|
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. |
