oblivion feed
I believe the work comes through me. It’s your work, Tony says. Human. Flawed. Own it!
(Tony is a canadian photographer, I “met” online through his work in 2020. He mentored me through the (long) birth of my first photobook. He helped me tremendously in finding (or freeing) my voice as an artist. He later came visit with his wife Cindy, (so we actually met), and I still ask his opinion on works in progress)
I tend to say “the work”, rather than “my” work, too. Of course, if I don’t take the pictures, try to understand what they might point to, then take more pointed pictures, painstakingly organize them etc. the work would never materialize. I have to will it into existence, and, up to a point, it bears my mark. My proclivities. No matter what medium I work with, I seem to stumble upon the same things over and over. Even when I attempt to be “neutral” or “unbiased”.
But then again, I didn’t choose my obsessions. I never know where the work will take me, and the outcome is always a surprise. We all “contain multitudes”, and I never know whose voice will speak at a given time. The work feels bigger than me, coming from elsewhere and my part is mostly to host it to the best of my abilities…
All that to say, I have a new zine (photo) coming up. It speaks with a harsh voice, offering no ancestral wisdom seeping through the pictures, no hovering beauty to cushion the blows. Good, Tony says, the truth will set you free. Name the ache, it might help others feel less alone. Therein lies the solace you so long for. Not in pretending and romanticizing. Stay with the trouble.
It started as an exploration of Casablanca’s night life and its tumultuous youth, caught between aspirations for change and the promises of instant gratifications, I write in solemn statements. Maybe it was just a middle life crisis I tried to make tax-deductible…(Turns out, there is no tax-return on partying, sadly.)
Picturing the nightlife in Morocco is tricky. A lot of what happens during the night (alcohol or intimate relationships outside marriage) are against the law in a muslim country. I didn’t want to put anyone at risk and strived to keep the faces hidden, while catching the spirit. More often than not, I dragged my feet (not much of a party girl, I tire easy) and left feeling like the crappiest photographer that ever lived, no less.
Now that many of those places are being closed, I’m glad I gathered some traces though.
(Go out and shoot, even when the assignement is difficult, even when you feel old and crappy, voilà)
Then started the massive genocide broadcast in 4K by the victims themselves (which genocide, one may ask, no shortage of those) It sent me in a frenzy. I found myself relentlessly making screenshots of headlines on my social media feed. I felt the same urgency as when I started taking pictures. The camera then was like a shield to help me confront what I found painful in the world. Still is. Only now the confines of the world have merged with my phone, signaling a shift in what “reality” means.
None of these (numerous) screenshots appear in the final zine, but somehow, they inform the work.
I let it simmer for a very long time, only opening those sreenshots once in a while for a cleansing cry.
I finally began editing after being asked for a portrait of me in my studio to feature a work-in-progress.
It prompted me to stick small pictures on the wall, as a background. The magazine didn’t use that portrait in the end, but it set things in motion. After that, the sequence came together rather easily.
The title was quite another story.
Titles need to be appealing, I believe, but not deceptive, steer the viewer in the right direction, but leave room for them to feel on their own.
The working title was “heat” (as in lust, as in “our world is heating up on so many levels”).
It became “We keep burning into the endless night” (long, pompous) It got to “the sky was no longer a shelter” and “check surroundings for safety”. I’d be reading something when some words would stop me in my tracks, suddenly glistening and holding a mysterious weight, mostly prepositions like “before” or “amidst”. I tried to combine them, testing numerous variations, like a human language learning machine. It was disconcerting. But I find it reassuring when the work starts to mess with my brain-I take it as a proof it’s working. I could be delusional.
“Oblivion feed” feels about right. (we’re fed-to-oblivion)
So what is the zine about, Souki? It’s an honest report of what it feels like to be human today. It whispers uncomfortable truths with a boldness I could never afford in my actual life. It has a dystopian sci-fi movie vibe and a sticky feeling I love.
So, if you fancy pictures of beautiful babies and blossoming flowers, it may not be for you.
But if you like when difficult feelings you can’t yet name are spelled out, feel free to preorder.
(the pictures on this post are not in the book-the pictures in the book are not in this post.
But it gives an idea)
“Oblivion feed”-68 pages-33 pictures-color- 15x 21 cm or 5.8 x 8.3 inches. 200 MAD, 20$
Only 50 copies.
Get them while they’re hot!
