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| © Jan Kempenaers |
Belgian photographer Jan Kempenaers has
a new exhibition at the Breese Little Gallery in London which shows the results
of his forays across Europe to record a number of large structures, many of
them in a state of decay. My eye was
particularly caught by his photograph of the enormous arch at Brest in Belarus
(certainly not decaying) as I have walked through it myself. The offset star-shaped entrance to the Brest
fortress displays an aesthetic playfulness often missing in Soviet
architecture.
Playfulness, however, is not Kempenaers’
concern: he presents these monolithic structures in black and white,
emphasising their hardness and dominance, but also their drabness, ossified and
out of time. The results commemorate his
subjects’ power and overwhelming presence in the landscape, with an emphasis on
their’ graphic qualities.
He had previously compiled a series in
colour, Spomenik – also shown at the
Breese Little Gallery – which focused on Tito-era Second World War memorials
across the former Yugoslav territories, and the colour gives them a softness
his latest project lacks. As in his
earlier project he has photographed the structures without people, emphasising
their sense of permanence by excluding specifics that would date them, and
foregrounding their sculptural qualities.
Information on the subjects is
deliberately kept to a minimum as well, ripping them from their context. For fans of surviving traces of (mostly)
vanished regimes – Belarusian president
Alexander Lukashenko doesn’t appear to be in a hurry to leave office –
the exhibition is well worth a visit, but this is by no means a documentary approach
and some viewers may find it frustrating not to have captions to support the
images.
Down the road at the Calvert 22
Foundation, British photographer Christopher Nunn’s Holy Water work-in-progress consists of recent photographs taken in
eastern Ukraine, showing as part of the Independent Photography Festival. He has captured people being themselves in
what must be difficult circumstances; just how difficult can be judged by Nunn
himself, who earlier this year ended up in hospital with eye damage when he was
caught in shelling by separatists.
In a world dealing with so many problems
it is easy to forget the Russian efforts to destabilise Ukraine, but Nunn show
the determination of the residents near the front line to carry on as best they
can. Looking at the photographs, one
wouldn’t know that there was a conflict raging that has now claimed tens of
thousands of lives. Eschewing the
fighting itself, he captures people relaxing, drinking, being
affectionate. Pet dogs feature
prominently. As a counterbalance to the
people there are shots of domestic interiors.
The emphasis across the exhibition is on the everyday.
The war is not totally absent, as
indicated by a photograph of a field with fragile wooden crosses marking graves,
but the focus is firmly on ordinary activities.
Religious iconography is prominent: a golden statue of the Blessed
Virgin Mary; an elaborate tattoo on a man’s back of the Holy Family, and youths
stripped to the waist by a lake sporting Orthodox crosses; but at present its
residents must surely feel this is a land that God has forsaken.
While the conflict lasts, life will
become ever harder and more dangerous for the local population, and Nunn’s
photographs reinforce the message that the world cannot look away from what is
happening. He has put his own life on
the line to document this troubled region, and he deserves our utmost respect
and attention.
