By David Walker
Iraq: The Space Between
Photographs by Christoph Bangert
Text by John Lee Anderson
128 pages/74 four-color photographs/$35
powerHouse Books
This collection of images is drawn from Christoph Bangert's
coverage of the war for The New York Times since the spring of
2005. The focus here is not the fighting, but the war's long shadow
of gloom, and the unbridgeable chasm of alienation between Iraqis
and their Americans occupiers. Bangert has an eye for the ominous,
such as a slide and swing set in a park where kids no longer dare
to play, and deserted, littered streets where danger is palpable.
He conveys the us/them divide with images of omnipresent walls and
barriers, and in the faces of people—some wary, some revealing
nothing but empty resignation. Bangert also forces viewers to
confront the abject violence and misery of the war with grisly
images of maimed civilians and murder victims left unceremoniously
in garbage dumps.
What the images have in common is that they stop time, and capture
a pregnant pause between spasms of violence. Bangert is not
condemning America, nor is he letting Iraq off the hook (there's a
chilling picture of one of Saddam's torture chambers). Instead his
images seem to ask: What is the point of this war, and is it worth
the toll on our spirit, not to mention the loss of so much life?
Iraq: The Space Between
Dec 2, 2007
By By David Walker
Iraq: The Space Between
Photographs by Christoph Bangert
Text by John Lee Anderson
128 pages/74 four-color photographs/$35
powerHouse Books
This collection of images is drawn from Christoph Bangert's coverage of the war for The New York Times since the spring of 2005. The focus here is not the fighting, but the war's long shadow of gloom, and the unbridgeable chasm of alienation between Iraqis and their Americans occupiers. Bangert has an eye for the ominous, such as a slide and swing set in a park where kids no longer dare to play, and deserted, littered streets where danger is palpable. He conveys the us/them divide with images of omnipresent walls and barriers, and in the faces of people—some wary, some revealing nothing but empty resignation. Bangert also forces viewers to confront the abject violence and misery of the war with grisly images of maimed civilians and murder victims left unceremoniously in garbage dumps.
What the images have in common is that they stop time, and capture a pregnant pause between spasms of violence. Bangert is not condemning America, nor is he letting Iraq off the hook (there's a chilling picture of one of Saddam's torture chambers). Instead his images seem to ask: What is the point of this war, and is it worth the toll on our spirit, not to mention the loss of so much life?
