“How do you meet, as a curator, a fascinating artist? Through another one.”
It was an exceptionally talented Lebanese artist, Ayman Baalbaki, who one day introduced me to his Palestinian friend, spiritual brother and artistic mate. Abdul Rahman Katanani was then, and is still now, working in the refugee camp of Sabra and Shatila, where he was born in 1983 – a year after the Israeli invasion of Lebanon and the notorious massacre that killed over two thousand Palestinians, including women and children, in that camp. His grandparents came to Lebanon from Jaffa, in 1948. So, he was born out of, and with, a strong desire to live, to love and to create.
Of course, I had already seen the works of Abdul Rahman Katanani exhibited at the French Institute in Beirut, and later in several shows in Saleh Barakat’s gallery, and Dar El-Nimer Foundation in Beirut. But he was already an artist even before 2008 when he received the Young Artist Prize during the Salon d’Automne held at the Sursock Museum. His first works of art were products of his teen years, cartoons and graffiti murals, executed in collaboration with friends in the camps, encouraging communal art. They were inspired by the late Palestinian cartoonist Naji al-Ali, who was killed in London in 1987 when I was the artistic director of Kufa Gallery. I remember clearly that dramatic event, since we organised, with the help of Iraqi artist Dia al-Azzawi, an exhibition in al-Ali’s memory with his original works, lent by his family.
So, I was very keen to see Katanani in his studio, in the camp. The most striking impression upon meeting him for the first time is his refined beauty, inherent elegance, his great sense of humour, his laughter, his lightness, his openness, despite the surroundings: a camp, and a host country, in political, moral and financial bankruptcy.
“The most striking impression upon meeting him for the first time is his refined beauty, inherent elegance, his great sense of humour, his laughter, his lightness, his openness, despite the surroundings: a camp, and a host country, in political, moral and financial bankruptcy.”
I could not believe that – despite his having so much talent, success, and enjoying the admiration of other artists and the public – he was still living and working in a disused and derelict hospital, destroyed during the 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon, where later each room was occupied by a family. Yet life and laughter were buzzing in the stairwells, with children playing all around, shouting with joy, playing with improvised kites, used car tyres… Joy, serenity and beauty, this is the combination of feelings that hits you when you meet the artist and get introduced to his mother. They both stand straight, tall, strong, slim, sharing the most attractive and welcoming smile. Neither of them is bitter, nor feels like a victim. They look proud and free. Could it be that he inherited from his beautiful mother his survival instinct, his sense of freedom, an ethic of hard work, shining happiness, talent and kindness?
In Katanani’s studio, which was also his room, he had just installed a weaving tool that he had created thanks to his carpentry skills. His father was a carpenter, and as a child he had helped his father, sometimes even to install roofs on the concrete cubicles of refugees. But what he intended to weave here were waves, tornadoes, carpets, made with barbed wire. His hands and arms are full of scratches and wounds from the materials driving the themes to create his sculptures: corrugated zinc-metal sheets, disused crude oil barrels flattened (as a hint towards the petrodollars that reshaped the map of the region), scraps, wood, and of course barbed wire, all of them found materials that he sources directly in the camp. He transforms them into impressive works that are not only unique and moving but also supremely original.
It’s no wonder that the children playing so creatively with disused materials, on the staircases of the ex-hospital and in the streets of the camp, became the source of inspiration for so much of his work. How do you survive in a country where, despite your having lived there for generations, you still have no right to work, or buy a property? How can an artist, despite the dire conditions, hardship, poverty and trauma, create such wonderful pieces? In the case of Katanani, as with most exceptional artists, there seems to have been no choice other than to reach for art to express himself. Weaving his concepts and themes – protest, displacement, borders, trespassing, petrol, poverty, but most of all freedom – he instils in us the desire to shout, rebel, live, love and be free. Here, Palestine becomes an allegory, for all the displaced.
With the onrush of tragic refugee crises worldwide, and the drowning of thousands from war-torn countries, the sea has become another source of inspiration: this time, Katanani’s urge to promote change and to revolt results in works on a massive scale. He creates waves, tsunami-like waves, curved pieces of woven barbed wire stretching eight metres long, to dynamic effect. He also builds towering tornadoes, three metres high, to warn against and denounce other catastrophes.
In 2019, a large-scale, immersive installation that mimics the refugee camp was shown in both Beirut and Paris: a work that speaks of the precarity of our current conditions, and asks what future awaits us. The same year, Katanani received a French passport, so now he can travel. He enjoys learning about bees (he is an expert on them and can handle them with great serenity), discovering forests, studying trees, nature, and all new sources of inspiration.
A wonderful recent monograph about the artist, written by Barbara Polla, a medical doctor, writer and gallerist, reveals the more intimate and personal life and work of the artist. He is currently exhibiting with other close friends, Ayman and Said Baalbaki and the Kurdish-Iraqi artist Serwan Baran. If you are in Geneva, try to see this display at Analix Forever Gallery.
“Weaving his concepts and themes – protest, displacement, borders, trespassing, petrol, poverty, but most of all freedom – he instils in us the desire to shout, rebel, live, love and be free. Here, Palestine becomes an allegory, for all the displaced.”