Tim Ingold describes identity as a “bundle of lines,” always interconnected, rather than fixed categories: “Every living being should be envisaged not as a blob but as a bundle of lines… In joining with one another, these lines comprise a meshwork, in which every node is a knot”. I am not just one title or profession but rather a combination of experiences, perspectives, and skills.
I am a Syrian who was born in the ’90s grew up through the renaissance of Syrian TV series making, where the concept of home, story, and tradition was questioned, discussed, reflected on, and studied thoroughly—through its ups and downs—with a great deal of artistry and love. Watching these series made me fall in love with the art of storytelling, not for the purpose of entertainment, but as a way to educate, spread awareness, and discuss social issues as Jonathan Gottschall argues in The Storytelling Animal “Story is not just a way we entertain ourselves. It’s a way we educate our sympathies.” The works that stood out are the works that said: Look at this and remember, you’re one people. Presented in the form of dark comedy or social drama. And I knew I wanted to be a part of that. This is the kind of work I want to do. I want to talk about large-scale problems in an accessible way.
I am the illustrator and cartoonist—a storyteller with a sense of beat (tempo) and flow of narrative, a knowledge of color, drawing techniques, an instinct for beauty, light and shadow, materials, balance, proportion, perspective, and point of view … visual authorship and a visual sense of humor.
I am the community worker, the team leader—connecting with people, building communities, building teams. A sense of duty towards my community, my city, my country, the causes I stand for. A respect for humanity and the human spirit, individuality, and the duty of the individual towards the collective. The greatness of the individual in their initiative and their passion-driven actions.
A fan of actors and their craft—being my first introduction to the world of what I’m seeing. Watching interviews with my favorite actors made me fall in love with the world behind the scenes—the way they devote their body, soul, and mind to their craft, the devotion … the way they study their characters and have authorship in the physicality—what to show, what to hide—providing insight and inspiration into all creative processes. And most of all, the collaborative process with all parts of the organism that is the set or stage.
A researcher? I try out things, ask for feedback, improve on them, reflect on what I’ve done, write about it, and go again. I walk around, observing, trying to be inspired, highlighting quotes in books, interviews, talks, or podcasts when they resonate. I have a space in a studio with other researchers who are also doing work—having talks with them, informing each other’s work, thought processes, and vocabulary.
To be a researcher, I had to be a student first and foremost—going through life with curiosity and eagerness to learn. Asking questions and always having a childlike wonder about how things work … how things are created … How can I learn how to do it? Where is the best place to get that info? Always learning and relearning. Being open to listen, truly listen, and take in feedback. Having conversations that will take the work further. Understanding that any bad feedback is not directed at my person but is truly given to make the work better. This is something I learned from being an architecture student—getting rejections and redos over and over. You develop thick skin toward that, but it also makes you know how to ask the right questions, how to be as flexible as possible, how to present your ideas better, and how to be open to the constant change that will no doubt come again and again in your professional life—with more at stake than grades and a wounded ego.
A maker, not an artist? Isn’t what I’m doing art? And what if it’s not art by my definition? By a certain spectator’s eyes, it is art; in another, it’s not. Both can coexist without contradiction, without separation. My making may not be art by my definitions, but it certainly has artistic elements. It might not convey beauty, but it has beautiful elements—or elements made in pursuit of beauty. Maybe not aesthetic beauty, but beauty in its more philosophical terms. What touches the soul, what brings serenity to the eye, to the wandering senses.
I am an architect, by education and even before studying architecture this was the way my brain works—structured thinking, problems, solutions, diagrams, lines, and plans. Logic and over-planning. The way I see it, an architect is not an artist. Architecture is not an art by definition, its logic as one of my professors would put it but it has artistry in it. In serving a function and providing spatial human solutions, it can also be beautiful. It can also be seamless—not in contrast with its surroundings, but harmonious with its surrounding nature and environment instead of being framed by it or framing it. Architecture that serves human needs predicts human behavior and acts accordingly. It lessens self-consciousness. It leads you naturally from one space to another while preserving the rules of beauty, balance, and visual comfort. A good architect or designer, therefore, is one who has all of this in mind while working—human, human, human.
A part of my reluctance to call myself—or even my avoidance of going into details about my being a scenographer up until now—is that I am a culmination of all the above. All these personalities, occupations, and skills I’ve honed over the years are in me, and maybe it’s difficult for me to condense all of them into one word.
But come to think about it … what is a scenographer? (at least to me) An architect. A designer of space and experience. Someone who should have the audience in mind when designing—their perception, their comfort, their points of view, their perspectives, and background. Someone who respects and honors their performers—whether they are actual people or set pieces.
Someone who honors their collaborators—the people whose stories are being told, the tools, the space —as elements that make the whole space function as an organism that needs all its parts to be alive, breathing souls into what would have previously been an empty environment.
Someone who values beauty, aesthetics, and artistry in what is being designed and presented. Someone who has something to say, stories to tell, a set of values, and the urgency to tell these stories—making the spaces they design a vessel, for a few minutes, maybe more—taking people on an emotional journey where they would hopefully reflect, see themselves reflected, and feel a connection with space and others.
If all these elements exist in the work I do and present, and if my work truly does what I want it to do, I can call myself whatever I want at a certain instance—all can exist within me, Having this multiplicity of identities is what makes me, me.
Leave a Reply