La série photographique Ça va aller du photographe Joana Choumali est une expression couramment utilisée en Côte d’Ivoire pour se rassurer les uns les autres, même après un événement profondément traumatisant. Choumali a commencé le projet moins d’un mois après l’attaque terroriste de Grand-Bassam en mars 2016, lorsque trois hommes armés ont ouvert le feu sur une station balnéaire à une heure de chez elle à Abidjan. Les images de la série sont toutes prises sur son iPhone et ressemblent plus à des instantanés qu’à des portraits. Elle voulait que les sujets aient l’air naturel, comme si elle scannait la ville.

The pictures were shot with my iphone, 3 weeks after the terrorrist attacks I chose to usemy iphone instead of my DSLR canera , to capture people discretely. they don’ t know that they are shot, so their artitudes are natural, as if i was doing a scan of the city.
It took me one month to embroider the pictures as i was sick with malaria and also « sick of all this nonsense »..
This series is a way to cope with my own sadness and a way to witness the (denied) traumatism of people living there.
Bassam was my refuge, the place i used to go to unwind and to be by myself at one hour drive from Abidjan. Bassam is also a place full of history, a quiet and peaceful little town. Bassam reminds me of insouciance, my wedding family lunch , all these childhood sunday afternoons i used to spend on this same beach with my loved ones. To me, Bassam was a synonym of happiness, until that day. 3 weeks after the attacks, the atmosphere of the little town changed.. The sadness is everywhere. A « saudade« , some kind of melancholy. Most of the pictures show people by themselves, walking in the streets or just standing, sitting alone, lost in their thoughts. And empty places.
« ça va aller » means « it will be ok » it is a typical expression used by ivorian people for everything, even if they know that it is not going to be ok. This work is a way to address the way ivorian people deal with psychological suffering. In côte d ‘ Ivoire, people don’t discuss their psychological issues, or feelings. A post-traumatic choc is considered as weakness or a mental disease. People don t talk about their feelings, and each conversation is quickly shortened by a resigned  » ça va aller ».
The attacks re-opened the mental wounds left by the post electoral war of 2011.
Each stitch was a way to recover, to lie down the emotions, the loneliness, and mixed feelings i felt.
Each picture is printed on a cotton canvas, 24 cmx24 cm, hand embroidered with DMC cotton thread.

 

« Trois semaines après les attaques, l’atmosphère de la petite ville a changé « , a déclaré Choumali dans une déclaration sur la série. « La tristesse est partout. Une saudade, une sorte de mélancolie. La plupart des photos montrent des personnes seules, marchant dans les rues ou simplement debout, assises seules, perdues dans leurs pensées. Et des endroits vides. »

Choumali explique qu’elle a commencé à broder les images sur une toile imprimée pour faire face à sa propre tristesse. Le processus méditatif est maintenant ancré dans sa pratique quotidienne comme un moyen pour le photographe de se détendre et de se concentrer. Les fils de couleur vive servent de sentiments qu’elle ne peut exprimer verbalement, et une façon de témoigner et de reconnaître le traumatisme nié du peuple Grand-Bassam.

« Ce travail est un moyen d’aborder la manière dont le peuple ivoirien gère la souffrance psychologique », a déclaré M. Choumali. « En Côte d’Ivoire, les gens ne discutent pas de leurs problèmes psychologiques ou de leurs sentiments. Un choc post-traumatique est considéré comme une faiblesse ou une maladie mentale. Les gens ne parlent pas de leurs sentiments, et chaque conversation est rapidement raccourcie par un « Ça va aller » résigné.

