bahebek means I love you

installation, 2023

Clothing that was once worn, meant to be worn, or going to be worn again might sit in a realm of loss, preservation, and futurity all at once. Bahebek means I love you leans into how clothing can hold a presence due to the absence of bodies to wear them. T-shirts laid out across a jungle gym have the following words in Arabic embroidered on each:

“Mama”

“Queer”

“Syria”

“Palestine”

“I love you”

“Ocean”

“Clouds”

These are tender words on shirts mostly sized for children, but when they become illegible for audiences that might not know Arabic, they could be misinterpreted: signaling a variety of associations. Principally, in a political climate that perceives Arabs and their language as threatening — even children playing in a playground could be deemed a threat, “human shields” or collateral. The shirts are soaked then hung to dry. Water trickles like rain onto the lightbulb underneath — a droplet may or may not make contact with the light and cause it to short circuit.

This encounter is functioning like a timer of sorts — perhaps it is quietly waiting for us to act. Some of us might come across this drying system and see it is no longer dripping water, but we notice subtle marks that were made by its dripping. The dripping that we missed. A majority of people who encountered this installation, which was in the same space as my performance, the stripes don’t wash off, did not witness the shirts dripping, only the aftermath of puddles on the floor. Something must have already happened here. What did we miss? What does this say? I can’t understand it. Watching and waiting might feel passive, but it might also be a privileged act when cycles of violence make it so pertinent for us to take more direct action.