if you believe in scribbles..

Roxi in black and white

Roxi in the box

On the 14th of December, Roxi will be launching her new exposition in Mann (the archeological museum). This time you will look at her work with a different eye, black and white illustrations that resembles the first Naploitan migrants who went to North America in 1900. Important to mention that Roxis work takes two paths, sometimes you will find it commercial but most of the times she set her critical eye freely to develop towards contemporary society, ready to explore, hit, sneer and reveal everything that lies far off the box. In order to dig deeply behind this extraordinary work, the best thing was to step into her studio house and ask away.

Why Roxi in the box?

I believe that I live in my own box, which is my little world. I worked more than 10 years for a mobile company and my colleagues used to call me “Roxy in the box” because they know I believe that workers are closed in a box. More than ten years ago, I felt limited and I had this gut feeling that one day I am going to quit and start publishing my art. Fortunately when I began to sell my artistic work I left my job at the company. Also It was recently that I decided to tighten my world, it’s all about those who truly love me, beside my paintings and two cats.

Every artist uses his life as a mean to influence his paintings, how does your life inspires your drawings?

Life and art is one thing for me, i am not different in the night than the afternoon or morning, so everything I have drawn was something that I wanted to communicate or something that has happened to me in my own life. When I draw, I feel and see all of us as humans, not just me. Maybe one or two works are related to my private life but everything is what the community feels today. In fact, there are many aspects of my work, some of them are commercial because as an artist, this is my way to stay financially independent and other works are social because this is how I connect with the world.

Does your opinion about your art change?

Yes, but not from morning to night. For example, when I look at my paintings that i worked on 14 years ago, I get touches my heart in a way because it makes me see myself when i was 15 years younger, it makes me feel something. At this moment, when I look deeply and stare into one of my old drawings, I remember how was my feeling when I jumped out of my bed and said ” I want to draw this”. It never happened that I saw my work and questioned it, it always makes me feel something intimate, too intimate.

So can you tell me what does this painting mean? It holds a lot of context inside.

This work was influenced by my grandmother, I remember that she used to have the last 10 mins of the day for herself only. This is the only time when she sits alone, comb her hair and think solely. You know what .. When I painted this work, in the last 10 mins of this day I was a bit worried and I felt like there is something dangerous around me.

If I ask you to close your eyes and describe a painting that signifies this phase of your life, now, What would it be?

She closed her eyes, teared and said “ A black and white painting, nostalgic and melancholic”

Is this a painting of you?

Yes, I am not used to look at my body in the mirror, especially after my last two surgeries that I had last year. When i look at this painting, it’s the only time I look at my body. This is the real me naked and raw.

What made you decide your next work to be in black and white, unlike the rest of your work?

Before, I was afraid to show my nostalgic side, but now I want to show my real feelings and my real self, with no colors. So, after two years of research, I will start next month. The name of my new exposition is “Racism” which means racist to the sea, the sea is a bridge that shows the neighbourhood.

Does people consider you a napolitan artist?

If people can see naples in my work so that’s because i come from naples, Maybe because i drew people like Maradona and San Gennaro, but I usually draw general things that all the world can relate to

Do you consider yourself a street artist?

Look, art is freedom, and artists are free. Actually everybody is free. Artists should not be classified into raws and colunms. I did street art when I wanted to get closer to the people so I went and drew in the streets, I didn’t think much about it. So I don’t consider myself as a street artist, I am an artist I do art whenever i feel like. I am free and we all should be.

In this controversial city, where art lies in the structure of everything, Roxi in the box found her own way to express her emotions. When you see her drawings in the street you feel like she has something to say to the world, and it seems like the world needs to listen. Roxis drawings always has something beyond the painting. she leaves you wondering and questioning, and in this way; you know you are inspired.

What: Art exposition
Where: Mann (archeological museum)
When: 14th of December


We came to this world naked from any fears; it was all revolving around mothers, fathers and some sort of a hidden power that can only be sensed. We pour our souls into everything that we do and of course we knew nothing about rushing things or comparing ourselves to others. Our wordlists had no idea about any expressions that carry any sort of dreading or distressing. After a while, when we merge all our senses in the surroundings; some new pronouncing appears into our life. We compare, we rush and we apathetically do things and say words while having no clue why our hearts are not content/fulfilled.

When things go like that, when we hold our breaths more than letting them out and when we’re no longer besieged by unconditional love and soul connectivity, then it’s time to pause.  And by “pause” I don’t mean to disappear or stay silent- But if staying away from screens means disappearing then I mean it with all my heart- go back to the basic forgetting all the castles of appearance that you’ve built in your whole life. Stay away from anything that obscures the air around you, that makes you feel less humane, because as long as you are acquainted with the word “human”, you will never stop pausing when things go wrong.

