Zena el Khalil doesn’t create; she reacts to Beirut. Take the mind of a war child, and picture the angst she mistook for happiness while growing up, mix in the minds of an immigrant who misses her home, and a fresh returnee embracing her country. Simmer with a blend of four cultures – courtesy of London, Lagos, New York and Beirut, her four homes – and season with pink. Lots and lots of pink.
I see my work as a by-product of political turmoil and I collect my ideas, visions and statements by simply walking around Beirut. It is the best way to see and experience her. I will spend afternoons in neighborhoods trying to understand the delicate balance that exists in our society. We don’t have museums, so I take my knowledge from the streets. An old poster of a martyred militiaman is like a painting hanging in a gallery. The latest plastic toys from China are sculptures in a great palace. The colors and fabrics in shop windows dictate my palate. The vibes, however distressing they may be, on the street decree the energy in my studio.
This piece is part of my latest body of work (Maybe One Day Beirut Will Love Me Back) that I exhibited in London recently. The materials used in this piece include gold fabric, plastic flowers and a large photocopy of a portrait of a famous militiawoman from Lebanon. While I utterly condemn violence, I find myself completely possessed by this image. Out of the 20 pieces similar to this format in the exhibit, this was the only one that had a female fighter presented so large. I wanted this piece to stand out in the show because I felt that it is a good representation of our personality as a society: passionate, but politically flawed. By juxtaposing flowers colored white, green and red (representative of Iran) on top of this woman (who fought with a militia party now in favor of the West), and all enveloped in a shimmery gold fabric, I am trying to expose the superficialities of war in our region.’
By using cheap everyday materials I find on the streets, in the ‘one dollar’ shops and at the weekend souks, I try to convey the message that war is a commercial venture. It is absolutely unnecessary and simply fabricated by greedy governments to make money and gain power. It is as shallow and superficial as the plastic in my flowers.’
I use the color pink in my work because I feel it’s the color that best defines my genera-tion. I was born in 1976. I grew up watching far too much TV. I became a key player in the newly established consumer culture. I watched cartoons, music videos and wars being televised. I grew up with Madonna and Michael Jackson, Iron Maiden and Bon Jovi. Pink is like cotton candy. It’s fluffy and sweet. Too much of it though will leave your teeth rotting and your stomach aching It’s quick and superficial. It pulls you in fast, but leaves you feeling very empty, like a shopping spree at a mall. Spandex, bubblegum, MTV versus Communism, glitter, shoulder pads, the war to control oil, glam rock and hairspray, Thatcher and Regan’s conservative revolution versus Barbie and Jem, high-tops, Rambo, and fluorescent earrings to me are the backdrop that represents a generation that grew up pink.
All Rights sold to Time Out Beirut
You You You are getting married!! Mabrouk 
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