Along the Mediterranean Coast: El Mina, The Old Port—2

TODAY: I dedicate this blog entry to the release of colleague, Vittorio Arrigoni, a journalist and human rights defender working in the Gaza Strip, who was kidnapped by Salafists, members of a very small extremist group in Gaza.

Information

UPDATE: He’s been murdered, allegedly by members of a Palestinian Islamic splinter group in Gaza. However, questions remain: who benefits from his death, why was he killed hours before the deadline, and why Vittorio?

Testimonial from Jeff Halper

Vittorio on the right, with Adie Mormech of the International Solidarity Movement, during a meeting with farmers in the eastern buffer zone

Excerpts from my journal during a recent 6 week journey to Gaza—now back home in the United States.

PHOTOS

The ultimate wisdom of the photographic image is to say: “There is the surface. Now think—or rather feel, intuit—what is beyond it, what the reality must be like if it looks this way.”

—Susan Sontag

December 7, 2010, Tuesday, Gaza City, my apartment in Rimal

Yesterday people were very late to the photo workshop, #4 in the 8 part series, despite our new policy [We look only at the photos of those who show up first. Late? Too bad, can’t review your photos.]. 10 AM, start time, no one there. I looked out the window and saw one young man languidly entering the lower entryway, slowly making his way to class. He arrived at about 10:10. He was not one of those with adequate English. This could be a problem. Let’s start, I said, what do you have to show us? Student #2 walked in at about 10:15, another without much English. Luckily student #1 had some good photos from our trip last week to the crafts village, but wished to show us something else, some location, also very good architectural photos. I commented but without translation so there is no knowing how much came or went thru.

~~There were to be 2 more paragraphs continuing this story but MS Word froze, as it’s been doing off and on during this trip. I lost the paragraphs. Are they recoverable thru my personal memory? Let’s give it a whirl. But remember: save more often!~~

By 10:30 all of the 7 of the regulars (out of the initial 12) eventually appeared. Including Ahmed and M, 2 of the more involved and vocal students, along with R. No H today: can’t make it in, sorry, he texted me.

Despite the upsetting beginning—I had begun ruminating, has the workshop collapsed? How are we to make the movie about me teaching if I have no students?—the session turned out very well indeed. R said later, this session was amazing. We discussed beauty along with beauty and horror mixed, depth of focus (only a beginning, more on this next time), backlighting (ditto), showing one’s political and social reality, independent projects, portraiture (the main theme of the morning), exemplary portraits from Dorothea Lange (Migrant Mother with the story of Dorothea’s persistence which resulted in making her fine iconic photo—which none present had ever seen or heard about, a completely different cultural context) and W. Eugene Smith (from his Minimata series, mother and daughter in a tub, resembling the pieta which also was new to my students), and other related matters. Much energy this morning, I felt, even tho all were tardy.

Later from Islam I learned about cases of absentees—Sharek Youth Forum closed by Hamas, schedule conflicts, illness, without anyone admitting the workshop was not to their tastes, or too hard, or too soft, or just not right thing at the right moment. This is the first time I’ve gotten such feedback. And it is because of the Quaker Palestine Youth Program’s IT officer Islam’s devotion to the program. A stellar man.

To the mina, or port, which seemed to excite everyone. Rain had fallen that morning, the first rain of the season. I’d tried photographing and videoing it outside on the my home plaza. Stills failed, motion worked. And I showed both to the students, with the challenge of how can you show rain with stills, and, beyond that, show the first rain of the season? Key questions, I believe, that shed light on the strengths and weaknesses of the photographic medium. These themes, water, rain, challenges, might have helped inspire the field trip. 2 exercises (or 3 if I count the awareness exercise): cardinal direction awareness, in place, one of the 4 directions at a time, scan from low to high, repeat; followed by find a location, make at least 10 different photos from that one spot (I chose the new construction, showing lots of cement and a crane, very unusual for Gaza), and one frame, multiple moments for an emphasis on time (I chose flapping fabric as an illustration, doing this in 2 different locations).

