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Gaze Above The Cloud
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2014
Aluminium frame, archival pigment print
90cm x 150cm
Gaze Above The Cloud is not about looking at war, but about examining the way we look at war.



The work originates from a photograph of an explosion in Palestine, taken in 2013—a detonation shrouded in mist, extracted and reprocessed into a suspended linguistic apparatus. To read the word at the center of the image, viewers must wear red–blue 3D glasses. Yet the word itself is unstable: through the red lens, it reads “COUNTRY”; through the blue, it becomes “CRY UNTO”—an archaic Biblical phrase meaning “to cry unto God.” This is not a visual pun, but an intervention: a demonstration of how distortion itself can become a force—how meaning can be dismantled, perception ruptured, the gaze displaced.



Here, war is no longer the subject of the image, but the condition of the image. It no longer points to a truth awaiting revelation, but manifests as an ongoing interference. Beneath the red filter, smoke curls into Islamic plant motifs, wrapping broken cultural memory around the blast. Beneath the blue, the same smoke turns to harmless cumulus, while language, in the form of prayer or command, continues to summon: belonging, lament, naming, erasure. The viewer's gaze is forced to oscillate between clarity and blur, between two states that never fully resolve—watching itself seems to collapse at the edge of war.



This work does not ask for sympathy, nor does it incite anger. Instead, it prolongs the moment of looking—so that we are no longer simply spectators of war, but those who must bear the implications of seeing. The act of looking cannot be easily concluded, because it never began with understanding. It is a suspended gaze, an urgent question about the ethics of vision.



Gaze Above The Cloud extends the artist’s exploration of symbolic operations, but here turns toward the threshold of ethical perception. Once war images enter the gallery from media channels, they have already passed through multiple layers of mediation. Their shock is no longer emotional, but becomes an ethical residue, cooled and distant. The focus is no longer on the event itself, but on whether the viewer is willing to confront the difficulty of seeing—to acknowledge that seeing is never just passive, and never without consequence.



This is no longer an image about war. It is a device that renders seeing difficult. The unstable word at its center is both a linguistic echo and an emotional detonation. We cannot be certain of what we have seen, nor can we place ourselves outside the act of seeing. Like a gaze falling from the sky, it calls not for an answer, but for an unfulfilled responsibility.
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