nabil himich

I had the pleasure to take part to the show #ARCHEOLOGIES / اركيولوجيات at Dar Belarj with "Landless Flags ", an installation aiming at another landless flight. Sitting comfortably in the sleeves of the exhibition's emphasis on subterranean realms, not just metaphysical ones, but also solid, logistical and infrastructural ones that are under our feet and on which we stand and fall. Everything is shaking to the pulsations of land by which we are interpreted in its hermeneutical tectonics. Anything can be subjected to an archeological deflection at any moment, including flags, and states, and empires and monopolies of power and violence, and narrative and property and who's owning what. And sometimes, by the effect of an abducting governance of Zoe,in Agambian terms, when identity steps over dignity the only thing we share with a flag is our rootlessness. Landless Flags are flags for the landless, Or this third space where belonging exceeds property. The parageographies of ones who belong without land, the homeless at home whose survivals are echoes of Darwish's question: where do the birds fly, after the last sky? Thanks to @darbellarj team and the curators @laila_in_transition and @kholotista for the invitation.

Nabil Himich / 3oubour Artist: Nabil Himich (b. Jan. 1997, Meknes) is based in Marrakech, Morocco. He works at the intersection of architecture and literature to investigate political themes traversing the material narratives of the everyday. By juxtaposing painting, installation, writing, drawing, sculpture, and participatory forms, this mul3-layered work, being haunted by the aporias of postcolonial multilingualism and class hierarchy, broaches themes such as the singular and the multiple, unequal structures, spatial anthropophagi, the poe3cs of enclosure, the practice of staying. He often adopts notions such as ‘con-texture’ and ‘archi-texture’ to provide deconstructive schemes for thoughts and actions. These notions are also conceptual tools for narratives around the production and formation of place, the distribution of territory and knowledge, class issues and representation. وُلد نبيل حميش في يناير 1997، مكناس يعيش ويعمل في مراكش، المغرب. يعمل على تقاطع العمارة والأدب لاستقصاء الموضوعات السياسية التي تعبر السرديات المادية لليومي. من خلال الجمع بين الرسم، التركيب، الكتابة، النحت، والأشكال التشاركية، يقدّم عملاً متعدد الطبقات، مسكوناً بمفارقات التعددية اللغوية ما بعد الاستعمارية والتسلسل الهرمي الطبقي، ويتناول مواضيع مثل الفردي والجمعي، الهياكل غير المتكافئة، "الأنثروبوفاجيا المكانية"، شعرية الاحتجاز، وممارسة البقاء. غالباً ما يعتمد مفاهيم مثل "النسج-المشترك" و"نسج-العمارة" كأدوات تفكيكية للأفكار والأفعال، وأيضاً كأدوات سردية حول إنتاج وتشكيل المكان، توزيع الأرض والمعرفة، قضايا الطبقة والتمثيل.

Where might we be, now What a damned momentum Where is the now I keep searching in the fissured folds of this neighborhood.. But no now can be found here And no now can be grasped from those summer holidays pictures and stories It cannot be found in the expanding unreality that you diffuse and infuse in the over growing silence and noise by which your sole soulless, shapeless being is strangling the overflowing, fleshly truth The soil is bleeding from everywhere… The now swallows as soon as it makes itself known. The now is that suction, of life from within the starved agonizing remains of humanity there, in Gaza. How do I get to exit myself from within? To leave only some portion of my limbs, my flesh.. only pieces of words and shreds of reason.. as bare testimonies, bare traces of real time. Words without bodies.. The now Is in the aching holes in these bodies eating themselves out, shrinking towards the death, the poisonous silence carried in our anachronistic throats and tongues, and their lust for looking away, looking elsewhere, there where they’re not. Why haven’t we learned to be who we are? Because we have made sure our bodies remain intact from the soul’s lost wars with, among other things, the language base of this colonial vortex, gorging itself from the core of our pulsations. I’m just another arab speaking in an other’s language, surviving my exile in myself. Their wounds are purer than ours. They are the price of those revelations we are way far behind. Their now is the future we are actively missing out. Their now is the only now and no matter how your lust for convenience refutes it, your life will be forever secondary, vain. I’ll go back to my quiet now to not distract the martyrs..