As a human, you have to know the amount of aesthetics that you carry within you. Your primitiveness is made of  love and care  in the first place before anything else has grown inside of you. In this way, you will genuinely reach  that phase where you can contain the whole world.

If you ever stopped in the middle of this hustle,  if you ever found yourself questioning everything that you’re involved in – Pause ..

You will learn that there are no un-sacred places, that God is every where inside you. Because from a clearer/closer perspective, you will realize that this hidden power was all along God, in the first place, then mothers and fathers.

you will be able to love with all what you have while having no doubt, because giving love won’t consume you but will make you blossom. You won’t be giving up on whatever you find your soul belonging to.

And when you reach this point, you will be a step closer to the essence of this journey of life, you will be taken to  the world of warmth, tenderness and devotion; and there, you’ll meet those who are on the same level just as you. Those who went through the same journey of craving authenticity and rawness.
Having the same scars, they will grasp the whole thing about you. You’ll surprisingly find yourself speaking your language without even trying to express it.

Of course you will still think twice and fear things, but they will reassure as much as they can that you are where you belong to and that you are safe when they are around. On the other hand, you’ll find yourself unconsciously entangled with them, because you know deep down that they longed for the truth, and the truth led them to You.

I know you so well

For the souls that never rest, the eyes that are created to marvel and gaze at each tiny detail, and the minds that wander till the last hour of the day. I can tell where your feet are pinned now.
You might be standing in the middle of the crowd now, banging your fingers and rolling your eyes. Your mind is recreating some scenarios over that old woman with the dark yellow hat over there. Other days, you’re just staring at your favorite flower shop; and watching that guy with the awkward smile who comes every Saturday to buy the same kind of flowers. I can hear your curious mind! “Maybe he’s so in love, or maybe his girl doesn’t even know yet! What if she is no more alive and it’s her weekly visit that brings him here every Saturday.”

Dear young wise soul, I know you so well, i know what your heart craves in order to feel safe and content. I know how much you get lost in features, especially those with wrinkles. I know that your eyes sparkle whenever you pass by a shop that has a photo of its owner hung on the wall.
And I have something for you to tell after having a glimpse on how the “notes” folder on your mobile phone is messed up! and how your playlist can take us to the moon and back.

Here it is, your world itself is a contentment, your wonderings are! And your whole life should be. Because as long as you’re alive, everybody’s random boring noons are never the same to you, home windows that everybody is used to pass by, are your access cards to fantasy and passion. You’re always there trying to resonate whatever is going around with your whole being.

Thank you for bringing life to all the objects that surround your little tiny huge world.

The seat is empty again

So yeah, here the flight seat is empty again,

It wasn’t a literal seat as she told him, but it was a meaningful one as he told her. Frustrated in her thoughts and the infinite what ifs, she kept wandering. The emptiness of this seat has never made her feel lonely. It was an allusion for whatever is coming next. It was an answer to why she kept saving this place, it was the “If he only knows what is waiting for him” thought, and it was her waiting lively and high spirit-idly for that someone who will merge his energy into hers so they can fit perfectly and embrace all their imperfections.

The “empty seat” picture is not only an allusion for her upcoming life, but for the love and care that she has for all this world – A frame that she keeps glancing at curiously whenever she stands in the middle of a crowd or at the end of those ordinary days.

“Perspectives shape everything” these are his words, and she totally agrees with that. But when it comes to her heart, her heart doesn’t render perspectives nor interpret them.

After having to deal with the “almost” that he has endowed her with. Perhaps she doesn’t stare at the empty seat as happy as the previous times;  she rather steals some rapid yet profound glances. She accepts these – from time to time – apathetic glances because deep down she knows that this time; she is looking at the empty seat faithfully – with all the faith that is left in her heart. The trip is still there and the rest is yet to come.

عمر واحد ميكَفيش

شايفة نفسي في وسط كومة ورق عليه تصميمات فساتين، برسم الفستان اللي جهت صورته في دماغي وانا بعدي الشارع في مصر الجديدة انهاردة الصبح، وبعد شوية مجهود، اشوفه عالحقيقة قدام عيني، بالظبط زي ما كان فخيالي. و اضُمُه لمجموعة التصميمات اللي عندي وانا حاسة بإنجاز رهيب وسعادة مش عارفة احطها في كلام.

شايفة نفسي وقاعدة جمب كباية القهوة اللي بردت من كتر ما نسيتها وانا بكتب رواية جتلي فكرتها من الست كاميليا  اللي قابلتها انهاردة واقفة قدام محل فساتين الأفراح اللي بقاله ييجي اكتر من 50 سنة فاتح، و كانت رايحة تسترجع ذكري معينة هناك، شايفاني بسيب الرواية وبكتب ف نوتة صغيرة افكار وخواطر بتجيلي نفسي اوثقها علي ورق قبل ما تتلاشي من فكري وترجع تاني ملهاش وجود.

