'Rise from the Rubble': Lebanese Artist Turns Blast Debris into Symbol of Hope

A view shows a statue by Lebanese artist, Hayat Nazer, which is made entirely out of broken glass and debris of the August 4 port explosion, near the port of Beirut, Lebanon October 26, 2020. (Reuters)
A view shows a statue by Lebanese artist, Hayat Nazer, which is made entirely out of broken glass and debris of the August 4 port explosion, near the port of Beirut, Lebanon October 26, 2020. (Reuters)
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'Rise from the Rubble': Lebanese Artist Turns Blast Debris into Symbol of Hope

A view shows a statue by Lebanese artist, Hayat Nazer, which is made entirely out of broken glass and debris of the August 4 port explosion, near the port of Beirut, Lebanon October 26, 2020. (Reuters)
A view shows a statue by Lebanese artist, Hayat Nazer, which is made entirely out of broken glass and debris of the August 4 port explosion, near the port of Beirut, Lebanon October 26, 2020. (Reuters)

She stands nearly three meters tall with her arm raised, the wind whipping the hair away from her scarred face, and a broken clock at her feet with the hands showing 6.08, the time that a blast ripped through Beirut port on the evening of Aug. 4.

The unnamed statue by Lebanese artist Hayat Nazer is made of broken glass and twisted materials that belonged to people’s homes before the explosion that killed 200 and injured 6,000, and symbolizes the city’s hopes of rising from the rubble.

“If you look at the statue, one half has a leg standing, the hand looks surrendered, there is a scar on the face with the flying hair and the clock on this side, as if the explosion is still happening,” Nazer told Reuters Television.

“But the other hand and the other leg...is leaning as if it is starting to walk and the hand is raised, it wants to continue, it wants to keep going and rise from the rubble. And this is the truth, this is our truth,” the 33-year-old said.

The huge blast, which levelled a swathe of Beirut and made some 300,000 residents homeless, has compounded Lebanon’s worst financial crisis since the 1975-1990 civil war.

Nazer believes in Lebanese resilience.

She says those affected by the blast who saw the 2.6-meter statue, temporarily displayed in front of the damaged port, drew strength and hope to carry on.

Nazer had already started on a female sculpture before the blast, but volunteered to help clean up destroyed houses and streets. At night, she would return to the sculpture, using the shards of glass and metal pieces she had collected.

“I felt like Beirut was a woman...who despite what she suffered...is very strong,” she said.

Inspired by Lebanese singer Majida El Roumi’s “Beirut, Lady of the World” and its lyrics “Rise from under the rubble”, Nazer says the statue took her a little more than two months to complete.

She did not name the artwork because she wanted the public to do so.

This is not the first time Nazer has used debris in her art.

Her previous works include a model of the mythological Phoenix made out of pieces of protesters’ burnt tents, and a heart-shaped sculpture from stones and empty teargas canisters collected from clashes between protesters and security forces.



Watching the Sun Rise over a New Damascus

Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
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Watching the Sun Rise over a New Damascus

Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)

After the fall of Bashar al-Assad, Afaf Mohammed did what she could not for more than a decade: she climbed Mount Qasyun to admire a sleeping Damascus "from the sky" and watch the sun rise.

Through the long years of Syria's civil war, which began in 2011 with a government crackdown on pro-democracy protesters, people were not allowed access to the mountain.

But now they can return to look down again on their capital, with its high-rise hotels and poor suburbs exhausted by war.

When night falls, long queues of vehicles slowly make their way up a twisting road to a brightly lit corniche at the summit.

Once there, they can relax, listen to music, eat and, inevitably, take selfies.

On some evenings there have even been firework displays.

Afaf Mohammed told AFP that "during the war we weren't allowed up to Mount Qasyun. There were few public places that were truly accessible."

At her feet, the panorama of Syria's capital stretched far and wide. It was the second time in weeks that the dentist in her thirties had come to the mountaintop.

A man sells tea on Mount Qasyun, from which government artillery used to pound opposition-held areas under Assad's rule. (AFP)

- Ideal for snipers -

Her first was just after a coalition of opposition fighters entered the city, ousting Assad on December 8.

On that occasion she came at dawn.

"I can't describe how I felt after we had gone through 13 years of hardship," she said, wrapped close in an abaya to ward off the chilly breeze.

Qasyun was off limits to the people of Damascus because it was an ideal location for snipers -- the great view includes elegant presidential palaces and other government buildings.

It was also from this mountain that artillery units for years pounded opposition-held areas at the gates of the capital.

Mohammed believes the revolution brought "a phenomenal freedom" that includes the right to visit previously forbidden places.

"No one can stop us now or block our way. No one will harm us," she said.

Patrols from the security forces of Syria's new rulers are in evidence, however.

They look on as a boy plays a tabla drum and young people on folding chairs puff from water pipes as others dance and sing, clapping their hands.

Everything is good-natured, reflecting the atmosphere of freedom that now bathes Syria since the end of Assad rule.

Gone are the stifling restrictions that once ruled the people's lives, and soldiers no longer throng the city streets.

Visitors to Mount Qasyun can now relax, listen to music, eat and snap selfies. (AFP)

- Hot drinks and snacks -

Mohammad Yehia, in his forties, said he once brought his son Rabih up to Mount Qasyun when he was small.

"But he doesn't remember having been here," he said.

After Assad fell, his son "asked if we would be allowed to go up there, and I said, 'Of course'," Yehia added.

So they came the next day.

Yehia knows the place well -- he used to work here, serving hot drinks and snacks from the back of a van to onlookers who came to admire the view.

He prides himself on being one of the first to come back again, more than a decade later.

The closure of Mount Qasyun to the people of Damascus robbed him of his livelihood at a time when the country was in economic freefall under Western sanctions. The war placed a yoke of poverty on 90 percent of the population.

"We were at the suffocation point," Yehia told AFP.

"Even if you worked all day, you still couldn't make ends meet.

"This is the only place where the people of Damascus can come and breathe a little. It's a spectacular view... it can make us forget the worries of the past."

Malak Mohammed, who came up the mountain with her sister Afaf, said that on returning "for the first time since childhood" she felt "immense joy".

"It's as if we were getting our whole country back," Malak said. Before, "we were deprived of everything".