YOUSSEF NABIL

In conversation with Ghada Amer

Ghada Amer: You know, you are the only Egyptian artist with whom I feel completely secure talking about my work. I feel that you understand where I come from, and you like my work—you don't criticize it or say things like, "This is immoral." I think it is very important to feel free. This is surely our role as artists.

Youssef Nabil: When you think about it, we have both followed similar paths—we went to the same French school in Cairo, the lycée, El Horeya; we both moved first to France and then to the United States, and we both live in New York, in Harlem. We also come from the same social level. Our families didn't have much money but they wanted to send us to good schools. Money was always an issue.

G.A: Me too! We were the poorest kids at the French school in Cairo. Why did you want to come to the United States?

Y.N: It was my first big dream to come and live in America. I always heard about artists living in New York, like Jean-Michel Basquiat, Keith Haring, Andy Warhol … For me New York was the place for artists. I also had an uncle who lived in Detroit.

G.A: This is your Christian uncle? Was it difficult to have a Muslim side and a Christian side in your family?

Y.N:My father is half Greek, half Lebanese; he was born Christian then converted to Islam when he was about thirty. So I grew up having Muslim relatives on my mother's side and Christian relatives on my father's side. I loved it, especially when it came to celebrating all the religious festivals like Ramadan and Christmas! We never really thought about the fact that we were Muslims with Christian relatives. I was always proud of the Christian side in my family. For me this was how things should be in Egypt—half Muslim, half Christian. I never liked it when they separated us in school during religious classes.
I thought this was a cruel idea, separating people rather than unifying them, and was always very curious to know what the Christians were studying.
I think religious education in schools should encompass all religions, not just your own, because this separation follows us in life: I go here, you go there … It is very wrong.

G.A: Yes, I agree with you. Do you know that you are the only person in America with whom I speak Arabic? I even speak French to my sisters, although I do speak Arabic to my mother and father who live in Cairo. And it's only when I speak Arabic that I feel Egyptian.

Y.N: But do you feel that you are an Egyptian?

G.A: I feel French, American, and Egyptian. And you?

Y.N: Egyptian, and a bit French.

G.A: When did you first come to New York?

Y.N: I came to New York for the first time in 1993, to work with David LaChapelle. I loved it from the first day. I remember it was snowing when I stepped out of the airport, and a black stretch limousine was waiting to take me to David's studio in the East Village. For me, at that age, it was quite something.

G.A: What was it like working with him?

Y.N: It was my first encounter with another artist, and that was great. I didn't go to art school so it felt like destiny when we met in Cairo a few months before, and the opportunity came to continue working together in New York. It felt like the Renaissance period when artists worked in the studios of other artists before having their own. I have a lot of great memories of New York from that period. David used to take me to these crazy bars where he would talk to all these women, and when we left he would say, "You know they were all men, don't you?" It was a lovely time.

G.A: And do you still love New York?

Y.N: Yes—it has changed but there are still so many things I like about New York. I might have changed too. I always miss it when I'm away.

G.A: Do you like living in Harlem?

Y.N: Yes I do, it reminds me of some neighborhoods in Cairo. Lots of African Muslims live here—you see them selling stuff from their countries. It is a busy neighborhood and people are friendly. There are also lots of mosques and some Fridays you hear the call to prayer. It feels a bit like living in a poor country, in a good way.

G.A: I agree. In Brooklyn, there are whole streets with only Egyptian shops, but I have more of a sense of Egypt when I'm in Harlem.

Y.N: In Harlem, there is exactly the right dose of Egypt, like a perfume you smell from far away.

G.A: Could you ever go back and live in Egypt?

Y.N: Maybe one day … I would perhaps live in Cairo, in the neighborhood where I grew up, Heliopolis, or perhaps in the desert … I'd like to be able to live somewhere calmly and then choose to go to busy places, like Downtown or Zamalek, if I wanted to. This is the reason I live in Harlem—it's calmer than downtown Manhattan.

