Fragments from an Architect of a Reborn Amman

Stone. Dust.
A dry wind brushes against poured concrete and stacked stone blocks.
A city stretches without rhythm, without pause.
Not planned, not random. Something in between.
Buildings grow like weeds in silence.
Others decay without resistance.
Amman doesn’t ask permission.
It doesn’t apologize.

Make it stand out

Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

This is where I learned to see.

Not through a lens of clarity, but through a fog of layered contradictions.
Familiarity in fragmentation.
A place with no defined past, no determined future only moments.
Moments of accidental beauty.
Of quiet resilience.
Of failed ambition.

I do not design to fix it.
I design with it.

My studio is not a sanctuary from the city, it is embedded in it.
The mess, the dissonance, the silence between its details, it leaks in.
I don’t seek coherence.
I seek resonance.
A memory of something that maybe never existed.
Or something buried beneath visual noise.
A whisper of form.

Amman is not a city.
It is a condition.
Unfinished. Uncertain. Unresolved.

There is no masterplan.
There is no skyline.
There is only collection.
Like me.

There are ruins here, but they’re not ancient.
They’re recent. Still standing. Still occupied.

My work is not nostalgic, it is forensic.
I extract gestures from the chaos.
I sculpt meaning from the accidental.
I try not to imitate, but to echo.
Not to preserve, but to reveal.

Every object I make is a response.
A question.
A reconstruction not of architecture, but of emotion.
Of belonging.
Of absence.

These are not products.
They are traces.

I am not building monuments.
I am building memory.

There is no masterplan.
There is no skyline.
Only collection from this dialogue between the seen and the hidden.
A personal, yet collective expression that keeps the spirit of Amman alive, even as it transforms.

Amman is not lost.
It is becoming. Always.
And I am becoming with it.