The pictures were shot with my iphone, 3 weeks after the terrorrist attacks I chose to usemy iphone instead of my DSLR canera , to capture people discretely. they don’ t know that they are shot, so their artitudes are natural, as if i was doing a scan of the city.
It took me one month to embroider the pictures as i was sick with malaria and also « sick of all this nonsense »..
This series is a way to cope with my own sadness and a way to witness the (denied) traumatism of people living there.
Bassam was my refuge, the place i used to go to unwind and to be by myself at one hour drive from Abidjan. Bassam is also a place full of history, a quiet and peaceful little town. Bassam reminds me of insouciance, my wedding family lunch , all these childhood sunday afternoons i used to spend on this same beach with my loved ones. To me, Bassam was a synonym of happiness, until that day. 3 weeks after the attacks, the atmosphere of the little town changed.. The sadness is everywhere. A « saudade », some kind of melancholy. Most of the pictures show people by themselves, walking in the streets or just standing, sitting alone, lost in their thoughts. And empty places.
« ça va aller » means « it will be ok » it is a typical expression used by ivorian people for everything, even if they know that it is not going to be ok. This work is a way to address the way ivorian people deal with psychological suffering. In côte d ‘ Ivoire, people don’t discuss their psychological issues, or feelings. A post-traumatic choc is considered as weakness or a mental disease. People don t talk about their feelings, and each conversation is quickly shortened by a resigned  » ça va aller ».
The attacks re-opened the mental wounds left by the post electoral war of 2011.
Each stitch was a way to recover, to lie down the emotions, the loneliness, and mixed feelings i felt.
Each picture is printed on a cotton canvas, 24 cmx24 cm, hand embroidered with DMC cotton thread.
The pictures were shot with my iphone, 3 weeks after the terrorrist attacks I chose to usemy iphone instead of my DSLR canera , to capture people discretely. they don’ t know that they are shot, so their artitudes are natural, as if i was doing a scan of the city.
It took me one month to embroider the pictures as i was sick with malaria and also « sick of all this nonsense »..
This series is a way to cope with my own sadness and a way to witness the (denied) traumatism of people living there.
Bassam was my refuge, the place i used to go to unwind and to be by myself at one hour drive from Abidjan. Bassam is also a place full of history, a quiet and peaceful little town. Bassam reminds me of insouciance, my wedding family lunch , all these childhood sunday afternoons i used to spend on this same beach with my loved ones. To me, Bassam was a synonym of happiness, until that day. 3 weeks after the attacks, the atmosphere of the little town changed.. The sadness is everywhere. A « saudade », some kind of melancholy. Most of the pictures show people by themselves, walking in the streets or just standing, sitting alone, lost in their thoughts. And empty places.
« ça va aller » means « it will be ok » it is a typical expression used by ivorian people for everything, even if they know that it is not going to be ok. This work is a way to address the way ivorian people deal with psychological suffering. In côte d ‘ Ivoire, people don’t discuss their psychological issues, or feelings. A post-traumatic choc is considered as weakness or a mental disease. People don t talk about their feelings, and each conversation is quickly shortened by a resigned  » ça va aller ».
The attacks re-opened the mental wounds left by the post electoral war of 2011.
Each stitch was a way to recover, to lie down the emotions, the loneliness, and mixed feelings i felt.
Each picture is printed on a cotton canvas, 24 cmx24 cm, hand embroidered with DMC cotton thread.
The pictures were shot with my iphone, 3 weeks after the terrorrist attacks I chose to usemy iphone instead of my DSLR canera , to capture people discretely. they don’ t know that they are shot, so their artitudes are natural, as if i was doing a scan of the city.
It took me one month to embroider the pictures as i was sick with malaria and also « sick of all this nonsense »..
This series is a way to cope with my own sadness and a way to witness the (denied) traumatism of people living there.
Bassam was my refuge, the place i used to go to unwind and to be by myself at one hour drive from Abidjan. Bassam is also a place full of history, a quiet and peaceful little town. Bassam reminds me of insouciance, my wedding family lunch , all these childhood sunday afternoons i used to spend on this same beach with my loved ones. To me, Bassam was a synonym of happiness, until that day. 3 weeks after the attacks, the atmosphere of the little town changed.. The sadness is everywhere. A « saudade », some kind of melancholy. Most of the pictures show people by themselves, walking in the streets or just standing, sitting alone, lost in their thoughts. And empty places.
