Near the entrance, large teddy bears are arranged on the ground, dressed in flocked t-shirts. “Fiché S” emblazoned on one, while another reads “Thugs don’t cry.” On a third, we can read the title of the work: “Let your thug cry.” An adjoining video shows the creator of the work, Samir Laghouati-Rashwan, wearing a hood, a chain striking his bare chest in slow motion, suggestive movements.
“This self-portrait in a masculinist version echoes the messages
bout bears that are very negative projections that are made about us.” This “we” are the young racialized men from working-class neighborhoods. He comes from the Barriol neighborhood in Arles. “50% unemployment, a bit like the Paris region, but with fewer opportunities than the capital.”
We find ourselves saddled with clichés that contribute to unhealthy hypermasculinity.
His approach to the theme of the exhibition starts from the intimate. ” I’m talking about masculine construction. We find ourselves saddled with clichés that contribute to the unhealthy slovenia phone number library hypermasculinity imposed by patriarchy, and into which we project ourselves into a form of internalized racism. While deep down, we are teddy bears,” smiles Samir.
His deliberately “playful” way of approaching the subject
“By creating a piece like this on such a heavy theme, I take a poetic, ironic distance, which allows me a certain freedom to address these questions in predominantly white institutions that are quite far from these problems.”
Another of his works, available on the Internet, does not bother with roundabout ways to evoke police violence. In “Non-lieu” , an online book with an afterword by Anas Daif, Samir Laghouati-Rashwan constantly sending emails to these addresses lists all the fatal blunders that have resulted in a dismissal of cases since 1992, the year he was born.
“I write down the names of people killed by the police germany cell number by year, and every two years I increase it with any new victims,” the artist explains. “Starting from my birth is also counting the number of years I’m alive, where my name isn’t on that list, because it could very well be.
