{"id":1864,"date":"2026-02-22T11:01:05","date_gmt":"2026-02-22T11:01:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/?p=1864"},"modified":"2026-02-22T11:01:05","modified_gmt":"2026-02-22T11:01:05","slug":"of-talking-rocks-and-their-ideas-of-peace","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/2026\/02\/22\/of-talking-rocks-and-their-ideas-of-peace\/","title":{"rendered":"Of Talking Rocks and Their Ideas of Peace"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Reflections from the “Archaeology in the Presence” Art Residency, Goris, Armenia. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

By Habib Afsar<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Archeology in the Presence is a community based art residency where I join eleven other artists for 10 days engaging with the local community in Goris, a border town of Armenia. Our objectives are to explore people’s conception of the future in aconflict affected region and how art can contribute to better coping. The artists belong from Switzerland, Armenia, Srilanka, Germany, Georgia and, myself from Pakistan. The residency concludes with a small festival to celebrate and showcase the work. The intervention is part off a bigger research project tiled Contemporary Art, Popular Culture and Peace-building in Eastern Europe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

1.  Listening<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

The\u00a0road from\u00a0Yerevan to Goris winds through mountains the\u00a0colour of honey and rust. Somewhere\u00a0between the turns, we stop at\u00a0Zorats Qarer<\/em>\u2014the \u201cTalking Rocks\u201d. The megaliths rise from the hill like a circle of wise elders in consultation, each stone drilled with a perfect circular hole, angled to the stars. No one knows how they were made. Silence gathers easily here. The wind sings through the stones; I listen and wonder at the\u00a0strange\u00a0ancient\u00a0language\u00a0I\u00a0can\u00a0barely\u00a0decipher\u2014are\u00a0these\u00a0sounds\u00a0fromthe\u00a0air\u00a0whistling\u00a0through\u00a0the\u00a0rocks or my own imagining?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The rock speaks:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>
\n

You forget that you belong – that you have a place among us,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That I am your ancestor, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

That we are all descended from stars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This land that you claim is not yours- it is you<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And neither is it theirs- it is them<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is ours and not ours,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just as She has no name, for all names belong to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The peace you yearn for comes from health,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

health from healing,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

healing from wholeness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Do not cast away what is unpleasant;<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The wound is where you may see through to the Real.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Before leaving, I enter the small gift shop. A ceramic locket with an ancient hieroglyph catches my eye\u2014a moon crossing thesun, an eclipse, a symbol of disruption and renewal. It slips from my hand and falls to the floor as I stumble over the threshold.A sign, perhaps, that I must tread carefully. I pause and ask permission before wearing it. It feels right when I do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Breathe<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

2.  Naming<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Each morning one of us leads a creative ritual. My contribution is a Naming Poem<\/em>\u2014a resource-oriented exercise exploring identity as imaginative ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My name is a drunk worm,
An all-knowing power in cosmic conversation,
My name is the wisdom of a fish,
Intense and detailed.
A disaster waiting?
My name will look you in the eye,
It will carry you in the storm, in a spaceship of Joy-
Call me Habib<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Breathe<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Someone\u00a0mutters,\u00a0\u201cFeels\u00a0like\u00a0an\u00a0ego\u00a0trip.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>
\n

I have an eureka moment: ego\u2014so often vilified\u2014is not the enemy of but a boundary, a necessary skin. Ego ensures survival by locating the self in time and relation through notions of identity. When identity becomes rigid, it breeds defensiveness\u00a0and\u00a0fear;\u00a0when\u00a0it\u00a0collapses,\u00a0coherence\u00a0dissolves\u00a0into chaos.\u00a0A\u00a0healthy ego\u00a0can\u00a0play\u00a0with\u00a0identities\u00a0without\u00a0being\u00a0enslaved\u00a0by\u00a0them.\u00a0It\u00a0knows\u00a0connection\u00a0is survival and it thrives through the\u00a0other. Peace, then, can be\u00a0selfish in the\u00a0best way: The ego not as obstacle but a bridge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Art may be the safe container where identity can expand and contract freely- though only when we step out of survival mode, even briefly, can the art truly happen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Let the poetry begin!<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

