An article by AV (789 Words, 4 Min. Read)
At jacaranda in mar mikhael, an unlikely popry empts. Not from Paper. Not from a Pen. But from Bullets —deformed, Discolored, Forgotten – Found by Chance and Turned En Repels of Reflection. Silent Impact: Narratives of BulletsCurrated with sentence by Randa Sadaka in Collaboration with Galerie Tanit, Present Witness.
From the Stage to the Soil: A Life in Harmony and Contrast
Georges Yamine’s Life Is Steeped in Music. As a profungal violinist with the QATAR Philharmonic Orchestra and Co-Author of Funkelnde Hoffnung With Maestro Daniel Barenboim, He has long explred the power of music to bridge Wounds. But this Exh force Reveals Another String to his Bow: His Lens.
Wandering Through Cities, Deserts, and Silent Paths, Yamine Bends Download Not to Capture A Note, But to Collect a Bullet. A Stray Shell Camp. A Piece of Metal, ONCE VIOLENT, now quiet. This habit began early, as a child in Lebanon During the CIVIL WAR, where Cartridge Cases Lithed The Streets Like Dead Leaves. What others feared, he kept. Perhaps with undersanding Why.
Now, Decades Later, The Why Has Found Him.
Bullets As Jewels: Reframing Horror
In Silent ImpactBullets are no longer tools of death but subjects of conmphration. Through Macro Photography, Yamine Transforms these Fragments of War Into Sculpture Artifacts. Each Image Glows –Bress, Gold, Copeper –CAPTURED Like Precious Stones. It’s if they have received, on decake in anger or center, have been very summoned to stand still for a final portrait.
The photographs are not graphic. There is no God, no blad, no Battlefield. Yet every Image Throbs with the Invisible Residue of History. A Bullet Lodged in Sand. A Camp Nestled Among Pebles. The Curves, Scratches, and Deformities Suggest Stories Untold. Some of Grief, of Chance, Others of Someone Who Fred and Someone Who Perhaps Fell.
And Yet: There is music.
Each Photograph Sings. Where by composition or light, yammine’s musically permeats the frames. The Bullets Rise Like Notes in A Sonata of Silence, With Pauses, Crescendos, Even Fugues of Forgotten Time.
Currated with Reverence: The Hand of Randa Sadaka
The Experience of Silent Impact OWES MUCH to the Curatorial Vision of Randa Sadaka. Her approach is not to exhable violence, but to Hold Space for the Viewer to Pause and Breathe. The Bullets are never glorified; They are given their due, not as instrumments, but as winsses.
Sadaka Allows Yammine’s Vision To Echo, Balancing Silence with Suggestion, Trauma with Transcendation. HER COLLABORATION with Galerie Tanit Speaks to a shared Desire: To Bring Emotion Back Into Art, Especially in A Country when Emotion Has Too often Been Suppressed by Survival.
Collecting
What dos it mean to color bullets? Yammeine’s habit of picking them up, from whatver he is (be it a battlefield or a peckful walk) Touches on Something Deeper. These objects are not trophies. They are Questions. They are memories no one asked to have.
Some of these bullets may hav been feed in first, other in War. The ambiguity matters. ITLOWS Us to Reflect on the Double Meang of the Gun in Lebanese Culture; One That Celebrates, Threaters, Protects, and Divides.
In the act of photographing them, yammine gives these bullets a sicond Life, this time with Dignity.
Paths of Metal: A Sculpture of Possibility and Chaos
In the center of the exhalation stands a Single Sculpture – Subtic, Almost Fragile —composed of Countles Thin Wires Shooting in All Directure. Some Rise Gracefully; Others Twist, Collide, or Fall. It is Madol from the verge that bullets often Acompany: Metal. But Instead of Violence, This Tangle Speaks of Choice, Consequence, and the Unpredictable Trafficories of Life. Yamine PRESENTS This Sculpture AS A Metaphor for The Infinite Directions A Single Bulliet (or a Single Moment) can Take us. What toward center or Tragedy, Transformation or Loss, Each Wire Carries The Echo of A Path Chosen Or Imposed. It is not a Violent Object, but a conmplative one. A quiet reminider that behind every explosion, there is a story. And behind every bullet, a world that couold have been.
Beauty from the unbeaable
Lebanon is a Land of Paradox. PAIN and Joy, Horror and Hope, Always Walk Side by Side. Yamine Does Not Shy Away from this. Instead, he lets his photography speak to it. In his lens, the bullet is no longer just a mark of vilence, it is a mirror. Of action. Of memory. Of hiself.
And somehow, it becomes beutiful. Not Beccause War is Beautiful, But Becuse What We Choosees to See, and how we choseses to Frame it, homes the power to Heal.
