The times I spent in his studio in Heliopolis, which remained always familiar, always the same, were indeed precious. At the opening of each of his exhibitions I would joke with Sabry Ragheb that no matter how many exhibitions he held my home would remain, always, a permanent exhibition. Now that the day that I long feared has arrived, I pace between the rooms of my small home, seeking shelter from the pain of his loss in the warmth of the colours of his paintings that hang even in every corner. We tried to offer as much love as Sabry Ragheb himself offered. Perhaps, though, in some sense, we were unable to give all that his noble humanity, so perfectly embodied in his art, deserved.
Fate is capricious and the fate that dogs the artist more capricious than most.
At 1pm, on Saturday 22 July, after a long and painful illness, Sabry Ragheb's weak heart stopped, the spirit finally departing from the body of one of Egypt's most accomplished artists. It left behind an empty frame looking for shapes and colours to fill it, a bunch of roses searching for some new admirer. I could hardly have known that my long conversation with him, in which he opened up his memory bank, juggling both ideas and feelings, would be Ragheb's last. On my last visit he lit his pipe, against the protestations of his doctors. It has become part of my life, how can they stop me from smoking it.