A dense corner of Omar Kholeif's studio, paintings stacked and hung from every surface beneath a small watching portrait, before it was cleared

Archive / Omar Kholeif

Assembling, Creating, Dismantling: A Life

Omar Kholeif · With Levin Haegele

Knowing the end was near, I asked Levin Haegele to document the ruin before it turned to rubble.

I felt bitter as we sat in Hoxton Square.

His motorbike parked on the corner.

I dreamt of riding away with it, any‑where from, but, here.

I left a window open, exited backstage, got on a plane and waved goodbye.

He with the keys.

A cluttered desk in Omar Kholeif's studio, with a microphone, headphones, notebooks and paintings propped against the window

Some intruders are like friendly ghosts.

A dense corner of Omar Kholeif's studio, paintings stacked and hung everywhere, with the photographer's camera flash caught as a bright ghostly reflection in a mirror

He ventured into the home of the avatars. Doctor O’s collection of Merch Couture, now vacuum packed to go to the Design Museum; the art historian’s books ready to go to the Library of Alexandria.

A bookshelf in Omar Kholeif's studio crowded with novels, art catalogues, small paintings and a globeA small globe and stacked art books beside framed paintings on a shelf in Omar Kholeif's studioStacked copies of Another Country, edited by Omar Kholeif, beside other books on a shelfA microphone, headphones and a stone resting on a cluttered studio deskCoke cans, a stamp pad and framed photographs cluttering a desk in Omar Kholeif's studioA collage and a large blue painting on the studio wall, beside a jacket hanging from a rackA tall stack of books and a painted vase in Omar Kholeif's studio
A small painting propped against a paint-stained wall, beside soaps, tissues and crystals near a sink in Omar Kholeif's studio

The over‑sized paintings, suspended from every corner–served as anchors, room dividers, annotations of memory–of life and love, both lived and lost.

A shelf of small paintings above bundled canvases wrapped in bubble wrap and paint tins, with a large blue painting propped against the wallA dense cluster of paintings and a collage propped against the studio wall, beneath a ladderA wall crowded with small and mid-sized paintings above a cluttered desk in Omar Kholeif's studioA desk fan and a framed photograph in front of a wall of paintings in Omar Kholeif's studioPaintings propped against kitchen cabinets and a sink in Omar Kholeif's studioA dense corner of Omar Kholeif's studio, paintings stacked and hung everywhere, with the photographer caught as a translucent reflection in a mirror
A bare, paint-stained wall in Omar Kholeif's studio, just a tap and a small camel fridge magnet

The site where all my secrets were buried, left bare.

Dozens of paint tubes and ink bottles scattered across a desk in Omar Kholeif's studio

The mess resembled a theatre of self. For one person, me, myself and I.

A dim close-up of small boxed keepsakes and soap tucked into folded fabric in Omar Kholeif's studio

I forgot that the light was turned off at the mains.

I gave no instruction.

A lucky cat mug holding paintbrushes amid tubes of paint, keys and studio supplies on Omar Kholeif's desk

In the scorching heat, his sweat was so ripe that he had to undress as he crept, and leapt searching, standing behind the aperture, lost amongst the trees; standing in weeds.

A ladder rising to a mezzanine beside a large blue painting, walls dense with more paintings in Omar Kholeif's studio

There he was: before an assembly of life: one created as a dream; ready to be dismantled again. Awaiting the will to be soldered, to be re‑constituted again.

Omar Kholeif