<p>Lebanese stained glass artist Maya Husseini had hoped to retire after decades spent designing colourful windows, but she has been flooded with work since the blast that ripped through Beirut.</p>.<p>"I can't possibly not try to restore what is gone," said the 60-year-old woman, her bright red curly hair in a short bob.</p>.<p>The massive explosion at the capital's port on August 4 killed more than 190 people and wounded thousands more as it sent lethal shockwaves pummelling through the city.</p>.<p>But it also ravaged dozens of Beirut's most cherished heritage buildings.</p>.<p>Husseini is one of several artists slowly starting to restore artworks devastated in the disaster.</p>.<p>In her basement workshop on the outskirts of Beirut, she gestured at what remained of windows of a 19th-century church she had restored after the 1975-1990 civil war.</p>.<p><strong>Read: <a href="https://www.deccanherald.com/international/world-news-politics/nightmares-flashbacks-fatigue-beirut-faces-mental-health-crisis-after-blast-877140.html" target="_blank">Nightmares, flashbacks, fatigue: Beirut faces mental health crisis after blast</a></strong></p>.<p>A gaping mess of mangled metal, dotted by a few surviving pieces of orange and blue glass, lay in a cardboard box.</p>.<p>"At least seven projects I had worked on were blown away," Husseini said.</p>.<p>They included one of her first projects designing biblical scenes on glass for a church, and the dazzling yellow and orange windows she had crafted for the famed Sursock Museum.</p>.<p>Before the blast, she had planned to retire after completing glass windows for a last cathedral in Jordan.</p>.<p>"But now I won't allow myself to stop," she said.</p>.<p>On her work table, she picked a green piece of glass and lodged it between curving lengths of soft lead to rebuild a window of flowers and leaves for a private home.</p>.<p>Even if she has now taken on apprentices, she said there is still a lot of work ahead.</p>.<p>"For some people who have asked me, I won't be able to start anything for at least two years," she said.</p>.<p>In neighbourhoods near the port, the race is on to cover up 100 heritage buildings before the autumn rain.</p>.<p>The United Nations culture and education fund, UNESCO, has said it will hold a conference to try to drum up hundreds of millions of dollars for restorations.</p>.<p>But until that aid arrives, Lebanese are doing what they can on their own.</p>.<p>Among them, artwork conservation specialist Gaby Maamary has decided to offer to restore damaged paintings for free.</p>.<p>He says he was inspired after seeing Lebanese youths sweeping away seas of rubble and glass after the blast, and decided to channels his skills towards preserving Beirut's heritage.</p>.<p>"It's something that you can lose easily if you don't pay attention," the 58-year-old artist and university lecturer said.</p>.<p>In his Beirut studio, he carefully held up a 17th-century nature morte by Italian artist Elena Recco, depicting a cat greedily eyeing up some dead fish.</p>.<p>In several places, the canvas had been slashed by flying shards of glass.</p>.<p>Wearing white gloves, he turned over the back of another canvas he had started cleaning, the untreated part a shade darker and shimmering with fine glass dust.</p>.<p>Nearby, he pointed to a work by late Lebanese artist Sophie Yeramian whose dried paint had been cracked by the blast.</p>.<p>"We did not expect that amount of calls," he said.</p>.<p>The initiative has taken him to assess damage in art galleries, but also private homes.</p>.<p>In one, he pulled a painting worth tens of thousands of dollars out of the trash. To his horror, he found another bound up in sticky tape.</p>.<p>The owner had rushed to hospital with her severely injured son after the explosion, and someone helping to clean up the mess had not realised their worth.</p>.<p>But even without sticky tape to complicate matters, Maamary said conservation is a complex process that involves hours of planning before even touching the artwork.</p>.<p>"Sometimes the same step has to be done several times, simply because we don't have the museum equipment," he said.</p>.<p>Bringing in specialised materials from abroad is also tricky, with bank transfers blocked from Lebanon's crisis-hit banks.</p>.<p>But drawing on the help of friends and using what is locally available, Maamary is determined to carry on.</p>.<p>"We're going to continue doing that on a daily basis until we run out of materials or means," he said.</p>
