Maria Kassab

Born in Beirut, moved to Montreal during the foreigners war on Lebanese soil. Came back in 95, studied at L'Athénée De Beyrouth and graduated from the Lebanese American University with a degree in Arts and Science. It was a broken return, only, latterly before the recent war on Lebanon, started to fall in love with the city, its old buildings, tangible walls, disproportional streets, silver sea and golden shores, to its electrical poles and unfolded wires, simply its smallest details. Thoughts, sensations and emotions were filtered through the lens and blank canvases.

"Stitching the Wound I & II"

Not much has changed since the last drink we had together this afternoon, a month ago, or even a year ago, except for the fact that the streets have been emptied, buildings evacuated, yellow cranes shattered.

Somehow you become aware of the ravages of this despicable war because some fools haven't entertained you for quite a while, or are you being entertained? But you just do not give it enough attention because you feel lost and displaced like the millions of other people, trying to find your way, your identity, your hopes in this knocked down city of yours. You feel helpless, sometimes useless, and even senseless. You dump yourself, mind and actions in the hands of perfectly aligned soldiers like whisky bottles on shady shelves.

And while you order your resentful, cynical drink, you think of your blue sea and if it will ever return, you think of your silver sand and if it's perishing in its own dusty ground. Your holding you drink, your hands are shaking, you light another cigarette and try to remember how this old man was sitting in front of his grocery store, and say to yourself the apples he has outside must be eaten by worms, and his bread must be moldy by now. While sipping your pungent drink, you ignore your future, ill fated by your own culture. Suddenly you become afraid of tomorrow, swiftly scared today. You must think your path is inflexible; you rest on this stiff bar, glasses of alcohol waiting to erupt and raid your brain. All of a sudden, you crave an extensive field where no shield shall be warned. You crave for a touch of green, a drop of rain falling on mudded ground where your feet drown.

It's late you drank too much; you feel your body is being swallowed by indescribable monsters with sharp teeth. You sense them crawling on your feet, sliding on your white naked leg, you feel your blood is being sucked away.

The night has fallen, you run to your car, your steps are obstruct, you search for the key and ride your way back home.

In bed, no song is being sung, no line is being drawn, all is shady, and all is hazy. Your sight is blurred, you feel your world is collapsing, indeed it is. Darkness is blinding, your walls are failing, the mirror becomes tangible, and you say to yourself, loneliness is suitable.