« ça va aller » means « it will be ok » it is a typical expression used by ivorian people for everything, even if they know that it is not going to be ok. This work is a way to address the way ivorian people deal with psychological suffering. In côte d ‘ Ivoire, people don’t discuss their psychological issues, or feelings. A post-traumatic choc is considered as weakness or a mental disease. People don t talk about their feelings, and each conversation is quickly shortened by a resigned  » ça va aller ».
The attacks re-opened the mental wounds left by the post electoral war of 2011.
Each stitch was a way to recover, to lie down the emotions, the loneliness, and mixed feelings i felt.
Each picture is printed on a cotton canvas, 24 cmx24 cm, hand embroidered with DMC cotton thread.
The pictures were shot with my iphone, 3 weeks after the terrorrist attacks I chose to usemy iphone instead of my DSLR canera , to capture people discretely. they don’ t know that they are shot, so their artitudes are natural, as if i was doing a scan of the city.
It took me one month to embroider the pictures as i was sick with malaria and also « sick of all this nonsense »..
This series is a way to cope with my own sadness and a way to witness the (denied) traumatism of people living there.
Bassam was my refuge, the place i used to go to unwind and to be by myself at one hour drive from Abidjan. Bassam is also a place full of history, a quiet and peaceful little town. Bassam reminds me of insouciance, my wedding family lunch , all these childhood sunday afternoons i used to spend on this same beach with my loved ones. To me, Bassam was a synonym of happiness, until that day. 3 weeks after the attacks, the atmosphere of the little town changed.. The sadness is everywhere. A « saudade », some kind of melancholy. Most of the pictures show people by themselves, walking in the streets or just standing, sitting alone, lost in their thoughts. And empty places.
« ça va aller » means « it will be ok » it is a typical expression used by ivorian people for everything, even if they know that it is not going to be ok. This work is a way to address the way ivorian people deal with psychological suffering. In côte d ‘ Ivoire, people don’t discuss their psychological issues, or feelings. A post-traumatic choc is considered as weakness or a mental disease. People don t talk about their feelings, and each conversation is quickly shortened by a resigned  » ça va aller ».
The attacks re-opened the mental wounds left by the post electoral war of 2011.
Each stitch was a way to recover, to lie down the emotions, the loneliness, and mixed feelings i felt.
Each picture is printed on a cotton canvas, 24 cmx24 cm, hand embroidered with DMC cotton thread.
The pictures were shot with my iphone, 3 weeks after the terrorrist attacks I chose to usemy iphone instead of my DSLR canera , to capture people discretely. they don’ t know that they are shot, so their artitudes are natural, as if i was doing a scan of the city.
It took me one month to embroider the pictures as i was sick with malaria and also « sick of all this nonsense »..
This series is a way to cope with my own sadness and a way to witness the (denied) traumatism of people living there.
Bassam was my refuge, the place i used to go to unwind and to be by myself at one hour drive from Abidjan. Bassam is also a place full of history, a quiet and peaceful little town. Bassam reminds me of insouciance, my wedding family lunch , all these childhood sunday afternoons i used to spend on this same beach with my loved ones. To me, Bassam was a synonym of happiness, until that day. 3 weeks after the attacks, the atmosphere of the little town changed.. The sadness is everywhere. A « saudade », some kind of melancholy. Most of the pictures show people by themselves, walking in the streets or just standing, sitting alone, lost in their thoughts. And empty places.
« ça va aller » means « it will be ok » it is a typical expression used by ivorian people for everything, even if they know that it is not going to be ok. This work is a way to address the way ivorian people deal with psychological suffering. In côte d ‘ Ivoire, people don’t discuss their psychological issues, or feelings. A post-traumatic choc is considered as weakness or a mental disease. People don t talk about their feelings, and each conversation is quickly shortened by a resigned  » ça va aller ».
The attacks re-opened the mental wounds left by the post electoral war of 2011.
Each stitch was a way to recover, to lie down the emotions, the loneliness, and mixed feelings i felt.
Each picture is printed on a cotton canvas, 24 cmx24 cm, hand embroidered with DMC cotton thread.
The pictures were shot with my iphone, 3 weeks after the terrorrist attacks I chose to usemy iphone instead of my DSLR canera , to capture people discretely. they don’ t know that they are shot, so their artitudes are natural, as if i was doing a scan of the city.
It took me one month to embroider the pictures as i was sick with malaria and also « sick of all this nonsense »..
This series is a way to cope with my own sadness and a way to witness the (denied) traumatism of people living there.
Bassam was my refuge, the place i used to go to unwind and to be by myself at one hour drive from Abidjan. Bassam is also a place full of history, a quiet and peaceful little town. Bassam reminds me of insouciance, my wedding family lunch , all these childhood sunday afternoons i used to spend on this same beach with my loved ones. To me, Bassam was a synonym of happiness, until that day. 3 weeks after the attacks, the atmosphere of the little town changed.. The sadness is everywhere. A « saudade », some kind of melancholy. Most of the pictures show people by themselves, walking in the streets or just standing, sitting alone, lost in their thoughts. And empty places.
