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The fermentation process is as much about rebirth as reinvention. Take the much-loved Palestinian and Levantine staple, makdoos, for example. It starts with a small aubergine, salted to remove its bitterness. The flesh gradually softens, allowing it to be stuffed with walnuts, garlic and chilli, then packed into a jar and submerged in olive oil.
Over several weeks, the once raw and firm aubergine becomes tender and its former bitterness gives way to a new profile of funky and fiery flavours. This process may be informed by science but is deeply rooted in culture and heritage. Ancient civilisations, from the Chinese to the Egyptians, documented their methods of fermentation centuries ago.
In light of Palestine’s ongoing struggle for self-determination, maintaining these techniques has become an urgent matter of cultural survival.
This mindset infuses the work of Palestinian artist Mirna Bamieh in her exhibition Sour Things. The mixed media show – blending ceramics, drawings, text and video – highlights her homeland’s rich food fermentation and preservation techniques, responsible for dishes such as makdoos. In doing so, it draws unsettling parallels between nature’s ability to regenerate and the self-destructive tendencies of humankind.
Unveiled first at Sharjah Biennial, Sour Things is now running at Nika Project Space in Paris, the first international outpost of the Dubai gallery.
Speaking to The National, Bamieh explains how the Paris version differs from the one in Sharjah. While the earlier version was a creative step into the unknown, this new chapter is shaped by the grief of the ongoing Israel-Gaza war.
"Certain aspects of the exhibition are still too intense for me," she says. "When I was working on it, I remember taking my ceramic pieces out of the kiln, and they looked so raw and visceral – like my guts were on the outside. I couldn't even look at them because they felt so angry, which is what I've been feeling for a long time now.
"My emotions have materialised into these objects, and it is hard to share them with the world, especially in the context of everything happening in Palestine. After October … something broke in all of us. I didn’t know I could be this angry or this sad, but at least I was able to find a form for those emotions through my work."
Sour Things is an evolving exhibition designed to harness Bamieh's ongoing reflections on Palestinian displacement. The Pantry, one of three new installations in Paris, speaks of a life in sudden flux. Ceramic plates and glass jars hold items such as salt and lemons, while the pantry walls teeter dangerously on the brink of destruction. A series of accompanying videos features shards of pottery Bamieh collected from Palestine, being gathered and washed.
Bamieh describes The Pantry as the genesis of the Sour Things project. "The idea began organically during the pandemic when I was stuck in my apartment in Ramallah," she says. "I found myself instinctively creating a pantry – fermenting, freezing, and preserving food without even thinking about it. It felt like my body was preparing for an uncertain future. This practice made me reflect on the broader theme of preservation – what it means to protect what we have when the future is so uncertain."
That sense of dread is in full bloom in Grieving in Colours, another new feature of the exhibition, where a batch of gooey oranges hangs suspended on white walls. Rot has set in, rendering them a gloopy mess.
"That’s part of how I make art. From afar, my work looks colourful, full of life, but when you get closer, you see the sadness and heaviness behind it," she adds. "I think I hide very well behind colours and forms.
"My work is not overtly political, but everything I do is political because I am Palestinian. The stories, the recipes, the preservation practices ... they’re all a reflection of the struggle and resilience of our people."
Bamieh notes that exploring the fermentation process is an ideal canvas for telling the story of Palestine. "If you really consider it, fermentation is a metaphor for survival," she says. "It goes back centuries and down to indigenous practices because it is rooted in concern about the harm we are doing to the world.
"As Palestinians, it is especially meaningful because we always ferment and preserve things, from yoghurt to olives. In Palestine, the pantry remains extremely important. Every time there’s a strike or a roadblock – and that still happens frequently – we have to rely on the food we've preserved. When there's an announcement of a crisis or shortage, the first thing people do is rush to refill their pantries, and the shelves quickly empty because everyone understands the importance of having preserved items."
With the war raging on, Bamieh credits Sour Things as an outlet to express her rage and trauma. However, it has come at the cost of discontinuing her popular Palestinian Hosting Society series of dinners, held in cities from Vienna to New York, where she presents forgotten dishes reflecting Palestinian history and heritage.
"These dinner performances are meant to be places of celebration, and I don't feel like being a host and telling people Palestine's story when my people are at war, hungry and dying," she states. "Now I am angry, and my focus has shifted to working on things that are more solitary and contemplative ... this is what I need."
Sour Things by Mirna Bamieh is running at Nika Project Space, Paris, until October 27
