Maybe that place doesn't even exist.
Maybe it only exists in an imaginary film that remains unresolved.
At first, there is a withering memory.
There is a desire to form a landscape in ruins. Scattered memory, scattered dream, my journey starts upon a loss that arises from the tremor of fantasy.
Here we are in Aïnata in south Lebanon, a place where the Eye follows the stream to it source, where the tales from the land of Ugarit intertwine with our modern rituals and myths.
I try to define a point of view, to recast the whole from a detail, to map out one's own space.
History is to be told, and its stories unfold into a territory, where the archeology of times owes its survival to fiction.