New fishers’ shacks

The sky added to the thrill of the trip, large, roiling, scurrying clouds covered the entire sky. And receded as we worked, always varied, always wondrous. We were well positioned—coastal—to view the entire sky.

We concluded at the breakwater where other students had discovered the huge breaking waves. Here we romped, as if kids, playing, having fun, dodging the water (several were doused). We photographed each other photographing each other and the sea. The port is archetypal for Gazans—its freedom primarily, and the blockage of freedom, knowing the fishing industry, once thriving, is for now dormant, ruined. A complex mixture of joy and sorrow.

Skip Schiel, photo by Mesleh Al Ashram

A personal gain was discovering two men in one of the fisher shacks. I’d noticed a cat eating the remains of a fish dinner. Thinking I was alone—I’d seen no one else in this extensive series of shacks, thought they were all abandoned, perhaps people waiting for the opening of a new set which I also photographed—I spoke gently to the cat. Then I heard soft talking from the other side of the wall. Someone was there. They probably heard me. I looked around, said marhaba, continued on, heard one man say, chai?

Initially I declined, walked on, then thought, hey guy, this is an invite, not only for tea but possibly for photos. So I sat with them a while, drank the tea (la sukkar-no sugar), and was surprised when the host pointed at his friend and my camera, indicating, make a photo of him. Friend demurred, so, miming, I asked the host if he’d allow a photo of himself and off we went. Merrily along with the fishers.

At the end of this session I felt relieved, energized, happy. Truly mubsut-happy. If only they’d show up on time, if only everyone would attend, if only they’d do the assignments, if only, if only. Why worry, revel in the moment instead.

A powerful update from Y about life in Oakland, filled with trauma—and I thought I had a hard life in Gaza!—and the beginning of winter. Plus one dream that I can recall, in a night of solid dreaming:

I was lecturing a group of Gazans, young adults, maybe in a university setting. Our main theme was cross cultural differences, or intercultural understanding. I used the idea of meals as a reference point, breakfast in particular. I joked with them about the words in English and Arabic that describe the same items. The lecture was extremely interactive. It was going well until I noticed a young man, resembling Ibrahem G who in real life I’d met a few days ago while walking to the souk (market), who’s been incessantly phoning me and then because of our language differences discovers I am not very communicative with him, nor warm to meeting him again. He asks me, in the most broken English, where are you, at the katiba (parade grounds)? Where are you!? I tell him I’m home working and busy. I am sure he wants to meet—but to what point? I hate being so distant but it reflects our painful reality. I believe my dream last night reflects my dilemma about Ibrahem, wishing to be close, finding it impossible. Unless of course one of us studied the language of the other.

So an “Ibrahem” type character was in my dream, joking with a male friend, and visibly not paying attention to the lecture and dialog. He was rattling me, distracting me from the event. I just wish you’d go away, is what I thought—and didn’t utter.

Despite his interruption, I carried on. The dream ended as we produced a form of chorus, not using words, but sighs. All together now, sigh.

~~Power off. Kaput. Just off. Computer continues for awhile on battery power, but because my battery is old and feeble I doubt if I have even 2 hours remaining. Plus Internet is gone, since the router is off and there is no neighborhood network I can access. Woe is me. Let’s see how long until power resumes. It is now 7:12 AM. I will open my shutters and let in the faint light of the cloudy morning. Yesterday at the office power was also out. But the generator worked immediately this time and my workshop was not impeded.~~

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS

As an example of the work done by people such as Vittorio Arrigoni and other International Solidarity Movement workers under the direction of local Palestinian leaders, my blog about a buffer zone demonstration in Gaza

Blog: El Mina—part 1

Photos: El Mina—part 1

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Along the Mediterranean Coast :: El Mina, The Old Port–1

Ban Al Ghussain

Excerpts from my journal during a recent 6 week journey to Gaza—now back home in the United States.

