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Visions of Contaminated Memories
mini-DV, stock images and footage & text
Three-Channel video,
5 minutes, 2007
Producer: Sharjah Biennale
Public Screenings:
Sharjah Biennale, UAE, 2007
Kunstmuseum Bonn, Germany, 2007
Front Screen: Memory Spam
When I was five, I fell madly in love with Abla Fadeela, the
lady who tells beautiful stories in the official Egyptian radio;
I would do anything to marry her at that time.
When I was fifteen, I became obsessed by the John Kennedy assassination.
I kept a VHS copy of the assassination of Lee Harvey Oswald
that was transmitted on air and invaded the homes of unexpected
viewers back in November 1963.
I thought then that I would never see another live assassination.
When I was 16, I was shocked to know that the president I was
told was the first, was actually NOT the first president; there
was a nicer president before him that stayed in power for around
two years.
I realized to my disbelief that we were only taught and fed
false history.
When I was 18, I watched the assassination of “the then”
president live as it happened.
Ever since I lost interest in presidents.
Today I am 43, I watch the news with my two kids, we put the
volume at zero, and lay bets on what protagonists are saying:
usually there are no new news, only recycled spam.
Some time ago, I decided to relive my own memories my own way.
Right Screen: The Desert
The desert for me represents the static.
It is the safe haven and preserver of memories; there is a sacred
archeological awe when we talk about it in Egypt, for it keeps
3/5th of the planet’s antiquities, the memories of the
ancestors.
Memory is history; the good history for me is the different
Cairo I was born in and to, the Cairo where I grew up of the
late sixties and seventies; I had a bicycle; I climbed mango
trees in the gardens of villas around the three-floor apartment
block where I lived with my parents and younger brother.
At that time, people around me as a child looked different,
dressed differently, talked differently, and strange enough,
behaved differently. People were tolerant, friendly and attractive
then.
My kids are born in the same city; there are no mango trees
to be seen anywhere anymore. People today look different than
my childhood days, dress differently, talk differently, and
consequently behave differently.
The openness, elegance and tolerance of the same citizens perished
in a massive wave of cultural regression, noise, pollution and
over-crowdedness of people, ideas, thoughts and distorted beliefs.
My desert keeps my memories.
Today with decades of cumulative social and political effervescence,
and the subsequent change of values, model answers come from
film, and from whoever has a louder voice, be it a right wing
religious platform, or a nationalist body.
Even the most sacred became marketable: tapes and catalogues
of preachers speeches are packaged and sold alongside belly
dance VCDs and VHSs and pop singers cassettes, in grand surface
commercial outlets as well as in simple cassette kiosks in the
corner of downtown Cairo streets.
In visions of cheeseburger memory, a protagonist, his blood
saturated by the intake of urban city medicines, flooded by
advertising imagery and bombarded by Hollywood action film,
impersonates his favorite Hollywood heroes. In his head reality
is mixed with fiction, facts are mingled with delusions, and
the result is confabulation of all his city experiences, a cosmopolitan
city of billboards, noise, pollution and violence, and set of
behaviors and attitudes manipulated by Hollywood, violence aesthetics
and excess consumption of the senses.
Left Screen: The Sea
The Sea, and the river for me represent the kinetic.
Flowing water represents for me the continuous flux and flow
of ideas, of thought and of ideology; everything and every single
drop is ephemeral in its place, always in motion, never twice
in the same place.
In Egypt, where I grew up, we have two identical expressions
for both the sea and the river: “tarh el bahr” and
“tarh el nahr”; both have the same identical meaning:
the “proposal” of the sea, and the river respectively.
The term in current Egyptian slang has a much more powerful
meaning: the throw-up (puke) of the sea (or river).
To me, the successive flux/flow of proposals of ideology and
thought over the past decades have been generous and massive;
what we kept of it and adopt today is only the throw-up.
Khaled hafez
2007
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