<p>Lebanese stained glass artist Maya Husseini had hoped to retire after decades spent designing colourful windows, but she has been flooded with work since the blast that ripped through Beirut.</p>.<p>"I can't possibly not try to restore what is gone," said the 60-year-old woman, her bright red curly hair in a short bob.</p>.<p>The massive explosion at the capital's port on August 4 killed more than 190 people and wounded thousands more as it sent lethal shockwaves pummelling through the city.</p>.<p>But it also ravaged dozens of Beirut's most cherished heritage buildings.</p>.<p>Husseini is one of several artists slowly starting to restore artworks devastated in the disaster.</p>.<p>In her basement workshop on the outskirts of Beirut, she gestured at what remained of windows of a 19th-century church she had restored after the 1975-1990 civil war.</p>.<p><strong>Read: <a href="https://www.deccanherald.com/international/world-news-politics/nightmares-flashbacks-fatigue-beirut-faces-mental-health-crisis-after-blast-877140.html" target="_blank">Nightmares, flashbacks, fatigue: Beirut faces mental health crisis after blast</a></strong></p>.<p>A gaping mess of mangled metal, dotted by a few surviving pieces of orange and blue glass, lay in a cardboard box.</p>.<p>"At least seven projects I had worked on were blown away," Husseini said.</p>.<p>They included one of her first projects designing biblical scenes on glass for a church, and the dazzling yellow and orange windows she had crafted for the famed Sursock Museum.</p>.<p>Before the blast, she had planned to retire after completing glass windows for a last cathedral in Jordan.</p>.<p>"But now I won't allow myself to stop," she said.</p>.<p>On her work table, she picked a green piece of glass and lodged it between curving lengths of soft lead to rebuild a window of flowers and leaves for a private home.</p>.<p>Even if she has now taken on apprentices, she said there is still a lot of work ahead.</p>.<p>"For some people who have asked me, I won't be able to start anything for at least two years," she said.</p>.<p>In neighbourhoods near the port, the race is on to cover up 100 heritage buildings before the autumn rain.</p>.<p>The United Nations culture and education fund, UNESCO, has said it will hold a conference to try to drum up hundreds of millions of dollars for restorations.</p>.<p>But until that aid arrives, Lebanese are doing what they can on their own.</p>.<p>Among them, artwork conservation specialist Gaby Maamary has decided to offer to restore damaged paintings for free.</p>.<p>He says he was inspired after seeing Lebanese youths sweeping away seas of rubble and glass after the blast, and decided to channels his skills towards preserving Beirut's heritage.</p>.<p>"It's something that you can lose easily if you don't pay attention," the 58-year-old artist and university lecturer said.</p>.<p>In his Beirut studio, he carefully held up a 17th-century nature morte by Italian artist Elena Recco, depicting a cat greedily eyeing up some dead fish.</p>.<p>In several places, the canvas had been slashed by flying shards of glass.</p>.<p>Wearing white gloves, he turned over the back of another canvas he had started cleaning, the untreated part a shade darker and shimmering with fine glass dust.</p>.<p>Nearby, he pointed to a work by late Lebanese artist Sophie Yeramian whose dried paint had been cracked by the blast.</p>.<p>"We did not expect that amount of calls," he said.</p>.<p>The initiative has taken him to assess damage in art galleries, but also private homes.</p>.<p>In one, he pulled a painting worth tens of thousands of dollars out of the trash. To his horror, he found another bound up in sticky tape.</p>.<p>The owner had rushed to hospital with her severely injured son after the explosion, and someone helping to clean up the mess had not realised their worth.</p>.<p>But even without sticky tape to complicate matters, Maamary said conservation is a complex process that involves hours of planning before even touching the artwork.</p>.<p>"Sometimes the same step has to be done several times, simply because we don't have the museum equipment," he said.</p>.<p>Bringing in specialised materials from abroad is also tricky, with bank transfers blocked from Lebanon's crisis-hit banks.</p>.<p>But drawing on the help of friends and using what is locally available, Maamary is determined to carry on.</p>.<p>"We're going to continue doing that on a daily basis until we run out of materials or means," he said.</p>