A simple and discreet ceremony 

The lights of the Magazzini del Sale, the site of the Lebanese Pavilion during the six months of the Biennale, were turned off for the occasion. Dozens of candles gave off their orange glow in the space. They were laid out on the ground along the trail of glass, a fractal metamorphosis materializing both the impact of the explosion of the 4 August 2020 in the city of Beirut, the traces of tree hollows, and the antiforms. The guests were invited in a slow procession to walk towards the architectural piece housing Etel’s artwork, a circular and octagonal building of glass and light, with a semi-spherical roof.

They stood listening amongst the olive trees of Bchaaleh, as projected in a triptych film. The ceremony opened with Etel Adnan’s voice from an interview in which she evokes her inspiration in painting, poetry, and silence:

Une cérémonie tout en sobriété 

Les lumières du Magazzini del Sale, lieu qui a accueilli le Pavillon libanais pendant les six mois de la Biennale, ont été éteintes pour l’occasion. Des dizaines de bougies reflètent leur lueur orangée dans l’espace. Elles sont disposées au sol le long de la trainée de verres, métamorphoses fractales matérialisant à la fois l’impact de la déflagration du 4 août 2020 dans la ville de Beyrouth, les empreintes des creux des arbres et les antiformes. Les convives sont invités dans une lente procession à se diriger vers la pièce architecturale abritant l’œuvre d’Etel, un bâtiment de verre et de lumière, de forme circulaire et octogonale couronné d’un toit semi-sphérique. 

Ils attendent au creux des oliviers de Bchaaleh projetés dans un film en triptyque. La voix d’Etel Adnan retentit alors ; la cérémonie s’ouvre avec la diffusion d’un extrait d’entretien dans lequel elle évoque ce que lui inspirent la peinture, la poésie et le silence : 

“Painting has taught me a lot philosophically.
It is a language, like music, trees, speak as much as words, even more than words.

When I say more,… they touch areas that the words don’t touch. So the painting speaks but it says what is not necessarily meant to be said in words.

A painting is not meant to be translated into words. It is not meant to be explained, nor is music.

[…]

Arts open up worlds parallel to the world reached by speech. Silence reaches worlds.
In silence there is a meaning, often, if not always. So there are other worlds besides
the world reached by words.”

Night - Reading of poems

Hala Wardé, accompanied by the artist Mika, read poems from Etel Adnan’s book Night:

Night – Lecture de poèmes

Hala Wardé, accompagnée par l’artiste Mika, lisent ensuite ensemble un poème extrait de son livre «Night» : 

“Standing trees sleep in this forest that created the night when the moon was looking elsewhere. Gone the sailboats, the sea, in this obscurity that’s keeping no promise.

A field of rosebushes has been flattened by the wind.

Shadows strangely resemble yesterday’s trees, yesterdays and tomorrows being the walls of our prisons.

Those shadows have been landed us into taxis and houses, telling the light to stay outside but the moon was right not to bother.”

Closing words

The architect then pronounced a more personal word to pay tribute to the artist with whom she shared a long-standing friendship and who accompanied her throughout the Venetian adventure:

“It was only a few days before the lights went out on the Venice Biennale, to which she lent her colours, that Etel Adnan chose to leave us.

We want to see this as a deep sign; that of the magical whisper that her life and her work of creation have been. The silence watched over by the 16 olive trees painted by Etel is the one she has now decided to rediscover; the silence, too, of a country still deafened by its implosion; her own silence, and behind which we will continue, through all the songs in the world, to guess her voice.”

With these simple yet moving words, alike the short ceremony, the Lebanese Pavilion and this first Venetian chapter of the project A Roof for Silence were closed.

Mot de clôture

L’architecte a ensuite souhaité prononcer un mot plus personnel pour rendre hommage à l’artiste avec qui elle a noué une amitié de longue date et qui l’a accompagnée tout au long de l’aventure vénitienne : 

«C’est à peine quelques jours avant que les lumières ne s’éteignent sur la Biennale de Venise, à laquelle elle avait prêté ses couleurs, qu’Etel Adnan a choisi de nous quitter.

Nous voulons y voir un signe profond; celui du chuchotement magique qu’aura été sa vie et son œuvre de création. Le silence sur lequel veillent, depuis plus de mille ans, les 16 oliviers peints par Etel est celui qu’elle a maintenant décidé de retrouver; le silence, aussi, d’un pays encore assourdi par son implosion; son silence à elle, et derrière lequel on continuera, à travers tous les chants du monde, à deviner sa voix.»

C’est sur ces mots sobres et émouvants, à l’image de la cérémonie d’une dizaine de minutes, qu’ont été clôturés le Pavillon libanais et ce premier chapitre vénitien du projet A Roof for Silence.