I just wanted to kill my sister鈥 but I ended up killing my brother my other sister and my mother鈥 I tried to kill myself but it didn鈥檛 work; the gun wouldn鈥檛 shoot, solemnly recounts a partially visible character on a screen set diagonally across the corner of the back of 鈥檚 first floor exhibition space. The video, There, The Gun (2010), is from critically acclaimed Iraqi artist Jamal Penjweny鈥檚 Saddam is Here show, which is currently on display at Birmingham鈥檚 Ikon gallery until the 21 April.
Penjweny鈥檚 connection with Ikon gallery goes further than this particular exhibition as director Jonathan Watkins鈥 displayed his Saddam is Here series (2010) at the Iraqi Pavilion; Welcome to Iraq at the 55th Venice Biennale in 2013. Now back on display, twelve images of Iraqi people each hold a life-size picture of Saddam Hussein鈥檚 face in front of their own. Because of this 鈥 despite Saddam鈥檚 public execution 鈥 a uniform of totalitarianism still renders any freedom of emotion or individuality non-existent. The viewer becomes purged upon an abstract sense of lest we forget which, as one move through the exhibition, mutates into a desperate plea of will we ever escape the memories.
Sorrow and curiosity reflect back bleakly from the glass frames as one consumes each photograph on display in Without Souls (2011). Here black and white images of daily life in Iraq, contorted by current military occupation, tainted by the shadows of brutal past genocide and dictatorship, images seem to flicker between normality and absurdity. For example, a row of headless mannequins stand side-by-side in front of shop, their clothes a throwback to Western trends. Next to the far right mannequin is a figure who appears to be the owner of the mannequins.
A bold red line dissects his torso from his head鈥 a quick survey of all of the works in this series reveals that every person is damned by the same haunting red line across their necks. But one stands out as more chilling and sobering then all the others: from a high viewpoint, a photograph of a platoon of American troops is captured. All the troops look down towards the bottom right of the image. The red lines carves across each row of soldiers like a creeping death鈥 one cannot help but wonder just how close to reality this is. How many did die, or are missing in action, presumed dead?
But the portrayal of death in waiting which unites all of Penjweny鈥檚 photography is given an all too real context when coupled with video projection There, The Gun (2010). One is no longer a spectator in a contemporary gallery. One鈥檚 own mortality is felt intensely. On the screen, Kalashnikov assault rifles hang from a makeshift market stall like meat in a butcher鈥檚 window. The video evocatively exposes the impact of the sale of arms to civilians in Iraq. Sequences of the arms dealers proclaiming a love of their job stuns the viewer as the arms dealers continue to file down the weapon鈥檚 serial numbers, so that the gunmen become untraceable ghosts, doomed to inflict fear and death.
A woman recites an incident where she was shot in the head twice 鈥 the second bullet 鈥渆xploded in her head鈥. The intensity is pushed to the limit as, just before the film ends, an off screen voice ambiguously calls out for the shooting to stop. But for who is this really aimed at 鈥 the camera men or the civilians being sold the guns? Walking back through the gallery to leave, passing by the series Without Souls, the initial curiosity as to the character鈥檚 whereabouts is sunk to the pit of one鈥檚 stomach, replaced by overwhelming sorrow and guilt at the realisation of just what the ramifications of Saddam Is Here are.
William Davie
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Credits
1. Jamal Penjweny, photograph from the series Without Souls (2011). Courtesy the artist.
