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“This is a travelogue of a country that is losing its faith in geography. One of the perennial issues concerns the nature of the ocean. Some people still think of the ocean as a river at the edge of the land. What balances this loss is a certain type of nostalgia that most often comes from the memory of colours and from the songs of aunts” (Flavio Bonetti).

Public project in the New York subway.  

'It's when the mind fails to catch the necessary details, and gives a cloudy picture'. But the picture here is clear, since life was a grain of wheat until it became a bloodshedding. It's when the heart loses its way home, if it changes its name. But the oil here lights, from Jerusalem to Nazareth. It's what the eyes, tired of long sleep, see. But the eyes here are open, haven't closed for years. It could be a child looking for the necessary serenity to meditate. His feet led him to the cemetery. It could be. (Jayce Salloum, fragment).

At the dawn of the 21st century, a man named Gharsallah passes away and is burried in the mausoleum of a small village called Dhibet in the centre of Tunisia. A saint, a righteous man, a madman or someone possessed' He lives on in the memories, the tales and the dreams of an entire region.

The landscape near an enormous mine.