Deutsche Börse Photography Prize 2015

Today, I am really happy to read that Zanele Muholi, who I have written about several times on this blog, has been nominated for the prestigious Deutsche Börse Photography Prize 2015. The judges, among them photographer Rineke Dijkstra and Chris Boot of Aperture, decided to acknowledge Muholi's work Faces and Phases (2006-2014).

Earlier this year, I went to Paris Photo where I found Faces and Phases in its most recent form, an enormous book published by Steidl.

Just chillin' at Paris Photo shelves: Faces and Phases

Although I loved the simple design and the beautiful black and white printing (straightforward-ness always strikes a chord in me) and despite my long-declared love for Muholi's work, I actually did not end up buying the book. For a simple reason: I prefer those images on a wall, in a big print, when her subjects seem to look right back at you. In gallery prints the sheer power of Faces and Phases and other works is enriched by a sense of intimacy, which the book does not quite manage to pull off. Luckily Paris Photo is a powerhouse of photography, and in one of the many corners I found Muholi on the wall, too, as represented by Yancey Richardson Gallery from NYC.

Either way, it's lovely to see her work slowly being recognised on a much lager scale. The Deutsche Börse prize is a big deal, and she's up against strong competitors like the amazing Viviane Sassen. I'll keep my fingers crossed.

Pride: Review

I finally managed to watch Pride yesterday. For everyone who completely missed out on Facebook, Twitter and every relevant magazine, here's the trailer:

I was naturally curious to see it, since it's set in South Wales (where I happen to live), it's about the gay and lesbian community (which I happen to support), and it's about the struggle of the Welsh miners in that capitalist catastrophe better known as the Thatcher era. Produced by the BBC and starring a whole bunch of top actors, the film had its big debut in Cannes, and from thereon set out to conquer our hearts. 

It's a cheery little gem, this film. It just does everything right that is needed in order to give the audience a bloody good time. There are the outsiders and the oppressed, lots of fairly complex yet not overbearing characters to sympathise with. There are cleverly-written, cunning, funny lines, and there's the notorious scene highlight that includes a group of innocent women, some of them elderly, and a dildo. There's the lovely underlying message, quite a few prejudices from all sides taken on with good humour, there's the link to the real events of 1984/1985, and a heart-lifting climax. There's Dominic West and Andrew Scott as a loving couple - how can you not love them?!

It's a simple formula, I guess. Yet it works. It is such a feel-good film, it should be taught in film class at every college as the best example of the feel-good film. I can't quite put my finger on what makes Pride so special. It might be that everyone involved in making this movie really seemed to care. Or maybe it is just Dominic West and Andrew Scott, or that adorable Welsh accent. Maybe y'all should go watch the film and find out for yourselves.

(Warning: You'll find yourselves with a very possessive tune stuck in your head, and a sudden urge to show solidarity to anything around you. That's not a bad thing, mind you.)

Photo Festival Secvențe - a review

©Gabriel Amza

6th September, 2014. It's shortly after 4 pm, we're in the History Museum of Ploiești, Romania, and in less than half an hour I'm scheduled to give a talk. I've titled the presentation "Transcendence: Gender in Photography", rather optimistically, as for in my head it's more something between "the first spoken version of my blog, how exciting" and "what the f*** am I doing here". I haven't practiced. I haven't even looked at my notes twice. And to make everything even less predictable, my laptop won't work with the projector, and I don't have an USB stick.
Thanks God there's Anda. Anda is here, friendly, caring, and although she doesn't speak English very well - and my Romanian is basically non-existent - she's got a laptop, an USB stick, and she knows what she is doing.
The first page of my presentation appears on the wall. Slowly the room fills with visitors, curiously staring alternately at me or their smart phones. I'm ready to go, just waiting for the last group to flood in, and practicing opening lines in my head. 
I turn around.
The laptop is blank, and the wall dark. I have no idea what... "ANDA?"

