The Iranians have a beautiful habit of posting pictures of the recently deceased on their walls. When I first walked the streets, I thought they were advertisements for politicians. I did not particularly wonder at the serious expressions. Politics is serious work. Najma, an overwhelmingly friendly Isfahanian, had offered to guide me in the city. She explained that the pictures were there to inform the local people about the death and events of mourning. The funerals here are not just a one-off thing, but take place in reoccurring cycles: a week after a burial, then after 40 days, and once more a year later.
Placading the streets with pictures of the departed shows a continuing importance of place and community in Iranian life. The death of an individual is considered relevant to everyone that lives around them. In European cities, I would discover the passing of the people I live close to only by noting that I had not seen certain elderly people in the staircase for a while. Announcements of death are made in national newspapers, targeting no-one in particular, drawing mostly the attention of bored Sunday newspaper readers wondering at the outdated names of the unlucky individuals involved.
The grave stares of the dead remind the passers-by of them. They look on like the posters of wanted criminals in western films. As time goes on, the everyday life takes on new forms quite oblivious of those that had inhabited the streets earlier, and the pictures become shaded and peel off. They become obstructed by advertisements or a new round of deceased, covered in a layer of paper as their bodies are in soil.
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I bought a disposable camera, I believe it was branded Lomolitos, that had a red plastic flap you could bend over its meagre flash, and the flash would become red. For no apparent reason. I carried it around for a while and took pictures with friends, and especially my brother who was visiting. For some months I just had the camera lying around after I had finished all the snaps. I would forget it on the bottom of my bag. I had to slightly go out of my way to get them developed, and I kept postponing it.
The pictures are grainy and unclear. You have to slightly struggle to recognize the place they were taken in, work it out by what went on at that time. People’s faces are blurred, dull surfaces, their expressions not apparent. You can’t make out much of the details. Not unlike my thoughts of that time.
» No comments.Bradford Cox on yksi pop-musiikin luovimpia artisteja, yksi harvoja joka onnistuu kolistelemaan raja-aitoja ja tuottamaan samalla lähestyttävää ja nautittavaa musiikkia. Cox laulaa kuin eläväisempi rock-versio Trickystä, huokaillen ja antaen ässien sähähdellä ja rähistä. Keikalla hän polkee jonkinlaista kaikulaitetta edessään, joka levittää äänen eteeriseksi nauhaksi taustalle. Tämä luo kummallisen vaikutelman: Cox vääntelee naamaansa ja tuntuu huutavan, mutta sanat saapuvat myöhässä ja pehmeämpinä, jääden ilmaan kiertämään. Näkyvä ja kuuluva tuntuvat kulkevan eri tahdissa, kuin 90-luvulla katsoessa elokuvia tietokoneelta. Keikka noudattaa suureksi osaksi Cryptogramsilta tuttua kaavaa. Terävä grungepop, jossa mekaaninen rumpali lyö kuin rumpukone, katoaa välillä suhiseviin, muodottomiin äänivalleihin, niin kuin Radio Helsinki katoaa Lahden moottoritiellä.
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I went to the G-20 demonstration today. At first I thought of trying to locate some friends, but I decided against it and instead spontaneously wandered up and down the stream of people, stopping to the most unusual or interesting marchers. This turned out to be good fun. I enjoyed especially the guys with a cycle pulling speakers and a mixing table, with two guitarists and a singer walking alongside, singing anarchist pop songs.
A very diverse group was out, including a range of environmental and development groups and unions. The unions were actually very visible, with large banners and orchestras in uniforms. Unions and environmental groups don’t come together very often. The theme of the march - “Put people first” - was flexible enough to contain the mission of all participants. Put people first, before what exactly? The banks? The climate? I did not stay for the speaches in the end to find out.
Marches are an excellent environments for photographing. The whole point of coming out is being seen (though not necessarily identified), so the typical constraints for pointing a lense at unknown people don’t apply. One endearing old lady was marching holding a fox mask in front of her face, shouting in a rather hushed voice and every now and asking people next to her whether she was making enough noise to be heard. I did not quite catch what her message was but I think it was about animal rights and Mr. Cameron. Every now and then you could see a marvellous smile as she moved her disguise, yet whenever I raised my camera she shyly hid her face. I did snap it in the end, sorry about that..
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