School walls scribbles and vertigo…

« You’re guilty of this shit » It’s none of your business.

Untitled (Diary/Art Book) by Nabil Himich Drawings and images by Nabil Himich Cover by Nabil Himich based on 1961 Horror/Mystery film “Mr Sardonicus” “The diary is a topic of rehearsal for the atopic, the overplaced and homeless. A pursuit of form in the lack of space. It is the fallow, where the wound is processed, the wound of a constipated “I”, losing itself in each encounter with the “other”, The I that can only realise itself in the other’s place, or behind it, but never outside of it. The diary as a reserve of distance, carried in a parasensical contention, one where we can speak through the semantics of rage, where we can speak ourselves out of the grids and the greeds of a narrativity perpetuating that wound. Where we can speak our refusal to speak-with. To say no as in every no, a yes to not-this. The diary is a vitalised suspension, a workless state. A lucid space assuming its failure and semi-existence from the start. It offers in this way a space for skepticism, repulsion, slowness and non-linearity. A break in the corrupt relations between the art platform and life, as the art and life connection remains commodified and unrealised, and as all there is outside of that, is a narcissistic inflation of the liberal “I” reproduced in the western formula of art for art.” Limited stock available. Get your copy at Malhoun Stockpile or slide into our DMs. Malhoun Stockpile is a concept store specialising in limited editions, artist book, and crafted goods in support of the Malhoun community. Find us on the first floor, space 5 on the venue map. #nabilhimich #malhoun #stockpile #154artfair @latrattoriamarrakech @nabil_himich

Throw back to the time I've spent at @forde_gva A window through which i attempted to redefine this art thing for myself, barely enough to make it livable for a moment, under the shadow of year-long genocide, and the blazing machine of normalcy around it, where death has become common sense. Sharing here some details of the visual research, along with an excerpt of the text i performed at Forde. "Now we’re seeping through our dry rivers, water retrieves and the earth pops up, and right then, Our transparent flesh is profitable again, therefore we become the impatient rush of liquids. No water, faceless land. Moved by the radius of explosions, with no water, their sonic territorialisation pushing to the sea, with no water. We can hear ourselves dripping in the sea from the dying’s blood, far away in the peripheries of your sights. Far away, where you think and where you’re not. Where you don’t think you are Far away where you are not, where you make knots. wake up Edward, who are you talking to ? The bases of ourselves hurt and sank in their pain, and the sun not reaching any surfacing in which to land, we lurk in the disoriented waiting of our peripheral cosmogony in the loss of our faces And the light that shows us is outside ourselves And the sun misspells our names (...) tunnels is where things happen where things surge with the right pressure from the exact point of their burial the exact pace, the exact depth from which events can occur Tunnelology Tunnelogeny Never too late for making another theory From so far away far enough to not see how the flesh blows in the front line another glamorous theory for guerilla for the undersides and the things for which there can be no words within the analogic of our present governing order of discourse and its episteme this global order of knowledge this autopilot prison no words for that distant voice from which Dionne spoke when she said “we tried everything not to kill you, we even tried not living nothing worked we even tried living our own lives, nothing worked” Thanks to @miss_sheitana1312 @asma.bcc , and @gh_ala_s For their warming companion. And to @prohelvetia_cairo For the support. © Remy Ugarte

Searching for a voice between the air and your gaze Sortie de résidence de Nabil Himich Lecture suivie d’un repas ❦ Jeudi 19.09.2024 à 19h avec le soutien de @prohelvetia_cairo flyer by @kim_coussee

طار الحجل حط الحجل . طار الحجل حط الخجل

As you overcrowd the skies with innocent souls, the skies will soon be flooding down to you, swamping all the lands and soils you've stolen. Lifting your feets upside down. Your wheels will never get to touch the ground.

Do you know the origin of the word "OK" ? It's one of your generals. During the Civil War, used it in his report: " 0 killed." - Jean Luc Goddard, In Praise of Love 2001