PHOTOS

Distance does not make you falter.
Now, arriving in magic, flying,
and finally, insane for the light,
you are the butterfly and you are gone.
And so long as you haven’t experienced this: to die and so to grow,
you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, translated by Robert Bly

December 4, 2010, Saturday, Gaza city, my apartment in Rimal

That day again, when I contemplate my origins in my father (a tradition I learned from Japanese friends, honoring one’s parents and other ancestors), my mother, my grandparents, my uncles and aunts, my earliest friends and teachers—all to whom I owe my life, character, history, destiny, meaning, problems, not entirely but mostly. I begin my 8^th decade, my 70^th year, looking and usually feeling maybe 15 years younger. Feeling my age and beyond only when ill, even slightly ill as I seem to have been a few days ago, perhaps with flu. Now I am sturdy.

What are my worries, what keeps me from deep sleep thru the night (as happened again last night from 4 until I arose at 5:15)?

the photo workshop, students dropping out, not liking it, feeling they’re not learning enough to continue

losing my flash memory device and wondering about possible consequences because of my disclosures concerning my hidden sexual proclivities

mushies, i.e., shits

dying in my sleep

never finding another true love

broken or lost or malfunctioning equipment

doing a lousy job making photos and the movie

for a few of many.

Islam Madhoun & Ban
(betrothed after meeting thru one of my photo workshops in 2009)

What sustains me, helps me sleep despite the occasional short hours, keeps me fresh thru the day, cheerful despite the odds against me?

walking

meditating

photographing

preaching

friendships

prospects for love and understanding gradually more and more about vexing thrilling topic

excitement at being in Gaza

reading

playing with computer-based tools like software and the internet

my illustrious circle of honorable elders

family

hopes for when I return home.

But let’s not forget last night’s dreams, once again profuse:

With others I was either actually on or watching others on a high narrow rope ladder cross a raging river. A man fell in. I could see beneath the water, magically, that he was quickly dropping to the bottom. Another man decided to rescue him. He tore off his shoes, his pants, stating, my clothing would drown me. He dove or dropped in. I again saw beneath the water as he dove deep and grabbed the victim.

Another: talking with a man who understood about the Wounded Knee Massacre and the commemorative ride in 1990 that I participated in. He quizzed me, how did you gain the trust of the riders? referring to my photography of the ride and location. To answer I elaborated about my father, claiming he was an expert printer of flyers, posters, booklets and the like. How this related to the question escaped me but in the dream it seemed relevant. As I explained my close relations with native people, I experienced again being with them—I was actually with them. One American Indian demonstrated shooting a rifle, as if at the Wounded Knee Massacre 100 years ago himself, or at the siege in 1972 or 1973.

These dreams seem unique, unlike previous dreams altho some themes, like Wounded Knee and photography, recur . I suspect one reason I’m dreaming and remembering dreams so well is that I awaken early with my Hour of the Wolf Syndrome [insomnia for about one hour when my thought governor takes a break and numerous streams of thought, memory, strategy, reverie all mix crazily together, a notion based on a Swedish belief in the Hour of the Wolf when magic and tragedy ensue.] This usually damnable periodic sleeplessness might be turning into a gift.

Hesham Mhanna

The outing yesterday to the quay or pier or boat area or port or mina—with Hesham and Rana from the current photo workshop, Ban and Sharif from last year’s workshop, and Islam. We quickly agreed this is the place to go, safer they felt. [I’m uncertain about why they felt this way, perhaps safe from Israeli incursions and shelling, safe from factional violence, and safe from the watching waiting eyes of Hamas.] Islam drove us out to the point where I’d never been before. Someone found a boat and driver for us to wildly ride in. And after about 1.5 hours of photography they were ready to declare, we’re finished. I replied, Oh, I feel we are just beginning. Well, some have Muslim prayers, Sharif claimed.