G.A: My one problem with Cairo is family—and the morals, which are everywhere because I am a woman. Perhaps you don't feel that so much because you are a man. Men are super-free in Egypt. You can go out and return home any time you want; you can also spend the night away from home, but I can't do that, right?

Y.N: When I was living in Cairo, I would have to call my parents to tell them I was not coming home for the night. Can't you do that?

G.A: Impossible! At 9 p.m. they already start calling me on my mobile—where are you, when will you be home? If I wasn't home by midnight they would call the police! No, it's not right, it doesn't feel fair. When I'm there and I see how men live, I become very jealous and want to be able to live my life that way too. Sometimes my family let me go somewhere by myself for a few days, and I feel extremely happy and just wish I was a man. It's a great place for men.

Y.N: I think most of the Arab world is like that. If you're not a man, you don't have the same relationship with the country.

G.A: Absolutely. And if you're not married it's more difficult, people look at you in a different way. It's not fair. But I've heard that in Egypt it's a bad thing even for a man to live alone.

Y.N: In general people like to talk, so when someone lives alone, whether they're a man or a woman, it means there is something wrong happening inside the apartment! But, you know, things have changed. I know so many girls who go home after midnight. Cairo is a night city; shops and cafés are open till very late. It's like New York.

G.A: Yes, sometimes I get that sense—but I only see men in the streets at night!

Y.N: It's very interesting how you have two completely different and opposite lives, one in Egypt, one in New York. Even the way you straighten your hair in Egypt to look like a good Egyptian girl, and the way you do it in New York to look like a disco queen … I also find you a very shy person, although I never think of you as shy, especially when I look at your work.

G.A: But you prefer my hair in Egypt!

Y.N: Yes, you look more Pharaonic! Have you ever thought of using photography in your work?

G.A: My first love was photography. My father gave me my first camera when I was fourteen and I took many photographs, did workshops … I was really into it but I didn't continue. The only photographic work I've exhibited is I Love Paris which I did in 1992. I also had the idea of photographing work I did in the streets in Panama, but they confiscated the work before I could photograph it. And you, have you ever thought of doing drawings or paintings?

Y.N: I did lots of drawings before I started working in photography. My idea of combining painting and photography comes from this time. I knew that I wanted to work with photographs, but I also knew that I would like them to be seen as paintings. That's why I hand color my black-and-white prints. It was actually drawing that made me color my photographs.

G.A: Did your family encourage you?

Y.N: They were very worried when I told them I wanted to buy a camera and be a photographer. They didn't really understand as there weren't any artists/photographers showing in galleries in Egypt. My family was really my first public. I started taking pictures in my bedroom. I used to transform it into a studio whenever I had an idea for a photograph. A lot of my early work was done in my room and my family was always around, watching me work. They are very important in my career.

G.A: Do you like it when they visit you in New York?

Y.N: Yes, it reminds me of living in Egypt. For them I haven't changed. They still watch me working and coloring all day long. Sometimes I feel bad because I can't really take them around and show them things in New York. For me New York is a place to work, a big metropolis.

G.A: A big office.

Y.N: You know, every time I go to JFK, when the cab crosses the river I always turn around and look back at the city, and sometimes I don't see it as a real city but as a big factory. I see all the long towers as the chimneys of one big factory! And when I get back to New York, I feel like I'm a worker among millions of other workers in this big factory.

G.A: But do you work better here than when you were in Paris?

Y.N: I work much more here. Paris is too beautiful to be a place for work.

G.A: Me too, I work better in New York because of the freedom I feel here. I feel very free in New York. I also feel at home in New York.

Y.N: Because you've lived here for eleven years.

G.A: But I lived in France for twenty-one years and never felt at home! I feel a bit at home in Nice.

Y.N: I think we can feel at home in more than one city.

G.A: I don't feel at home in Egypt—I don't feel that I really belong there—but I love Egypt. Do you feel like you belong in New York?

Y.N: Yes, I do. But I don't want to die here. I don't want to be buried here—that is another way of putting it.

G.A: Me too, I don't want to be buried in New York, or in Egypt—but perhaps in the desert there…

Y.N: The desert is always a good idea.

G.A: I talk about life and you talk about death. It is sad but beautiful at the same time.