« ça va aller » means « it will be ok » it is a typical expression used by ivorian people for everything, even if they know that it is not going to be ok. This work is a way to address the way ivorian people deal with psychological suffering. In côte d ‘ Ivoire, people don’t discuss their psychological issues, or feelings. A post-traumatic choc is considered as weakness or a mental disease. People don t talk about their feelings, and each conversation is quickly shortened by a resigned  » ça va aller ».
The attacks re-opened the mental wounds left by the post electoral war of 2011.
Each stitch was a way to recover, to lie down the emotions, the loneliness, and mixed feelings i felt.
Each picture is printed on a cotton canvas, 24 cmx24 cm, hand embroidered with DMC cotton thread.
The pictures were shot with my iphone, 3 weeks after the terrorrist attacks I chose to usemy iphone instead of my DSLR canera , to capture people discretely. they don’ t know that they are shot, so their artitudes are natural, as if i was doing a scan of the city.
It took me one month to embroider the pictures as i was sick with malaria and also « sick of all this nonsense »..
This series is a way to cope with my own sadness and a way to witness the (denied) traumatism of people living there.
Bassam was my refuge, the place i used to go to unwind and to be by myself at one hour drive from Abidjan. Bassam is also a place full of history, a quiet and peaceful little town. Bassam reminds me of insouciance, my wedding family lunch , all these childhood sunday afternoons i used to spend on this same beach with my loved ones. To me, Bassam was a synonym of happiness, until that day. 3 weeks after the attacks, the atmosphere of the little town changed.. The sadness is everywhere. A « saudade », some kind of melancholy. Most of the pictures show people by themselves, walking in the streets or just standing, sitting alone, lost in their thoughts. And empty places.
« ça va aller » means « it will be ok » it is a typical expression used by ivorian people for everything, even if they know that it is not going to be ok. This work is a way to address the way ivorian people deal with psychological suffering. In côte d ‘ Ivoire, people don’t discuss their psychological issues, or feelings. A post-traumatic choc is considered as weakness or a mental disease. People don t talk about their feelings, and each conversation is quickly shortened by a resigned  » ça va aller ».
The attacks re-opened the mental wounds left by the post electoral war of 2011.
Each stitch was a way to recover, to lie down the emotions, the loneliness, and mixed feelings i felt.
Each picture is printed on a cotton canvas, 24 cmx24 cm, hand embroidered with DMC cotton thread.
The pictures were shot with my iphone, 3 weeks after the terrorrist attacks I chose to usemy iphone instead of my DSLR canera , to capture people discretely. they don’ t know that they are shot, so their artitudes are natural, as if i was doing a scan of the city.
It took me one month to embroider the pictures as i was sick with malaria and also « sick of all this nonsense »..
This series is a way to cope with my own sadness and a way to witness the (denied) traumatism of people living there.
Bassam was my refuge, the place i used to go to unwind and to be by myself at one hour drive from Abidjan. Bassam is also a place full of history, a quiet and peaceful little town. Bassam reminds me of insouciance, my wedding family lunch , all these childhood sunday afternoons i used to spend on this same beach with my loved ones. To me, Bassam was a synonym of happiness, until that day. 3 weeks after the attacks, the atmosphere of the little town changed.. The sadness is everywhere. A « saudade », some kind of melancholy. Most of the pictures show people by themselves, walking in the streets or just standing, sitting alone, lost in their thoughts. And empty places.
« ça va aller » means « it will be ok » it is a typical expression used by ivorian people for everything, even if they know that it is not going to be ok. This work is a way to address the way ivorian people deal with psychological suffering. In côte d ‘ Ivoire, people don’t discuss their psychological issues, or feelings. A post-traumatic choc is considered as weakness or a mental disease. People don t talk about their feelings, and each conversation is quickly shortened by a resigned  » ça va aller ».
The attacks re-opened the mental wounds left by the post electoral war of 2011.
Each stitch was a way to recover, to lie down the emotions, the loneliness, and mixed feelings i felt.
Each picture is printed on a cotton canvas, 24 cmx24 cm, hand embroidered with DMC cotton thread.

Certaines pièces de Ça va aller seront exposées plus tard ce printemps à la 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair à New York. Vous pouvez voir plus de travail de la photographe basée sur la Côte d’Ivoire sur son site et Instagram.

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