Today was the first real autumn day in Berlin. A light drizzle was falling this morning, and I thought this would be the best time to go and see the Word Press Photo Exhibition at Ostbahnhof.
My friend the worldwide famous and critically acclaimed Berliniquais has already written an extensive and witty account in French of this beautiful mobile exhibition. As he is an excellent writer, I was rather put off by the idea of writing my own testimonial but then I remembered that each perception is different, no matter how much one can recognize oneself it someone else's words.
Back to my point, I went to Ostbahnhof today - on a grey Sunday morning. For those who don't live in that city, Berlin on a Sunday morning probably looks pretty much like a city under curfew. I usually go out at that specific moment in the week because it is the only time I can drive without having to worry about a dense traffic. However, a couple of fall-outs with the car led me to use public transports, which is by far much nicer - and safer for me. Apart from a couple of prams pushed by dishevelled and/or sleep-deprived mothers here and there, everyone is still asleep. I'm talking 8am. By then the S-Bahn looks quite similar to what it was on the night before - some tourists looking at a map, a handful of party goers heading home or to the next party, a beggar mumbling some words, passing through the carriage while most people try their best to ignore him. All that in a surprisingly eery silence.
I love going to exhibitions, I love pictures, I read the news. So there should have been no surprises in what I saw. But sometimes something - or someone - touches you at exactly the right moment in your life. And despite having read loads about Syria, loads about poverty, and loads about the big bad world, somehow the images presented there really moved me.
I might be an adult, I will never get used to the sight of a dead body, and more so to that of people provoking a death and rejoicing at it. I can only imagine the feelings the photographers who captured those moments went through. I would have liked to write a post on a single picture, but I'm not the best critic, and so many of them where mindblowing that it would be unfair to pick out just the one. Also, sometimes I find something so striking that even as a word-lover I find the use of words superficial. So I thought about talking about the photo-journalists who risk their lives every day in order to bring you informations. I decided not to post the pictures I'm talking about and, instead, to insert links towards these photographer's websites, because if anything, their works deserve to be looked at. I'm so grateful to those talented persons who can keep their cool while doing such a dangerous job - that of showing the world's most shameful sights to a handful of powerful privileged who could make a difference.
Emin Ozmen witnessed torture, and realised a reportage on it called "Interrogations" on the proceedings of the militia in Syria. Through his photographer's eye, I wondered how a group of men could willingly use violence against a defenceless being, regardless of age, political belief, or sex. Is it despaire that triggers violence? I got the same impression while looking at the work of Dominique Nahr, whose investigation "Sudan Borders War" shows the uncompromising situation in that country forgotten by the news. Felipe Dana sets his eyes on the "Crack War" in Rio de Janeiro, and follows a couple of drug addicts through their routine, while Paolo Patrizi shows the daily life of African prostitutes in Italia.
Amongst these pictures of misery, a photographer brightened the panels: Altaf Qadri, whose reportage "School for the less fortunate" shows how a man who was never able to afford education for himself, now devotes two hours of his time every day to school poor children, aiming at inserting them in the regular school system, in order to secure them a better future.
Speaking of the young ones, while I was looking at images of torture in Syria - wondering how this inhumanity could still happen in this day and age, I realised someone was standing next to me. When I looked, an 8 years old boy was staring at a picture of a dead body- his eyes wide with disbelief. Not fear, just incomprehension. I looked around and was even more sorry at the lack of parental supervision than at what this boy saw. Because I know he had probably seen much worse at home - through a TV or computer screen. I left that exhibition very much aware of a number of wrong doings everywhere in the world. Yet as long as there are people out there to inform on that, with pictures or with words, there is still some hope that, even in the darkest times, reason will prevail.
My friend the worldwide famous and critically acclaimed Berliniquais has already written an extensive and witty account in French of this beautiful mobile exhibition. As he is an excellent writer, I was rather put off by the idea of writing my own testimonial but then I remembered that each perception is different, no matter how much one can recognize oneself it someone else's words.
Back to my point, I went to Ostbahnhof today - on a grey Sunday morning. For those who don't live in that city, Berlin on a Sunday morning probably looks pretty much like a city under curfew. I usually go out at that specific moment in the week because it is the only time I can drive without having to worry about a dense traffic. However, a couple of fall-outs with the car led me to use public transports, which is by far much nicer - and safer for me. Apart from a couple of prams pushed by dishevelled and/or sleep-deprived mothers here and there, everyone is still asleep. I'm talking 8am. By then the S-Bahn looks quite similar to what it was on the night before - some tourists looking at a map, a handful of party goers heading home or to the next party, a beggar mumbling some words, passing through the carriage while most people try their best to ignore him. All that in a surprisingly eery silence.
I love going to exhibitions, I love pictures, I read the news. So there should have been no surprises in what I saw. But sometimes something - or someone - touches you at exactly the right moment in your life. And despite having read loads about Syria, loads about poverty, and loads about the big bad world, somehow the images presented there really moved me.
I might be an adult, I will never get used to the sight of a dead body, and more so to that of people provoking a death and rejoicing at it. I can only imagine the feelings the photographers who captured those moments went through. I would have liked to write a post on a single picture, but I'm not the best critic, and so many of them where mindblowing that it would be unfair to pick out just the one. Also, sometimes I find something so striking that even as a word-lover I find the use of words superficial. So I thought about talking about the photo-journalists who risk their lives every day in order to bring you informations. I decided not to post the pictures I'm talking about and, instead, to insert links towards these photographer's websites, because if anything, their works deserve to be looked at. I'm so grateful to those talented persons who can keep their cool while doing such a dangerous job - that of showing the world's most shameful sights to a handful of powerful privileged who could make a difference.
Emin Ozmen witnessed torture, and realised a reportage on it called "Interrogations" on the proceedings of the militia in Syria. Through his photographer's eye, I wondered how a group of men could willingly use violence against a defenceless being, regardless of age, political belief, or sex. Is it despaire that triggers violence? I got the same impression while looking at the work of Dominique Nahr, whose investigation "Sudan Borders War" shows the uncompromising situation in that country forgotten by the news. Felipe Dana sets his eyes on the "Crack War" in Rio de Janeiro, and follows a couple of drug addicts through their routine, while Paolo Patrizi shows the daily life of African prostitutes in Italia.
Amongst these pictures of misery, a photographer brightened the panels: Altaf Qadri, whose reportage "School for the less fortunate" shows how a man who was never able to afford education for himself, now devotes two hours of his time every day to school poor children, aiming at inserting them in the regular school system, in order to secure them a better future.
Speaking of the young ones, while I was looking at images of torture in Syria - wondering how this inhumanity could still happen in this day and age, I realised someone was standing next to me. When I looked, an 8 years old boy was staring at a picture of a dead body- his eyes wide with disbelief. Not fear, just incomprehension. I looked around and was even more sorry at the lack of parental supervision than at what this boy saw. Because I know he had probably seen much worse at home - through a TV or computer screen. I left that exhibition very much aware of a number of wrong doings everywhere in the world. Yet as long as there are people out there to inform on that, with pictures or with words, there is still some hope that, even in the darkest times, reason will prevail.
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