'The Voodoo hotel' project was born on the road, on board of one of the infamous Lebanese vans speeding up to 120 km per hour. It was an early evening and I saw the Voodoo hotel sign in front of me, under the mountains, which were hiding their summits in the clouds. It is a journey into the darker side of Lebanon, or rather the darker side of me, that part of me that registers the undercurrent of things. It is an emotional project, following a path of my subconsciousness and its meandering ways. I trace a certain hard-to-describe feeling in me, and in a 'stream of consciousness' way create a tiny world to express it. All of this is true and non of it is. Like a danse macabre of the everyday, a man on the wheelchair, a boy with dead birds, abandoned brand shoes, a light bulb hanging from a tree, a glowing mask, a window to nothingness, a painted skeleton dog, a flower in the dark, they all become figures on the chessboard after the seventh seal has been broken (Ingmar Bergman would have laughed).

 
 
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