Homeless.
Homeless.
Diaspora, Refugee, Homeless–the ideas are abstractions, even the concept of palestine is an abstraction–so that to talk about them, it becomes a dystopian non oz. Reading it, one forgets the ironies, the complexities, and the very real personal tragedies that occur.
Emily Jacir agrees to complete tasks that palestines away from home cannot do (they cannot do it because of visas, because of status, because of geography). Some of them are happy–playing soccer, having dinner; some of them are practical, paying phone bills and some of them are mournful–visiting a parents grave; some of them poetic (a candle on the beach at haifa in full light)
She records the task, and why she was enjoined in the task, and any of the other details that might be realvent–poetically or politically or both. These words are translated into arabic, combined with fotos and videos, displayed in art galleries.
Art i think now are ideas, the importance of ideas, that cannot be expressed using other genres.
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