“My name is Poline Harbali. I am 24 years old and study at the Institut Supérieur des Arts Appliqués de Paris, where I specialize in graphic design, photography and illustration. As a Franco-Syrian, I have wrestled with questions of identity since my adolescence. Having no access to my family heritage for political reasons, I have searched my father’s past for clues, when, mainly through photos , when he was a young man, but also through traditions, religion and philosophy, in order discover my identity, or rather to construct the missing pieces. My quest first led me to study philosophy for three years. In order to understand my father’s immigration, I exiled myself to Nantes, then continued on to Montreal and Barcelona, where I finished my degree in aesthetic phenomenology. I quickly realized that I would find more answers by putting my reflections into practice, rather than letting them stand on their own. So I began to work with my parents’ old photographs, looking for a correspondence, an aesthetic logic that would unite them. I printed them on fabric, drew over them, set fire to them, etc.
As Seen From Damascus Then the so-called Arab Spring called everything into question. I got in touch with my family in Syria via Facebook, and for the first time I began to understand their reality, and my own, in a way that was much more sincere than the dreams and stories I had told myself. I asked my cousin to send me photos of her life, not big events but commonplace things: the view from her window, family portraits, views of the city, places where she likes to go. I photographed these photos. It was an act of appropriation that allowed me not to account for a reality that doesn’t belong to me, but rather to show them how I saw it all, from where I was. We only speak of burning cities, chaos and hatred, but the photos I received were imbued with a certain gentleness. The kinds of scenes that she sent me only appear in the media covered in blood. I wanted to take into account of what was happening as seen from France.
Family Memories There was a fine line between my father’s memories and my mother’s, no less farther away, not due to distance, but to everything else. The family stories were distorted, and I wanted to understand what was hidden underneath, what happened during family reunions and holiday meals. A smile can conceal a frown. And even though it operates at 1/125th of a second, my camera isn’t fast enough to capture what I saw. So I began to search for an aesthetic that would account for my roots, family meals everyone speaks but little is said. I continued taking pictures of these photographs, submerging them in water, tearing them apart, and so on. I discovered so much sincerity and authenticity, even if the photos seemed to come from an aesthetic and moral war, their sensitivity revealed a family that can be both beautiful and sincere, even in its faults. The quest for identity is for me only a pretext . Perhaps I’ll never find out where I come from, but the subjective responses that I construct and deconstruct in turn allow me to move forward.”
Poline Harbali