شايفاني وانا بالليل مش عارفة انام من كتر الأفكار اللي عايزة اناقشها في برنامجي بكرة، وانا بمارس هوايتي المفضلة، بتواصل مع الناس وبسمعهم، وبشاركهم ميت مليون موضوع وفكر ة.

وشايفاني وانا ماسكة الكاميرا، بخَطي برجلي بكل ثقة بين البيوت والحواري ف اكتر من بلد ومدينة. شايفاني عندي رسالة ووسيلتي هي الكاميرا، وانا بحاول أرضي  بشعور بيجيلي، لما بكون عايزة اوري العالم كله اللي عيني بتشوفه، بوَثَق لحظات عيني بتقف قدامها كتير ومبعرفش اتحرك من مكاني غير لما اتأمل فيها شوية.

وشايفاني وانا محتارة.. هو عمر واحد يكفي لكل دة؟ معنديش أي فكرة، يمكن احنا اضعف من اننا نعرف احنا قادرين نوصل لحد فين بالظبط. بس الأكيد اننا أقوي من مخاوف كتيرة أوي موقفانا عن اننا نوَصًل رسالتنا اللي موجودة في الدنيا بس مستنيانا نوصلها، علي شكل سطر في رواية، صورة، أو حتي فستان.


ليلي؛  بنت الاربعة و عشرين سنة، احلي لحظة ف يومها هي اللي بتحط فيها اللبن علي الشاي و تشوفهم بيندمجوا مع بعض, ساعتها اللي بيحصل ميتصنفش غير انه اندماج روحي,اللبن و الشاي بيندمجوا لدرجة تخليها تنسي انها هي اللي فرضت اللبن عالشاي. كل حاجة حواليها شبهها، بتعشق البيانو عشان بتحس ان اديها حرة جواه، كل مفتاح ليه شخصيته .. في كل غنوة كل مفتاح بيعرف نفسه بطريقة مختلفة.

هي مؤمنة ان كل حاجة موجودة حوالينا ليها شخصية، بس احنا نركز

.. وحيدة مامتها و باباها، علاقتها بيهم جميلة و دة يرجع لليلي مش ليهم؛ لكن للاسف هم الحاجة الوحيدة اللي مش شبهها.

محدش شبهها غير جدتها، اصلها كانت بتعشق التفاصيل زيها .. من اول لحظة اللقا بتاعة الشاي بلبن -زي ما بيسموها- لحد ما كانوا بيصحوا بدري يوم الجمعة قبل ما البيت كله يصحي، يدوبك  يخلصوا الضفيرة بتاعة جدتها و ينزلوا علي محل الورد و يقفوا  قدامه بالساعات، ويحللوا شخصية كل واحد داخل جوا “دة مشيته ماشية مترددة، شكله عايز يجيب ورد يعترف بيه لبنت انه بيحبها. و دة مشيته واثق منها اوي، و داخل علي اللون الأحمر، شكله عامل عاملة و عايز يلحق يعتذر ….)

و من بعد جدتها مفيش حد شاركها عالمها غير المكتبة، اللي مكانها جمب بتاع الورد، المكتبة بالنسبة لها اكتر بكتير من كراسي و رفوف.. ريحتها،  وشوش الناس اللي فيها دايما بتكون مألوفة حتي لو لأول مرة تشوفهم. اوكرة الباب و الطريقة اللي الكتب مترصصة بيها و صوت خطوات الناس علي الباركيه مع ضلهم اللي مندمج مع النور الاصفر.. بتروح هناك عشان تشحن لليوم كله.و طبعاً عشان طبيعة شغلانتها كصحفية؛ مبتعرفش تكتب غير و هي “ليلي” غير لما تكون شبهها.

الصحافة من متع حياتها اللي هي ممنونة ليها، متميزة في شغلها جدا كونها بتخاطب الروح قبل العقل،  وبتسيب جزء  منها  فكل حاجة بتكتب فيها.

اوقات بتنسي نفسها  وهي بتحلل فكرة النفس البشرية، و دة اللي مخليها تصنف اي جماد حواليها كشخصية.


عندها لازمة دايما بتحسسها بالأمان؛ بتغرس اديها ف اي شوال عدس او دقيق هي معدية من جمب البقال؛ طبعا دة في الخباسة جدا،  دي عادتها اللي بتحسسها بالأمان

ناس كتير حواليها هما جزء من عالمها من غير ما يعرفوا و من غير ما لسانها يخاطبهم، زي الست اللي علي الكرسي المتحرك؛ بتشوفها في البلكونة وهي بتعمل ضفيرة لنفسها و تكون بتغني “يا ست يا ختيارة .. يا زينة كل الحارة” .

