The Hakoora," linguistically, is a place for agriculture behind the house, an ancient design adopted by our ancestors when all their food came from their own cultivation.
Figuratively, it's a slice of paradise. The Hakoora I know and recognize, since childhood, is that vast open space that accommodates everything, no matter how big or small. When we gather there, its space becomes a whole universe. And when I'm there, it becomes my kingdom, my personal realm, where I discover myself, my desires, and where all the ideas that inspire me for life, renewal, and survival come to me.
Not just as an artist, but as someone who appreciates the value of every blade of grass that grew above the walls before rooting into the earth.
This collection of photos somewhat describes something close to my inner self when I enter our family's Hakoora. It's as if it works a miracle in my heart every time I pass through there. Sometimes, it cuts through all the distances I need to cross long roads to define the meaning of my roots, to whom I belong, and what the manuscript of my personal identity is. And sometimes, I see it giving birth to me from the womb of the earth every time I fall into it with the rains of winter, and it dries up with the spring breeze and summer air, in another state of expansion and tranquility.