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Life and death
at the Bibliotheca
In
the world of images, death gets the most respect, while birth gets the
last laugh
by
Tarek Atia
cairolive.com,
July 3, 2002
There
was something rather striking about the World Press Photo exhibit taking
place at the Bibliotheca Alexandrina last month. The breath-taking
library had suddenly risen up along the Mediterranean shore, the
re-birth of a fantastic symbol of enlightenment.  There
it was, hosting an exhibition of the best photos of the year, and almost
all the winning photos were about death or the remembrance of death.
The
contrast struck hard, as I tried to count how many of the photos, in
large format, and hung-up in elegant rows, were death related. I stopped
after every single one of the first fourteen fit the bill. It had been,
after all, a horrid year. 9-11, Afghanistan, Palestine. Media in all its
forms had placed these events squarely in everybody's back yard. And in
the front yard, and on the way to work, etc. You couldn't avoid them if
you tried.
Everybody
had seen these images before. The man plunging head first from the
smoking World Trade Center; the Taliban being tortured and killed right
in front of the photographer's eyes.
 Even
the winning sports-related photos are of boxing, a violent sport. A
series of photos starkly recounts the devastation caused by foot and
mouth disease -- the fields of destroyed livestock inevitably pull at
the viewer's stomach.
Death
and desperation are often framed elegantly, as I previously pointed out
in "Style,
substance and sympathy -- Are these nameless faces the Guernicas of our time?",
and here at the Bibliotheca, there was no lack of artistic rendering of
death's effects. The same framing technique used to photograph raggedy
children and families in bombed out buildings is here used to
focus the viewer's eye on a dead anti-globalization protester in Genoa.
This time the frame is formed by a row of Italian "Polizia"
men and their intimidating shields.
But
there were also allusions to the potential numbing effect of all this
image-making of death. One photo was of a group of people gawking at the
site of the fallen World Trade Center towers. An Asian woman is standing
near the front, her expression a mask of frustration and weariness. She
dutifully carries a video camera and stands motionless recording it
all.
Mirrors
of mirrors. Birth and death, death and re-birth. All captured on film.
One colorful image is of a gigantic statue of a pharaoh being pulled out
of an underwater archaeological site (which happens to be very near
here, just to the east of the city, at Abu Qir). The statue has been
buried under the water for thousands of years, and now, suddenly
-- it is resurfacing to life again. Somehow the expression on the
pharaoh's face seems to be one of displeasure -- his peace has been
disturbed and he's being photographed to boot.
 Later,
after finishing the exhibit, we are offered a quick tour of the new
library itself. It is truly a stunning rebirth, the gargantuan reading
room extending out to all sides like some futuristic space station
accented with regal wood, black granite and burnished gold. Elsewhere in
the library, which aims to become as vibrant a global culture center as
its ancient namesake surely was, another photography exhibition is
taking place, this one a comprehensive study of all the stages involved
in the formation of human life. There are photos of the fetus being
formed and growing into a baby in the mother's womb. The last photo in
the series presents an impromptu closing remark on the whole
photography-birth-death theme of the day: for it's of the moment of
birth itself. Staring straight at the camera, the brand new baby is tiny
and wrinkled, and looks very much like an extremely angry hundred year
old man.
Then
again -- wouldn't you be too if the second you were born some paparazzi
took your photo?
Browse previous Dardasha columns here.
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