It's the second edition of the photo festival Secvențe in Ploiești, and although it's my second time exhibiting, it's the first time I've actually made it to the town of 300,000 people south-east of the Carpathians. I'm here thanks to an invitation by festival founder and study colleague Cătălin Munteanu, and I have to say, I'm quite impressed.
Driven by Cătălin and his never tiring volunteers, the festival aims to carefully wake the curiosity for photography among the Ploieștians, and given the versatile and thought-through programs, they've got every reason to be curious. Alongside exhibitions in some of the city's most prestigious buildings, there are a street display, talks, portfolio presentations, workshops, concerts and a lantern party in the city park. And although the program is packed, my companion Mira and I never find ourselves running from one place to another; there's always time for a chat, a stroll through the park or one of the notorious pastries from that Gigi place right opposite the history museum. From a North-Western European (okay, German) point of view, Romanians practice a jolly laissez-faire in regards to time: You're 'late'? There is no such thing as 'late'. 'Ten minutes' might be thirty. Once you get the rhythm, it's truly liberating.
The exhibitions themselves are oscillating between documentary, photo art, fashion, portrait and whatever else comes to mind. It's a colourful, yet challenging mix of foreign photographers like Mira and me, and Romanians from all over the country. While in some places the exhibitions have been carefully curated, others are more motley, and they succeed or fall with the location. In the giant hall of the Cultural Palace the few photo walls seem a bit lost, and the street display is struggling with the strong winds; in the pub Conac however, the giant prints look like home. 
Given that it's only its second edition, it is only natural that Secvențe is suffering from a few infantile disorders. The funding stems mainly from Cătălin and his volunteers' pockets, so the exhibitions are kept as simple as possible (that includes tons of blue tac) and there's a disheartening lack of advertisement which leads to the larger masses ignoring the small festival. It's again the Conac that is attracting the majority of visitors, as it is also the locations for the nightly concerts. Together with the street display, it's where the audience is at. The talks and workshops are rather visited by the photographers, coming from near and far to attend the show, and the volunteers; after a few of them, you know their faces.
What I thoroughly enjoy throughout the festival is the constant exchange with these people, though. By the second afternoon, Mira and I have our 'gang', consisting of a few Romanian photographers - much needed, as they translate to us most of what is going on - and their friends. Together we discuss our projects, the state of women in the arts, Romanian history, traditional sports, studying abroad; or we simply enjoy some documentary films by a bottle of beer. As diverse the exhibitions are, as different are the people we meet: there is always something to discuss, to ask, to laugh about. Most of them are also giving a presentation, like me, and are as excited to hear feedback. Sometimes it gets as profound as it can get in photography:
"Projects are like girlfriends - they come and go", philosophises Gabriel.
- "Maybe you haven't met the right project yet!"
"Maybe there isn't the right project..."
- "You are such a slut!"
At the end of the day it's the atmosphere that makes the festival great for me. It's a good atmosphere. It's warm, summery even, the people are nice, helpful, cheerful (I have mentioned Anda, my guardian angel?). You don't have to speak Romanian, you just get along. There is so much to see, and it feels easy, accessible, even when you're from a different culture entirely.
There's a lot of space to grow in for Secvențe. The blood, sweat and tears of Cătălin and his volunteers are only to be applauded, and I really hope that Secvențe is going to continue, to make more and more people excited about photography - there really is something for everyone at this festival, and if it is just a beer and a good chat, than that's fine.

Meanwhile, back at the History Museum, I've somehow made it through the first few slides, a tour de force through gender theory, and people genuinely seem to like what I'm doing. This is the reason why I don't practice: I'm much more free, I can be responsive, I can happily shout "Gender is fun!" five times in fourty minutes - which I do, as Mira points out afterwards. When Gabriel loudly appreciates my re-telling of the gender-bending adventures of Scott Schuman, "This guy is fabulous!", I'm like f***, yeah. I'm really enjoying myself. Everything is going well. Problems? No problems. I'm in Romania, I don't speak Romanian, I'm at a photography festival talking about Gender Studies, and everyone's fine. Hello, Ploiești, nice to meet you, see you next year.

