Hrair Sarkissian is a Syrian-Armenian artist, born and raised in Damascus, where his father founded the first photographic colour laboratory in Syria. He currently lives in the UK and has exhibited in many places in Europe and around the world.
After exhibiting his works in several Sharjah Biennials, Sharjah Art Foundation is now unveiling an expansive presentation of many of the artist’s most significant works, curated by Dr Omar Kholeif. The first mid-career survey of the artist’s work, this exhibition explores the myriad ways in which contested histories are narrated and distributed through images. The Other Side of Silence will be on view at Galleries 3 and 4 in Al Mureijah Square from 30 October 2021–30 January 2022.
Al Bawaba's Editor in Chief Ruba Hattar talked to Hrair about his exhibition, work, life and perspective on generational trauma.
Al Bawaba: When did you first find yourself gra
I was born with a camera in my mouth instead of a silver spoon. My father was a photographer, and in 1977 he opened the first colour photo lab in Syria. This is basically the place where I grew up and where I learned everything about photography. After I finished high school, I didn't want to go to university, because I wanted to work with my dad in the lab.
I don't have other influences. My work is driven by tragic historical moments, and current incidents and events filled with trauma and pain. For me, this is what drives me to continue doing what I am doing.
You employ photographic technique
You mean the war in Syria? I've been doing what I am doing now even before the war broke out. My work hasn't significantly changed because of the crisis in Syria. The war in Syria obviously affects me a lot personally, but I try to avoid doing any sort of work that directly relates to it the world .There are many reasons for this. Most importantly there is the moral concern, because people are still suffering, still going through a lot today. This obviously doesn't mean that I don't feel their pain or I don't feel what they are going through, but I don’t feel it is right for me to directly work on this at this point in time.
Have you gone back to Syria even for a
No, I haven't been back since 2011.
How do you feel like your art has evolved since releasing Unfinished until Final Flight? Can you describe your journey? and how is your current exhibition different and/or similar?
I think what made my work evolve is to do more with the topics that I work with, especially these past couple of years. A recurring subject in my work is the Armenian genocide, because for Armenians this is a big burden from the day we are born. I feel it is necessary to keep reminding the world of one of its darkest chapters, so it will not happen again.
But I expanded my territory; I tried to reach other destinations in the world where people go through a lot of trauma, or they've been through trauma and are still living in that circumstance until today. For instance, one of the new works that will be shown at ‘The Other Side of Silence’ is called Last Seen. It's about the people who disappeared during either war or dictatorship or civil unrest in five different countries.
I went to Argentina, Brazil, Lebanon, Bosnia and Kosovo. In each country photographed the place in the house where the disappeared person used to live where families remember last seeing their loved one; to this day the family is still living with the ghost of this person. This is one of thenew projects firstshown at Sharjah. There is another new project which sadly I couldn't work on because of COVID-related travel restrictions. It involves going back to the village in Eastern Anatolia (now Turkey) where my grandfather originally came from. He survived the 1915 genocide but lost his first wife and child and his entire family.
So this is a project that I will be working on for the exhibition when it reaches its second destination in Stockholm next April.
Do you have a name for this next proje
It's called ‘Sweet and Sour’.
Do you believe in generational trau
Yes, of course. I mean, we are all human beings and we all feel the pain of the other. Otherwise, there would be a problem. For me, that's one of the reasons to try and expand my territory, to experience [the pain of] others, which is sort of bringing all together.
Would you describe yourself as an ac
No, I'm not an activist and I don't claim to be one. My work is about feelings, and sharing and identifying with the pain of the other, which might help others. I won't even say that I try to lighten the burden, but it's in a way to just let the others know that there are people who are also concerned about their circumstances. Hopefully showing solidarity will bring people closer and bridge gaps rather than creating more distance.
What’s your preference,
My preference has always been photography, and I don't think I will ever stop this medium. However in the past few years there have been a few projects where I believed a different medium would help the audience to understand my intent better. I've done moving images, a sound piece and also a sculptural installation, in each case depending on the subject. My aim is to deliver the message regardless of the medium, whether photography, film, sound or sculpture. As long as it reaches the other side of the silence, it means that I am on the right track.
Do you intentionally not present re
You mean not including figures in my images? Yes, it is intentional. I try to avoid placing figures in my images or work because they distract the viewer from engaging in a dialogue with the space that I am presenting in these images, which are fully loaded with tragic stories, histories. In my opinion, whenever there is a figure in the image, it takes away this contemplative moment that I'm trying to create between the surface of the image and the viewer.
In one of your interviews, you say that you built a mockup of your parents’ home in Damascus for the video Homesick. Was this very emotionally challenging experience for you? How long did it take? And is it like some sort of catharsis for you?
The idea behind this project was to explore how I would feel if I would lose my childhood home, where I grew up and lived until I left Damascus in 2008, and where my parents still live until today. I built an scaled architectural model of the apartment building . I worked with an architect in Amman, and it took two months to finalise the build. The mock-up was 2m x .4m x 1.5m, so quite large. I decided to destroy it with a sledgehammer. Every time I hit it I took a photograph, and after 650 hits the model turned into a pile of rubble The entire process of destruction took me seven hours.
On one screen you see the building crumbling, hit by hit, and on the second screen you see a headshot of me hitting with a sledgehammer. I wanted to get rid of the fear that something bad would happen to my parents, the house, and my memories, and thought this would be a way to rid my head of all these worrisome thoughts, because they were a constant burden.
What’s your advice to upcoming photographers and young artists who wish to walk in your footsteps?
My advice would be look around you with care and attention and to think before you take a photograph. Know why you are taking this photograph. There should always be a reason behind every click.
