Passing through the movement of a soft breeze in a deserted landscape, enters a female heroine reserved by a black dress; decoratively overlaid, socially underexposed, and camouflaged by the contrast of her veil in a magnificent drapery of light barren land combined with a fertile form of darkened puberty. She enters from the right side of the feathered framed image, sweeping away the markings left behind. Her footsteps are her traits, her traces are her history, and her sweepings are her fortunes.
The feminine disguise suggesting an ethnologic identity, a social conformity to possibly a region, a people, a belonging of sorts that resolve the markings of territory; an authority of boundary, a sandscape with endless peripheries that seem to occupy a mass but not a magnitude of land. Sama Alshaibi once again presents us with that frequent solitude of a common presence. Brushing away her forwarding movements, along with those that precede her initial markings, she could not have established a more fundamental wealth to the existence of mankind; without exposing all of man, without devouring all of man’s land, without occupying all of his nothingness only to realize that history was being deleted only for its repetition and not for its significance of veracity. She was sweeping away her past, and journeying over the deleted traces with a brush of unfulfilled promises.
Sweep is seen through a black box, a window of surveillance, overlooking and overseeing a trying authority over the motions of obliteration. Observing a motioning body, through a steady land, there comes a realization that nothing really grows; nothing really changes, but only the removal of a stamp, a resignation of direction, a remarking of moments gone by and then forgotten. Forgotten by choice and by desire. The past lays quiet, unresolved, and the heroine departs through the same way she entered.