©Cătălin Munteanu

©Cristina Venedict

The included photographs are examples of work by a few of the many photographers I met during the festival. A write-up of the presentation "Transcendence: Gender in Photography", also known as "GENDER IS FUN!", will follow soon in several blogposts over the next few weeks. Keep your eyes peeled, and watch out for Secvențe!
Also, please excuse the weird font on the Romanian characters. Romanian is something that my blog, like me, sadly refuses to learn.

Jenny Nordberg / Adam Ferguson: Bacha Posh

Following up the Sworn Virgins of Albania, a project by Pepa Hristova, which went viral a few months ago - and will get an entry of its own on this blog soon - an interesting story from Afghanistan emerged recently. Jenny Nordberg, journalist, tells the stories of girls who live as boys to fulfill a social role, who live up to their parents' and society's expectations this way.

Bacha posh Mehran. Photo: Adam Ferguson

These so-called bacha posh are girls made boys to save their families from starving, or mere ridicule in a strictly patriarchal society: Girls and women are often not allowed to work, and families with only daughters are frowned upon. It is yet another example that a change of gender does not need to happen on the basis of body dysphoria and has nothing to do with sexuality - on the contrary, both the bacha posh and the sworn virgins from Albania emphasise the importance of virginity. The change takes place outwardly, through clothes, change of speech and behaviour; what is beneath the clothes is never mentioned or shown. As Mehran's (see above) headteacher points out, "what sets little boys and girls apart is all exterior: pants versus skirts". It is an accepted practice for little girls in Afghanistan, and the only way to ditch the rigorous binary gender regime in which women are valued far less than men.

Zahra, living as a boy since being very little. Photo: Adam Ferguson

As opposed to the sworn virgins, the bacha posh maintain their switched gender roles only until they reach the age of marriage. This only means that children in Afghanistan become part of the patriarchal system very early, and especially the bacha posh experience how fickle freedom can be. Nordberg quotes Robin Morgan on how destructive patriarchy can be to the life of an individual: "[Birth] Sex is a reality, gender and freedom are ideas."

Jenny Nordberg's extensive findings have been featured in the Guardian and The Atlantic, among others, and will be published in a book soon.

Gustav Hofer and Luca Ragazzi: Suddenly, Last Winter

Suddenly, Last Winter is a documentary film made in 2007, when the Italian journalists and long-time couple Gustav Hofer and Luca Ragazzi found themselves confronted with a violent wave of homophobia. The violence flared when civil partnerships for homosexuals were firstly proposed to the Italian parliament, and while Gustav and Luca were understandably excited about the development, Christian and conservative parties and movements braced themselves against it, leaving the country politically unstable and its people in fear and anger.

The premise is a simple one: On Gustav's initiative, the couple hits the streets, attends protests and endures numerous, endless conferences of the senate to understand the dispute. They try to interview as many people as possible, politicians, civil movement leaders and seemingly innocent passer-bys. And they never shy away from directing the camera at themselves: their disappointed faces, the fear in Luca's voice after being threatened by fascist demonstrators. By continually asking the right questions in the right moments, they subtly deconstruct the arguments of the self-called "defenders of the family and traditional values" and reveal their weak spots. When talking to politicians, more often than not, hypocrisy and a dangerous entanglement between the purportedly secular state and clerical influences come to light. When interviewing the religious, they find unreasonable fear, ignorance and hate. "I don't know what you're afraid of!", Gustav shouts in one particularly intense debate. "They say the same things, like broken records, the poor things", Luca will reply soon, exhausted by the empty phrases.

Luca and Gustav watching the news.