Y.N: Death is part of life. I've always mixed them.

G.A: You see this in your self-portraits. In your other series, what concerns you?

Y.N: Love, sex, loneliness.

G.A: I can see that. You also speak about the past, don't you? Your work is very cinematic.

Y.N: Yes. Have you ever loved cinema?

G.A: I never really watched movies when I was a child. My family forbade us to watch television.

Y.N: I watched TV all the time! After school I would watch TV while eating, then I'd watch more TV while doing my homework, then I'd sleep in front of the TV!

G.A: We only watched TV on Thursday nights, maybe the movie on Friday afternoon … But we weren't really allowed to watch TV. In France, we didn't have TV at all. I have no TV culture. I also find that TV distracts me—the images move too fast for me. And what I don't like about most Egyptian movies is the morals. They are very moralistic. It's disgusting! But there is something nostalgic about old Egyptian movies.

Y.N: Cinema of that era was very moralistic all over the world. It was the same in Hollywood.

G.A: Yes, but I don't like it!

Y.N: What I like about old Egyptian movies is that they always remind me of what Egypt was like then, and what it has become today. I also enjoy reading the credits at the end of the movie as much as I enjoy watching the movie itself! You get a sense of this salad of nationalities and religions that existed in Egypt. It shows you how culturally rich we were at the time—people seemed to love each other more. You see a Muslim name next to a Jewish name, a Greek name next to an Armenian name. We had a very rich and more tolerant society then.

G.A: There is also huge sexual frustration now. I think America and Egypt are alike when it comes to sexual frustration. We have so many sexual issues to resolve in Egypt.

Y.N: I agree but, you know, people talk more openly about sexual issues in Egypt now. I have seen many programs on Arabic TV channels, some even involving religious Sheikhs in the discussions.

G.A: Why a religious Sheikh!

Y.N: There's always the religious opinion and the medical opinion!

G.A: And the viewer's opinion!

Y.N: But in New York you have a TV and a satellite dish—do you watch movies on it?

G.A: I only watch the news. I turn it on sometimes when I'm bored. I bought it just in case. I would love to watch more but find it very tiring—the images move too fast!

Y.N: One of the funniest stories about you, which I can't forget, is when we were together on the airplane from Cairo to New York. Do you remember—I was reading a magazine and you asked me what I was reading about? I told you it was an article about Kate Moss, and you said you didn't know who she was! I was very surprised that you had never heard of Kate Moss.

G.A: I still don't know who she is!

Y.N: Do you know who Elizabeth Taylor is?

G.A: I've heard of her. If I see her picture I'll know who she is.

Y.N: I find that very cute, you seem to live in your own world … But what is strange is what happened after that. A couple of days later I went to buy an Interview magazine, a special issue about Elizabeth Taylor, and when I was paying the guy asked me, "Who is she, is she famous?" I said, "Yes, you've never heard of Elizabeth Taylor?" and he said, "No!" That same week I photographed Louise Bourgeois. We spent three hours together and Eva Hesse came up in the conversation, and she went, "Never heard of her." Perhaps she'd forgotten her or something. Then the following day I did an interview over the phone with a journalist from Australia and she asked me about the last person I'd photographed. I said, "Louise Bourgeois," and she said, "I don't know who she is, could you please spell her name?" It was the strangest thing, like being in a movie or something … I think there was a message for me in this story. Maybe the message was that nothing is exactly the way we see it, that we all see life from different angles. What is important to you is not important for another person.

G.A: Absolutely. I love it!

Y.N: I believe in life sending you messages. I also believe in dreams—real dreams with messages, not the kind of dreams that reflect what you went through during the day.

G.A: You know, recently, in Egypt, something really strange happened to me: my memories got mixed up. Suddenly I couldn't remember if something had happened two years ago or twenty!

Y.N: That's another thing—time. We actually created time. Time doesn't always have the same length. Don't you feel that some days pass more quickly than others? And some years are longer than others. This year was so quick, for example. I was in Egypt six months ago but I feel like I was there last week.

New York, June 2008

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