و زي الراجل بتاع محل الورد اللي بينطبق عليه مثل “باب النجار مخلع” من ساعة ما شافته في مرة محتاس وهو  بيعمل بوكيه ورد لنفسه و باظ منه و سابه؛ من يومها و عرفت ان وراه قصة كبيرة و جواه كلام اكتر،  زي ما هتفضل كل حاجة حواليها جواها كلام هي عايزة تسمعه، من اول الشباك اللي بتعدي من الشارع بتاعه مخصوص عشان تسمع العزف اللي ورا الستاير و تفضل تسرح يا تري دة عزف راجل عجوز لمراته اللي فاقدة البصر، ولا دة شاب و بيسترجع ذكرياته؟

هتفضل كل حاجة بتحبها وراها اسألة مبتخلصش زي ما هتفضل هي دايما حدوتة .. مبتخلصش.

لماذا هذه الغنوة بالذات؟

لأ اعرف لما هذه الموسيقي بالذات؟ لما هذه الكلمات هي التي ينتبه لها بالي و يشتد لها خفقان قلبي .. مع بداية عزف الجيتار, أشتاق لكل ما أيقن أنه لن يعود ,ابتسم من تلقاء نفسي و أترك كل جزء مني لعنانه يشعر بقيمة كل ما مضي من أيام ملأها خيالي ب سيناريوهاته المفضلة, و كان الحماس هو محركها.. و بعدها تزداد ابتسامتي حين أشعر كم أنا محظوظة, محظوظة لأني مررت بتلك الأيام التي لم اذق طعما للنوم بسبب مشروع ما أتمني لو يمضي الوقت لكي أراه مكتملا أمامي, أو لأنني في يوم ما تمنيت لو تطير الحافلة كي أصل لمقابلة شخص أود مقابلته, محظوظة لأني في بعض الأوقات نجحت في التعبير عما يدور في مخيلتي, و محظوظة أكثر انني في أوقات أخري, لم يساعدني تعبيري في ما أود البوح به, محظوظة حين وصلت قبل معادي و حين لم أصل حتي, محظوظة فقط لأنني أستمع لهذه الغنوة و شريط مخيلتي أراه مبهج الي حد الفضول .. مبهج بمعني أخر غير الذي اعتدنا عليه, لأنه مليء بلحظات شعرت فيها .. شعرت حتي وصل الشعور الي اطراف أناملي, و أيا كان هذا الشعور, ف يكفيني فقط أنني كنت أشعر بالأشياء, مبهج لأنني أجد بداخلي دائما ما اذهب اليه اذا ضاقت علي دنياي.
أعتقد اذا طلب مني أحد أن أقوم بإخراج أحداث هذا الشريط لن أغير أي حدث من أحداثه ما عدا شيء واحد, أبدا لن أتمني مرور الوقت, لن أتمني أن تمضي الأيام بي سريعا لأي سبب كان, لأن المشكلة فقط أننا دائما نعتقد انه يوجد وقت كافي

“كنت فاكر, لسة بدري”

An answer

What do you get lost in?

sincerely, this is the hardest yet the most challenging question that I keep craving it’s answer from the life happening around me. In an attempt to know when does my heart get full-tanked, I just gave it an aimless try to find out the answer..

I get lost between the words when they fall from the mouths genuinely, when my eyes unite with my imagination  and authentically  create their own slow motion scenes from what ever reality is happening around. Those moments when time pauses and everything moves with the flow or on the beats, the beats of my mind. I can never get over a yellow-lighted balcony in a late night, I appreciate comfortable silence and blurry photos. I don’t think there is a time I handled it and calmly enjoyed one of those remarkable ceremonies or watched a movie without curiously wandering among the faces.

I found that I’m so in love with the backstage of this world; what’s behind it. My body moves towards nothing but to explore what is beyond the things. I was that kid who could never prevent her feet from going towards the shells after they reach the shore, just in case there is a letter lying beneath.

Tiny us

Question marks and wanderings never fail to be a part of our whole-being, they keep drawing virtual scenarios in the very core of our imagination, they assume, expect and unmercifully fill the gaps of our weakness to leave us  feeling so tiny in this universe. But at some point we need to look beneath those awful marks, why do they exist and who created them.
We created them, the fact that we believe, feel and get attached without doubting has created them, the moment we admit we’re worth fighting for has created them and the faith we invest in second chances has also created them. Maybe we have to think about everything twice, maybe we have to re-think it a thousand times, maybe we should not dream big, or maybe all of this is inhumane and not true, because in the huge world of destiny; it wasn’t just our timing, it was not just our timing.

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