There is timeliness in Ahlam Shibli’s body of work, and it is not just because of Gaza. Every photograph is about Palestine, but not merely as visual shorthand for complex narratives about the ongoing genocide, but rather as a carefully woven thread uniting the struggles of migrant workers, refugees, orphans, discarded veterans, and those living in confinement in the world’s largest open-air prison. Shibli’s photographs are always exhibited next to a text which the artist redacts herself, meticulously referring to those depicted, and the social concerns she brings up, by showing what she sees. Shibli doesn’t expect people to read all that is written beside her images. She studies the context of her own images, and does everything possible to make what she sees and what is depicted, accessible for everyone. The full texts and works are accessible on her website, if one is interested in going deeper.
This meticulous interplay of image and text in the exhibition at Luma Westbau, curated by Adam Szymczyk and Vassilis Oikonomopoulos, offers a balance between the brevity and the depth of her shots and words, reflecting Shibli’s intention to engage audiences without overwhelming them with excessive information. This is similar to how she interacts within a room. She is always attentive to the people around her, no matter who they are. Her concise captions allow for expansive narratives. Her texts adapt to the levels of immersion a space can afford, whether she uses language or imagery.
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At Luma Westbau, I found an empty room from a Polish children’s house, Dom Dziecka – the literal translation she uses for an “orphanage”, as it’s a less stigmatizing collection of words. The image swallowed me into it, notably the fabric hanging from the wall in the back, next to a single bed, depicting horses, galloping free. Both as a space and surface, the room connects to a horse race in Jericho she photographed in the nineties. The images zoom in on figures in the distance. Shibli must be standing on one of the sand hills, and then have gone down for other shots of the men racing through the desert. It seems so compellingly quotidian, but the photos are not merely a display of events she witnesses; they are a testament to the power of visual storytelling, beyond the ambit of photojournalism. They confront and challenge our perceptions of history, memory, and collective identity through their compositions. It encourages composition where it doesn’t feel welcomed, such as images of war remembrance, of solitude in confinement, of care labor.
Shibli produces series that transcend mere documentation; they become a critical survey of postwar trauma, migration, identity, and historical injustice. By juxtaposing disparate yet interconnected subjects — for example, displacement and belonging, or race and colonialism — Shibli confronts uncomfortable truths, acting as a mirror to a hidden reality, where layers of meaning and history are embedded within each frame. Her collaboration with Szymczyk stretches back over twenty years, underscoring a profound artistic trust. That shared energy vibrates throughout the exhibition rooms, where the autonomy in formal and curatorial decisions have been based on mutual reflection. That same energy enhances a visual power when witnessing the series in a room.
Szymczyk knows he cannot change much of what Shibli is determined to do. “There are artists for [whom] you, as a curator, can only be a good companion,” he told me in Zürich during the opening days of the show. Shibli’s photographs are not only series in that sense, they are also sequences. Shibli would not change the sequence for each exhibition, because, for her, the works comprise a single, thoroughly conceptualized presentation.
“I did ask for his opinion,” she said when I visited her in Berlin, where she and Ulrich Look, her life companion, live. “For instance, I had a plan for how to install the texts, but wouldn't add them before talking with him about it. I put the work and the words together on the floor and examine[d] them with Adam. He would then come and say, ‘this here is too dense.’ Or, he would suggest solutions for the walls I would then take.” The sequences are in different rows, as if the scenes would appear simultaneously.
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This took me by surprise. I looked at the walls at first assuming a rather documentary approach to history and local politics, and I bored myself with that thought. A second glance is always worthwhile, however, especially with challenging arrangements such as Shibli’s. They foster a continuum where each photograph contributes to a larger, cinematic exploration of the lives of others, without circumscribing them, prompting viewers to reconsider their understandings of history, politics, and human resilience in relation to the marginalized or misunderstood.
“I don't like empty walls,” Shibli said, and I found myself sharing her impatience with the lone image. “Cartier-Bresson saw th[e] moment that cannot repeat itself. I’m more about the representation of the issue and less about the moment that doesn't repeat itself.” As one navigates among Shibli’s images, particularly those depicting everyday life under occupation in al-Khalil/Hebron, and the forms of cultural resilience amidst adversity, there is a profound sense of witnessing history in the making. But this is not the same as the videos shared on Instagram by Issa Amro, a pacifist and activist based in this city where all the calamities of the apartheid are concentrated. He shows Israeli settlers throwing stones at visiting passers-by in the Old Market, military groups terrorizing Palestinians at the checkpoints subjected to unnecessary waiting times, and gazes (and weapons) that could kill. Shibli’s photographs do not capture these moments frozen in time, but the enduring spirit of communities navigating the complex socio-political landscapes to which she has the possibility to leave from and return.
