Review - Dawn Marshallsay visits three exhibitions of The Memory of Fire: The War of Images and Images of War during the Brighton Photo Biennial 2008, until November 16 2008.
Do we have a right to see the images on show at Brighton’s third Photo Biennial? Before you’ve had chance to say yes or no, you’re face-to-face with a wall of dead bodies.
Luckily this is not Body Worlds; Thomas Hirchhorn has adorned The Incommensurable Banner at Brighton's Fabrica with photos instead of the real thing, but there’s a reason why these images never made the news. A frosted screen is even provided to view these ripped and twisted body parts in slightly less detail.
But the UK’s leading festival of photography doesn’t aim to make you sick. Instead, the ten exhibitions in nine venues across the South East coast, from Bexhill on Sea to Portsmouth, explore the ethics and distribution of war photography, as the title Memory of Fire: The War of Images and Images of War suggests.
Strong feelings sparked by its displays can be vented at a debate on November 12 (6- 8pm) in Fabrica, one of Brighton’s three 2008 Biennial venues.
In the words of Julian Stallabrass, influential writer, critic and art lecturer, and curator of this year’s Biennial, “These images are a resource for critical thinking. It’s easy to forget we’re still at war – it needs to be higher up the political agenda. Presenting photos as art makes people stop and reflect on them.”
The Biennial borrows its title from Eduardo Galeano’s book Memory of Fire, which documents 500 years of Latin American resistance to imperialism.
Like the images in this book, each Biennial photo is a self-contained shot, but adds to a larger picture. Major wars of the 20th century are explored, from Frank Hurley’s stunning First World War photographs on show at Charleston, to views of Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq.
Iraq through the lens of Vietnam, the keynote exhibition held at the University of Brighton Gallery, compares images from both sides, in both wars, some of which have rarely been seen in the West.
Included is Nick Ut’s iconic shot of a naked Vietnamese girl fleeing a napalm attack in 1972, and the infamous Iraqi torture scenes from Abu Ghraib prison - images that again raise the debate over the public’s right to see the truth and the privacy of the victims photographed.
Each image is contextualised by the restrictions imposed on its source. Embedded photojournalists in Iraq, for example, have to stay with a particular US troop, and photographing dead US soldiers is strictly forbidden.
“Going into a war zone is the biggest breach of privacy there is,” says Stallabrass, “both for the country we invade, and the people we photograph at their most vulnerable.”
Images captured by ‘embeds’ contrast with those from unilaterals – photojournalists working independently – which often paint a darker, wider view of the war.
Just as paintings reveal the inner thoughts of the artist, photos can also reflect the personal impact of war on their creators, simply by the scenes they chose to capture forever.
(Above) A mobile phone photograph of exiled Iraqi civilians - a Muslim family celebrates Christmas at home. Baghdad Calling. © Geert Van Kesteren
Award-winning New York Times photographer, Ashley Gilbertson, whose images are also on show in the Iraq through the lens of Vietnam exhibition, explains the effects of working both as an embed and a unilateral in Iraq since 2002:
“One day it’s life and death in Iraq, the next you’re back home worrying whether you’ve got pickle in your hamburger. You just have to get a balance and remember you’ve got your own life and family.”
Is it worth risking your life for images that may be considered too intrusive and graphic to be shown? Actually, rather than see photography as an invasion of privacy, civilians whose lives have already been invaded by war are often grateful to have their stories heard.
(Above) Photograph by Geert Van Kesteren August 4 2003, near Tikrit, Iraq. Baghdad Calling. © Geert Van Kesteren
Stallabrass recalls an experience of Philip Jones Griffiths, whose Agent Orange images from Vietnam are on show in Chichester’s Pallant House Gallery for the Biennial. Griffiths died in March 2008 after giving thousands of war victims a voice through photography.
“Griffiths came across a young boy in hospital who had half his face missing and his skull was showing,” says Stallabrass. “He couldn’t bring himself to take a photo, but then he felt a tug on his coat, and the boy was pointing at his head to have his picture taken. Even children know the power of images.”
The rise of mobile phones, digital cameras and the Internet has enabled anyone, anywhere to become a citizen journalist. The source of war images is questioned in Brighton’s third and final Biennial venue, Lighthouse.
Named after his book, Why, Mister, Why? Geert Van Kesteren’s show compares his own images of Iraqi refugees with those received on the refugees’ phones from friends still living in the conflict zone. A family sitting in Father Christmas hats contrasts to the unearthing of a mass grave from victims of Saddam Hussein’s dictatorship.
Downstairs in Lighthouse, Van Kesteren’s narrated video installation, Baghdad Calling, tracks the constant state of fear of those remaining in the capital. No doubt many of these will join the world’s 11.4 million refugees, half of which are Afghans and Iraqis (UNHUR, 2007).
(Above) Four photographs showing torture and abuse at Abu Ghraib prison. Iraq through the lens of Vietnam, University of Brighton Gallery. Photo Richard Moss / Culture24
Is it our duty to see the actions soldiers stamp our country’s name upon others, and does it honour soldiers for us to see how they suffer in our name? More questions will surely arise throughout the entirety of the Brighton Photo Biennial 2008, which runs from October 3 to November 16.
A new Biennial website, www.bpb.org.uk/2008, has been launched to allow people to engage in such debates, and contains further information on the exhibitions, events and education projects taking place in association with Brighton’s largest Photo Biennial so far.
