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Gilbert Halaby text by Marella Caracciolo Chia

There is a little bit of magic these days on the cobbled street of Via Monserrato, a stone’s throw from the majestic Piazza Farnese in Rome’s baroque centre. This incantamento, as we call it in Italy, has something to do with the sudden appearance, behind a glass doorway leading into an artist’s studio, of a series of oil paintings on linen. Bright little houses, the kind that belong in children’s dreams, are immersed in the layered depths of forested wildernesses. They are powerful pieces: a harmony of striking colours and shapes from which shadows have been banished. Judging by the small crowds that gather daily in front of the studio to peer into these dreamy landscapes, they are mesmerising, too. The author of this magic is artist Gilbert Halaby.

Our friendship began five years ago with a coup de foudre on my part. For Gilbert, because he is stylish, handsome and full of curiosity and charm, but also for the joyful energy of his ar-
tifacts. It began one crisp April afternoon of 2017. I was walking down the S-shaped Via Monserrato, as I so often do, and something unusual caught my attention. I turned around and
was confronted with a spectacle: huge branches of fresh cherry blossom were towering over a jungle of cyclamens and ferns that seemed to sprout from a rich mossy parterre. No, it was not a secret garden, though it looked like one. It wasn’t exactly a shop either (‘non,’ Gilbert later explained, ‘ce n’est pas une boutique’). Nor was it a home, though its cosy atmosphere filled with artworks and books (and plants!) made it feel like one. It was, quite simply, Maison Halaby: an oasis of peace and culture where friends and shoppers alike were welcomed with a hot cup of mint tea, some fresh Lebanese cakes and, most importantly, a smiling man who has mastered the art of conversation. At that time Gilbert, who hadn’t yet found his painting studio down the road, was mostly focused on the production of his exquisite line of handcrafted leather bags: a joyous exercise aimed at finding the perfect balance between form and colour. Possibly, a prelude to his work as a painter. Gilbert Halaby was born in 1979 in the small Lebanese mountain village of Dhour El Choueir that overlooks the city of Beirut and the Mediterranean Sea beyond it. Memories from his war-torn childhood, however, are surprisingly untarnished.
He remembers the game, shared with his friends, of counting the number of scud missiles flying over their heads. Once, one missile fell on his house but miraculously no one was hurt.
“All that matters when your country is at war,” he told me, “is love, friendship, a strong sense of solidarity and a burning desire for adventure.” Once the war was over this burning desire led Gilbert to Beirut, where he studied archaeology, and eventually to Rome, where he found love. For centuries the Eternal city has encouraged writers and artists to give free reign to their talents and pursue their happiness. Gilbert has not been immune to this influence. Which is why when a space, just a few steps from Maison Halaby, became available in 2020, he grabbed it and transformed it into his studio. “All I need to be truly happy now,” Gilbert concludes, “is a canvas and a few paint brushes.” These painting, so bright, so light and so deeply magical, are the flowering of this newfound joy.