Language plays a major role in my teaching in Gaza. In a separate workshop that I teach thru the American Friends Service Committee, we are finding adequate translation nearly impossible to do. It requires extra time, a large vocabulary about technology and esthetics, and patience on everyone’s part. One consequence of not having English fluency is not being able or willing to press me for further exercises or lessons. For instance, yesterday at El mina with my group, after one exercise (design with the principle of light on dark, dark on light), Hesham asked me for a more advanced exercise. I offered him the backlight challenge. Choose a subject brightly lit from behind. Use flash to fill in the shadows. Without English he might not have asked me, nor have understood me when I gave it to him. Similarly, Ban asked for instruction in Adobe’s photo software, Lightroom.

I discovered another group of photo students who wanted to have their photos made with me surrounded by the students. They all had single lens reflex cameras; one man was one of my students, either former or current; they seemed to be playing rather than laboring, photographing each other mostly. They delighted in showing me their photos on their camera screens. They asked to join our group and did for a fraction of a second.

I also discovered a family eating along the pier. I snuck a few photos before asking permission. Father said no, waved his finger and smiled. I nodded ok, turned to walk away when he called me back to join them for hummus and fuul, the delicious Middle Eastern fava bean, lemon juice, and garlic dish. No photos but plenty of good food.

Our group agreed to meet again on Wednesday at 1 PM after my workshop to see results. Ban and Sharif will present their work to the workshop group that morning. All this is intended to foster a photographic team that persists after I’ve departed. Good plan, now let’s see if it works. [It seems to not have.]

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS

My spring 2011 teaching in Cambridge Massachusetts

Photography as a tool for political transformation, a workshop

My Teaching Philosophy

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To Return to Reality: Spring Light Along the Waterfront

World War II destroyer

Charlestown Navy Yard

From a workshop series exploring the photography of spring light, thru the Cambridge Center for Adult Education, May 16, 2009

Photos

To return to reality: yesterday’s Spring Light Photographic Workshop explored the waterfront from the Charlestown Navy Yard to the mouth of the Charles River, the last part of the  journey at night. A ferry from Long Wharf at 4:30 PM, 10 minutes later we’re at the Navy Yard (this a suggestion from Frank). Wander around there for one hour, with the idea of the old esthetics—frame, detail, thing, time, vantage point—as given by John Szarkowski. Walk together toward the river, the Zakim bridge (how is Zakim pronounced?). First stop at the rotten dock behind the once sugar warehouse maybe to be an expanded USS Constitution Museum and all photograph the same thing, more or less. This group loves having fun together, all were game to hop the fence and possibly commit trespass.

Walk under the Charlestown bridge on our way to the Charlestown locks and dam over the Charles river, first pausing at a large marina that neither Frank nor I had anticipated. I remember photographing here years ago before the renovations, the new constructions. (I wonder if I can ever find those photos.) Now my eyesight began to deteriorate: a migraine, or is it merely the aura? We performed the 4 directions awareness exercise, a creation of mine as far as I’m aware—face one of the cardinal directions, west, the sun setting, and gaze from ground to zenith, carefully, noting light, shapes, movement, objects, shadows, etc. Then rotate 90 degrees to do this again, south, east, north. And finally, based on those observations, find something to photograph. I forgot to add here, and try to use a method of strategy, how will you make the photo? Use the steps I’d suggested if you wish, but use some steps. Think about what you’re doing.

Zakim bridge

Let’s meet at the other side of the locks, walking across them, meeting at the now abandoned ferry terminal. On this leg of the junket let’s work on meta photography: symbol, metaphor, synecdoche, and subliminal suggestion (as in phallic symbol). I know this will be hard, but it is vital to understand for good photos.

