys   are kicking their heals, soon they are joined by who clearly must be her   husband and another son, they are well dressed, not wealthy but typical   Syrian middle class, families like this I would see everyday shopping along   sharia Hamra, her tears could be nothing more serious that the usual marital   trauma brought on by a visit to overpriced shopping mall but I can’t help   feeling it’s another sad Syrian story, he paces around the plaza trying to   call on his phone, he seems agitated and looks as though he is just trying to   do something, anything, he knows it’s his job to solve the situation and he   is making the calls, the look in his eyes show a lack of confidence, the   women is sobbing non-stop and I just want him to go and comfort her, I want to   go and talk with them but I don’t, over the last almost three years I have   witnessed the tears of Syrians sobbing countless times, on occasion I have   tried to console but what you can you say or do, futile reassurance that   everything is going to be okay, they really do seem like a nice family, they   seem lost and out of their depth, I have listened to the conversations before   on what to do for the best, to leave Syria or stay, to go where and do what,   how much money do we have and how long will it last, what country accepts a   Syrian passport, who will give me a job, what about the car and the house,   what about the rest of the family, the decisions to leave are not easy, she   sits there alone tears running down her face, like the nation she has left   behind, alone and broken.

johnwreford

Freelance editorial photographer that has spent the last ten years living in the Syrian capital Damascus. Currently in Istanbul Turkey.

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