What makes the film so successful is not its immediacy - the hand-held camera in midst of the demonstration - or its makers' perseverance. Suddenly, Last Winter is a very personal film, and that's what makes it special. Luca and Gustav open their doors and their lives to the viewer, thereby making visible what their political opponents would love to hide forever. "We were never good at hiding", they admit at the beginning of the film, and they are right. They've staged scenes with themselves watching or reading the news, recapping their legal situation in bed and cycling past posters advertising the highly contrived "Family Day 2007". With a wink they'll comment on their own bad acting - after all, this is how they are, it's a film about what they feel. Sometimes it's subtle self-deprecation, sometimes honest outrage and fear, and the mixture makes Suddenly, Last Winter a worthwhile watch.

The Photograph: SFGH Ward 5A

Unknown photographer: Shanti counsellor Ed Wolf works with a patient. Image courtesy of the San Francisco History Center, SF Public Library, via shantihistory.blogspot.com

"But hand-holding is a very difficult part of medicine. I do it a lot, and I try to do it right, and it is a very satisfying as well as wrenching part of the experience." - Robert Cohen, AIDS Doctor

The picture above, showing counsellor Ed Wolf comforting an AIDS patient in 1983, is one of the few images I was able to dig up so far from the early 1980s, when the AIDS epidemic began. It is a sentimental little find, transporting the viewer to San Francisco's famous AIDS ward 5A. The ward at its time possibly offered the most prominent window into an otherwise still very secluded community. Before 1985, when Rock Hudson's death hit the ignorant society with a vengeance, social and governmental support compassed near to nothing. The gay and lesbian community found itself left alone, and responsible for the many sick people. 

The Shanti Mission was just one of many projects all over the US where volunteers from the community stepped in and helped the best they could, when the rest of the world did not bother. The seclusion surely was a self-protective reflex as well, a shield against homophobic attacks which condemned the "gay cancer" and decried homosexuality as a sinful, dangerous lifestyle. In the end, they made the community much stronger than ever expected.

The seclusion of the first years might be the reason that only a few pictures are available nowadays, most of them hidden away in archives or private family albums; photo journalism and documentary photography did not really discover AIDS until much later. A greater selection, luckily, is featured in the touching documentary film We Were Here, which also includes an extensive interview with Ed Wolf. Weirdly enough I enjoy the fact that it is so hard to get an insight into the subject: It tells me that, after all, visually witnessing something is only worth so much. To really know what it feels like to be part of a community devastated by a disease, you must have been there, at the right time, at the right place.

This is the second installment of  'The Photograph', a series of pictures that I love, find remarkable or important, and which I will present on this blog on a non-regular basis.

Stephen Reiss: Home

There's been some heated discussion in Germany recently after a columnist of the newspaper Die Welt called same-sex couples "deficient" and deemed them unable to raise children. One of the most powerful and poignant answers to this outrageous ignorance can be found in the work of photojournalist Stephen Reiss and his Home project.
Home is a beautiful, tender long-time observation made in the Bronx, NYC home of Eshey Scarborough and Paris Harris, a lesbian couple who have raised twenty foster kids in ten years - and there will be more. Reiss started the project as a student and soon found himself entangled in the extended family, carefully documenting the life in the family and the individual lives after foster care.
"We believe the service we give is the rent we pay to stay on the planet", states Eshey Scarborough in the New York Times. Many of her foster girls identify as LGBT, live with disabilities or are scarred by abuse, and would probably have never had a perspective in life, if it hadn't been for Scarborough and Harris. The pictures show the family eating together, praying, playing, celebrating birthdays. They also show the sad and lonely times: a girl crying, fears of death and isolation captured in a diary.
But when one strips away the knowledge of the unusual materialisation of this family, the Home project becomes a very 'normal' portrait of a family - including all the ups and downs, children growing up and moving on, children returning to the nurturing arms of their parents, cuddly toys, pets, huge cooking pans. There is nothing deficient about this family, on the contrary: Reiss has captured a family as wholesome as one can wish for - with a few more children than one would expect, perhaps.