And we concluded, after watching numerous boats pass thru the locks, the light waning, with nearly 1 hour of free time, meeting at the McDonalds inside North Station. When I found them, slumped against the wall, cheerily chatting together, looking extremely fatigued (I could have collapsed, my legs so weary), some of them munching on burgers or dogs, I had to chuckle, bring out my camera on a tripod (I’d been happily and crazily photographing in the dark),and make a group portrait. As I’d done at the Navy Yard, surprising them from behind after I’d photographed the Commandant’s House (where I’d discovered a robin’s nest with two pink eggs, mother flying off at my approach), to make the first group portrait of the season.

This is a jolly group, very talented, committed, one of the best. As always it will be hard to say goodbye.

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Spring Light Photographic Workshop: Laboring in the Field of Images, Salem Massachusetts

From a workshop series exploring the photography of spring light, thru the Cambridge Center for Adult Education, May 2, 2009

Photos

Now Salem, a word meaning peace, shalom, salaam, and, Frank, one of the students, very knowledgeable about all things coastal, informed us was intended but the founders. The Puritans intended Salem to be a city of peace.

From noon to 4 we labored in the fields of images. The sky began mostly overcast with some definition and by degrees cleared to reveal sharply outlined cumulus clouds. Air was warm, drying out. Shadows proceeded from dimly lit short to sharply lit long. Our path brought us from our meeting point at the commuter rail station parking lot, thru central town to Derby Wharf (Derby was an early Salem merchant) where we discovered a replica sailing ship being manned. About 10 men, each with safety harnesses, were high in the main rigging wrapping a sail. Our photo exercise here—after warming up at the train station on the canal, a prime site for New Topographics—earth affected by humans—photos, and the blind faith walk awareness exercise —was to choose one spot, a vantage point, and make a series of photos. I chose a point near a pile of rope, began photographing the coiled rope, more and more fascinated by it, when I noticed the men in the rigging and from that same position and I made a 2nd series of photos.

Click here for a larger view

As we were leaving the wharf, me thinking what might make a good vista exercise location?, I noticed a string of multi colored homes, drawn initially by a pink one. Here, I decided, is an ideal vista for practice. How to photograph it? Extreme angles, panoramic, near far, wide angle? Anything else? Later I remembered no one had mentioned synecdoche, the part for the whole. I used extreme angles and panoramic, and then found the ancient giant tree with a shape like an elm, but winged seeds in the detritus suggested maple. More photos, trying to break myself of the habit of centrality, my central mission of the day.

Along Derby St, the main harbor side street, Frank said he was departing the group to investigate a boat yard—boats in their white winter garb, he declared leaving us.

Let’s all do it, I suggested, and there we found most boats had already been denuded for the summer, yet they made appealing subjects. They are trim, sleek, curvaceous, elegant, streamlined, all very attractive to the eye. Here we practiced the exercise of the thing itself, what we choose and why we choose it.

Then, at our final together site, the power station which we could not readily photograph because it is behind a fence, I offered an introduction to what I call meta photography, meaning-based photography. How do photos mean? One way is thru metaphor. So I asked them, after outlining what metaphor is—essentially using a visible thing to show the invisible, such as tree of life, water of purification, blood of suffering, etc—I sent them off for the remaining hour, free time with an eye for metaphor.

By now I was somewhat fatigued, not a severely as I was in Boston after 4 hours of walking with my Tivas sandals (now I wear walking shoes, a big improvement), but enough to distract me, make me think: ice cream. Instead, because of ice cream prices and the fat, I chose an iced coffee, my first of the season, and an apricot pastry. This satisfied my base instincts but may have quelled my esthetic passions because I made very few photos in the remaining hour. Just one: a tree stump opposite a parking lot. Is this metaphor? If so, for what?

Reports of high moments and low moments mentioned the commercialization of Salem, its variety, the light and sky, the boat yard, the ship and its riggers, and the simple pleasure of being outside and in a new zone.

We discussed the next and last photo session, where to go? I’d suggested Revere Beach-Winthrop-Deer Island, but others suggested Logan airport, Charlestown Naval Yard, and Charles River. I’m to list these in an email and call for volunteers to research each. We decide at our review session.

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