Hazem Harb, Liquid city, 2021. 220 olive oil cans, 5.9 x 4.2 x 2.7 m. Tabari Artspace.
Hazem Harb, Liquid city, 2021. 220 olive oil cans, 5.9 x 4.2 x 2.7 m. Tabari Artspace.
Hazem Harb Palestinian-Italian, b. 1980
220 only
As if looking at the bustling life of a cityscape, these cans also speak of the importance of olives as building blocks for Palestine’s agriculture and represent a symbol of its identity. On the one hand, olive trees serve as a source of income; on the other, they stand as a quintessential symbol of the country’s resilience and continuity, not least because of their longevity.
Olive trees can survive for thousands of years, with the oldest of them dating back to over 4,000 years ago. The trees are taken care of by succeeding generations; seedlings are handed down to nurture and protect its people, who harvest them to extract oil from its fruit – a ‘liquid gold’ that is common in Palestinian households. Yet, the existence of these trees - like this imaginary silver city of olive cans - is fragile.
Exhibitions
2021, Temporary Museum. For Palestine, Maraya Art Centre, UAELiterature
n this installation, Hazem Harb confronts the viewer with a mass of empty olive oil containers. Stacked to resemble townhouses and skyscrapers, forming an impenetrable tower, the structure features various levels and perspectives. The shiny silver of the oil cans contrasts with the dark grey setting of the anteroom, with shadows of the cans covering the surrounding walls.
These cans evoke the bustling life of a cityscape and highlight the importance of olives as building blocks for Palestine’s agriculture, symbolizing its identity. Olive trees are both a source of income and a symbol of resilience and continuity due to their longevity. Some trees can survive for thousands of years, with the oldest dating back over 4,000 years. These trees are tended by successive generations, with seedlings handed down to nurture and protect the people, who harvest them for their valuable oil, often referred to as 'liquid gold' in Palestinian households. Yet, the existence of these trees—like this imaginary silver city of olive cans—is fragile.