3.  Encountering<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

In the portrait photography workshop, the Armenia artist facilitator teaches that rapport must precede image. We meet an elderly couple\u2014refugees from Nagorno-Karabakh\u2014who invite our entire group for bread, cheese, and home-brewed vodka. I don\u2019t understand the words, but I feel the warmth of their story. Their wrinkles speak of a life well-laughed. The eyes show pain. There are teary smiles and deep sighs. The portrait is taken. It seems they have given us more than we have them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>
\n

Later, we meet a retired soldier. He has fought in wars across the world and now cannot travel because of an international arrest warrant. When he learns I am from Pakistan, he asks why Pakistani mercenaries fight in the conflict here. His tone hardens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I answer quietly. \u201cI\u2019m here to listen\u2014to listen to your story and share in your life for a moment\u2026 I\u2019m a mercenary of love\u2026 And for whatever it\u2019s worth, I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\u00a0old\u00a0soldiers\u00a0expression\u00a0softensThe\u00a0artist\u00a0intervenes\u2014he\u00a0suggest\u00a0a\u00a0portrait\u00a0together.\u00a0In\u00a0the\u00a0photograph,\u00a0we stand shoulder to shoulder, two men shaped by different histories but bound, for an instant, by an encounter. I place my arm gingerly around his back.\u00a0As I stare into the camera, I realize I am olding my breath.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

The image is intense, both of us staring into the lens. I realise the art is not the photograph; it is the encounter.\u00a0The\u00a0photographis\u00a0just\u00a0an\u00a0artefact-\u00a0a\u00a0memory.\u00a0The\u00a0camera\u00a0is\u00a0a\u00a0tool.\u00a0The\u00a0clicking\u00a0a\u00a0ritual.\u00a0The camera, the ritual, or the workshop is valuable only insofar as it enables encounter. Was the portrait an excuse\u00a0for the encounter or the other way around. Does it really matter?\u00a0And if the art lies in the relation then\u00a0who\u00a0really\u00a0is\u00a0theartist?\u00a0Have\u00a0we\u00a0made\u00a0a\u00a0piece\u00a0of\u00a0peace\u00a0with\u00a0the\u00a0click\u00a0of\u00a0a\u00a0camera?\u00a0How\u00a0many\u00a0clicks can make the difference?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Breathe<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

4.  Teaching<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

At an after-school art camp, Eliza, an Armenian artist and I work with children aged eight to eleven to create a Museum of Friendship<\/em>. Our first activity uses recycled paper to make objects that \u201cspeak.\u201d The paper flower says, \u201cSmell me.\u201d The paper ball says, \u201cIt will be fun to play together\u201d. The paper microphone asks, \u201cWhen will you make a new song that I can sing along with you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I teach them to notice their breath\u2014to pause before reacting. When angry or stressed, take a deep breath, then another. The session is joyful chaos, but the teacher disapproves: \u201cThey should make something beautiful, not play with trash.\u201d In our evening de-brief one of the younger artist agrees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I bite back my defensiveness. By the third session, she understands what is happening- we are feeling and expressing and exploring and encountering the other – we are taking risks and trying out new ideas and new ways to do things – we are workingto make something beautiful- all the while playing- we are doing art. The teacher brings us tea and apples from her tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When one boy storms off, threatening to smash the phone of the bigger boy who pushed him, I signal him to breathe. He does\u2014and smiles, returning the phone. The lesson is learned by all of us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Breath is the smallest unit of peace. It can hold a world of space.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Breathe<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

5.  Dismembering<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

In Armenia, the narrative of suffering and survival runs deep. The memory of genocide and recent loss shapes the collective psyche. Every child draws the national flag; every adult speaks of uncertainty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c I am worried that we will continue to suffer like this until there is no Armenia left\u201d. \u201cHow can we change?\u201d, asks one of the Armenian artist<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>
\n