By focusing on the hidden and the discreet, as the art historian John Berger once wrote about Shibli's photography, she offers a testament to the enduring spirit and complexities of her subjects. Drawing on the metaphor of nomadism, Berger posits that Shibli's approach to photography is about foreseeing, passing through, and looking back. It's a perspective that values movement and observation over arriving at fixed conclusions or static representations. She is an example of quiet resistance and profound insight, positioning herself within the broader context of Palestinian history and their struggle for visibility and recognition.
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In “Occupation”, Shibli explores the contrasting ways in which hiding can be seen, both as a subversive act by those in power, and a survival strategy for the powerless. This background sets the stage for understanding the dichotomy between civilian rule for Israelis and military rule for Palestinians. The photographs capture the impossible daily lives of families; the evidence, traces, places, and people who have remained obscure or forgotten. In his text on Shibli, Berger aligns with these experiences, which are unfamiliar to him, but which he can understand, as someone who observes the value of what is not immediately apparent.
Shibli's avoidance of generalizations is visible in the series “Belonging” she recently produced in Arles. By focusing on specific individuals and their stories, she challenges oversimplified narratives that often serve the interests of the powerful. Her photography, thus, becomes a nuanced counterpoint to mainstream representations that often ignore (or consciously distort) the realities of Palestinian life. Shibli's belief in the departed being "elsewhere" rather than lost to history reflects a perspective of continuity and resilience. Her photographs of residences, which appear hauntingly empty, convey a sense of absence that is not merely about physical space, but also about memory and presence.
Shibli's photographs contrast with mainstream media images, noting that her work does not cater to passive consumption. Unlike images that quickly convey events or exceptional moments, Shibli's photos demand deeper contemplation and engagement. They resist instant assimilation, requiring viewers to confront their viewing habits and engage in deliberative interpretation. Abu Hashhash observes a neutrality and aesthetic lightness in Shibli's photographs, as she depicts seemingly mundane moments devoid of obvious historical or visually sensational content. What she pursues, over and over again, is making us reconsider what constitutes significance in photographic representation.
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The exhibition runs until September 8, 2024
- IMAGE CREDITS
Cover: Ahlam Shibli, untitled (Occupation no. 21), al-Khalil/Hebron, Palestine, 2016–17, chromogenic print, 26,7 x 40 cm.
Old house of the Sufyan al-Ja'abari family, al-Tullab Street, al-Khalil, January 25, 2017.
Sufyan breeds pigeons and goats in his family's old house. The settlement Giv'at Ha'avot adjoins the family house and includes the Israeli Ja'abrah prison and police station. Both are used against Palestinians as well as Israeli activists who oppose the occupation.
Courtesy of the artist, © Ahlam Shibli.
fig. 1: Ahlam Shibli, untitled (Belonging no. 6), Arles, France, 2022–23, chromogenic print, 26,7 x 40 cm.
Courtesy of the artist, © Ahlam Shabbily.
fig. 2: Ahlam Shibli, untitled (Belonging no. 60), Arles, France, 2022–23, chromogenic print, 26,7 x 40 cm.
Courtesy of the artist, © Ahlam Shibli.
fig. 3: Ahlam Shibli, untitled (Occupation no. 23), al-Khalil/Hebron, Palestine, 2016–17, chromogenic print, 40 x 60 cm.
The house of the Hashem and Nisreen Azzeh family, Othman ben Affan Street, Tel Rumeida, al-Khalil, December 4, 2016.
The three children of Hashem Azzeh—Younis, Khaled, and Hanan—together with their cousin Ahmad. They are watching a technician install a television set, donated by a Danish solidarity delegation. Hashem Azzeh was killed by the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) on October 21, 2015, poisoned by tear gas that was used in a clash between young Palestinians and Israeli forces.
Courtesy of the artist, © Ahlam Shibli.
