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On
the stark-white walls of the Sepia International art gallery in
Manhattan, two fascinating black-and-white photography exhibits by
Douglas Sandhage and Edward Grazda invite anyone who’s interested
– from the discerning art lover to the jogger who’s just passing
by – to join the people of Afghanistan in their day-to-day
existence. It’s a rare, personal introduction to the religion,
culture and life of Afghans in a way often hurried by other similar
exhibits.
As
all things Afghanistan continue to dominate the New York City art
scene, gallery exhibits and museum programs compete to hold the
attention of the fickle art viewer. But it’s often the smaller
shows like the one at the Sepia gallery that steal the pomp and
filter it into a quieter, more intense experience. With little
advertising, these galleries are ushering more attention to the
sorrow, tragedy and quiet resilience of the Afghan people than their
larger, more well-known counterparts.
Though
Sandhage’s exhibit ended last week, Grazda’s, who is represented
by Sepia, will run indefinitely, which makes it an invaluable
resource to anyone interested in reaching the people behind the
media images. Sandhage’s photographs are posed portraits of
Afghans – mostly men – from various walks of life: Chai house
proprietors, bakers, bird sellers, truck drivers and young boys. The
photos, taken in 1977 just before a coup established the
pro-Communist government, show an Afghan people of strength and
pride.
The
men and women of these portraits are often solemn. It’s hard to
decipher their thoughts behind their stoic faces; but they are
hardly the sad lot of people portrayed by current photos,
documentaries and media images. There is a crisp clarity in
Sandhage’s images. Subtle differences in shadows and lights are
amazingly vivid to the naked eye.
With
a mere 4x5 view camera with a Polaroid back and Polaroid
positive/negative film, Sandhage started in Kabul and visited large
cities and small towns throughout the country. “I [was] looking
for the people and places that felt right, and giving all the
Polaroid positives to my sitters,” he said in press statement.
“One week after I was back in New York, the Communists gained
control of Afghanistan.”
A
few particular photos finely grasp the peaceful religious teachings
that influence an Afghan’s daily life. These are not the images of
hostile Islam doused in fire and brimstone; but rather, those of
quiet reverence for Allah (swt) that resonates throughout all
aspects of life.
One
photo shows three blind men outside a local mosque in Herat,
Afghanistan. One stands in the doorway with ornate Qu’ranic surahs
carved in wood around the door frame. Another man sits with his
hands in supplication while the third holds up his right hand,
either in the greeting of “Salaam” or to hide his face from the
sun (or camera). There is such a brilliance of lights and darks that
seems to display the men’s faith in a truly blissful manner.
Sandhage,
who has been published in Time, Newsweek and The New York Times,
produced the exhibit with the aid of a New York CAPS grant combined
with film donated by the Polaroid Corporation. As the gallery notes,
his portraits “resonate with a compelling and humanistic
recognition of each sitter’s dignity.”
Likewise
Grazda’s photos of Afghanistan and Pakistan, which were taken
before and after the fall of the Taliban, present a similar take on
the culture and landscape of the country from a uniquely different
perspective. His photographs “form a powerful social and cultural
document, a diary of people and a region presented as an
interconnected visual journey.”
Grazda’s
photos show a multitude of images, from the streets of Peshawar,
Pakistan to the Madrasas of Afghanistan. His nine-picture collages
are especially interesting in the choice of adjacent images that
draw on various interpretations of Afghan and Pakistani culture.
One
such collage groups Pakistani war images of weapons, tanks, fighter
planes and rockets – one with the words “Eat this India” –
etched on its side. Each weapon has a pointed nose of some sort,
which is eerily echoed in the last photo of a mosque with three
minarets in the shape of rockets. What does this suggest? That Islam
is a religion of war; or rather that one shouldn’t be beguiled by
blatant comparisons?
Another
print of the Eid Gar Mosque in Kabul is a wonderful representation
of Grazda’s command of simple images with deeper hidden meanings.
Smooth horizontal lines dominate the photo, with low mountains in
the background and level pavement in the foreground. The mosque
stretches across the canvas with 39 peaked openings beckoning the
spiritual masses.
One
crack in the foreground of the print stretches its way through the
pavement, a symbol of the increasing fraction and troubles that will
plague Afghanistan through its years.
Such
photographs strongly characterize Grazda’s unique connection to
the people of Afghanistan and Pakistan. He has traveled to
Afghanistan nearly every year for two decades to document its
changing face. Grazda’s photographs are in the collections of the
New York Museum of Modern Art and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Near
the end of Grazda’s exhibit, battle shots of tanks and groupings
of soldiers and guns blaze up off the walls of the gallery. It is a
sharp representation of the confusion and horror of war Afghanistan
has faced for years. But the last photo of the exhibit (taken in
December, 2001) speaks volumes for the Afghan’s inner strength.
Two
men sit in a restaurant in Kabul. Their bodies are relaxed and
smiles tease their lips and eyes, as if they know a secret joke.
They seem to say that their life is not all tears, woes and
tragedies; there is always something joyful.
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For more information about the exhibits, visit www.sepia.org
or call 212-645-9444. Also, Edward Grazda’s third book of
photographs, New York Masjid: The Mosques of New York City,
with text by Jerrilynn D. Dodds, is now available in your local
bookstore. 
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