And so it is that when a child draws an\u00a0Armenian flag on the \u201cFriendship Map of Goris\u201d we create with them, Eliza says , \u201cNo lets put something else.\u00a0There are so many\u00a0Armenian flags already\u201d.\u00a0As an outsider I may not have\u00a0had\u00a0the\u00a0courage\u00a0to\u00a0say\u00a0that.\u00a0And\u00a0so\u00a0I\u00a0am\u00a0excited\u00a0tothe\u00a0possibility\u00a0of\u00a0a change in narrative- but it cannot be imposed from outside\u2014it must arise from within.\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

As artists, our task is to create spaces where new stories can emerge safely. Butbefore that the old narrative needs to be de-constructed. Dis-membered like Osiris. Narrative transformation is not denial but evolution: honouring pain without becoming its hostage. Acommunity that can reimagine its story is already healing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Art offers this space\u2014through words, colour, sound, and gesture\u2014to rewrite what it means to belong and to hope. Evolution, not revolution. Slow, like mountains eroding into new landscapes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

6.  Creating<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

On\u00a0the\u00a0final\u00a0day,\u00a0our\u00a0\u201cMuseum\u00a0of\u00a0Friendship\u201d\u00a0opens\u00a0in\u00a0the\u00a0park\u2014cardboard\u00a0walls\u00a0stitched\u00a0with\u00a0red\u00a0thread and suspended between trees. Children\u2019s drawings, poems, and letters flutter like leaves. On the outside walls, one of the\u00a0Armenian artist has done some \u201cstreet art\u201d on my request- it is a the image from a dream I had the night before we came to\u00a0Armenia. I told him about the dream after he finished painting-\u00a0I\u00a0hear\u00a0Jesus\u00a0is\u00a0in\u00a0town\u00a0to\u00a0take\u00a0awaythe\u00a0fish-\u00a0the\u00a0town\u00a0people draw\u00a0a\u00a0bull\u00a0in\u00a0celebration\u00a0and\u00a0parade\u00a0it\u00a0through\u00a0the\u00a0streets.\u00a0There\u00a0is\u00a0a big party\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>
\n

Outside the, I set paints, brushes and paper on the grass.\u00a0Noinvitation\u00a0is\u00a0needed;\u00a0the\u00a0children\u00a0swarm like\u00a0bright\u00a0fish.\u00a0For\u00a0hours\u00a0they\u00a0draw:\u00a0houses,\u00a0mountains,\u00a0people,\u00a0patterns\u2014and,\u00a0to\u00a0my surprise,\u00a0portraitsof\u00a0me.\u00a0Even\u00a0the\u00a0wild\u00a0boy\u00a0who\u00a0would\u00a0rather\u00a0make\u00a0paper\u00a0planes\u00a0than draw\u00a0finally\u00a0paints\u00a0a\u00a0ship\u00a0at\u00a0seawith\u00a0a\u00a0single\u00a0Armenian\u00a0flag.\u00a0He\u00a0says\u00a0it\u2019s\u00a0a\u00a0gift\u00a0for\u00a0me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGive a boy a brush and he will paint,\u201d I say. \u201cGive him a gun and he will shoot.\u201d My colleague replies, \u201cIt\u2019s not that simple.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps not. But surely the choice of tool shapes the story we tell.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Breathe<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

7.  Remembering<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
\n

Jack is proudly showing his parents the exhibit that he is a part of. I point to a small mirror on the wall labelled My Best Friend<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, I know,\u201d he says\u2014 He had created all the labels for the museum \u201cBut look closely Jack,\u201d I say. \u201cWho do you really see?\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He peers into his own reflection- like an archeologist in the presence<\/em>-taking a moment tounderstand what I am trying to tell him. A moment of recognition\u2014a broad smile. And in that instant, I realise that art is not artefact rather a relationship\u2014and peace feels less like a destination and more like an encounter- a moment of breath held between beings.<\/p>\n<\/div>

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Habib A. Afsar, Armenia, 2025<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Breathe<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

Breathe<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

Breathe<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Photo by Natia Chikvaidze<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6756,"featured_media":1866,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[71,67,55],"class_list":["post-1864","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-armenia","tag-contemporary-art","tag-eastern-europe","tag-peacebuilding"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1864","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6756"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1864"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1864\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1886,"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1864\/revisions\/1886"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1866"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1864"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1864"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.zhdk.ch\/smallpeace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1864"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}