Art in Amman: The Familial Photographs of Karimeh Abbud

10/11/2017

Yesterday my roommate and I had some time to explore Amman and happened to stumble upon the Khalid Shoman Foundation, which is an art gallery near Paris circle. It was an amazing area and we were able to see three exhibits, distinct from one another by separate buildings. The main exhibit was Desert Soundcapes by Ammar Khammash who “explores the landscape of Jordan and Palestine to unearth a hidden order, a secret code, or an undiscovered musical scale hidden in the millions of flints in the desert” (Sahel Al Hiyari, exhibit curator). 

My favorite exhibit, however, were photographs taken by the first Arab woman photographer, Karimeh Abbud. Her photographs document her life in Palestine during the British Mandate--around 1920-1930--and was such a compelling view of the everyday life of a Palestinian. Because Abbud advertised herself as a family photographer, her photos are intimate and honest in a way staged photographs from that time are not. Her photographs are staged, but there is an unmistakable familiarity between the photographer and her subjects, which is different from the stiff black and white portraits that share no relationship with the photographer or, by extension, the viewer.

The familiar lifestyle of a home in Palestine was not a part of the images I have seen of Palestine up until this point and I felt so delighted to look at the playful snapshots captured by Abbud. Knowing the everyday, even mundane, parts of life is the most vital, and the most overlooked part of the history of a people. So upon walking into the exhibit, I was so grateful to have the opportunity to see the work of a woman deeply connected to the home lives of Palestinians before the country transformed forever into the complex political question-mark I know it as today. Especially in the context of my classes (The Arab-Israeli Relations), it is easy to become caught up in the historical tragedy, or the violence produced, and put this as context for every Palestinian. Although it is a sad story, the political realities are not wholly representative of the memory of Palestine. There are very real memories of holidays, food, school, and friends that also shape the history in addition to the British Mandate, which are so well captured by Abbud’s photography.

        There were books documenting the other exhibits hosted by the gallery, and the overwhelming majority were Arab artists entrenched in what it means to be Arab, or Muslim, or Palestinian, or of some other Middle Eastern identity, in the present context. This is the first art gallery I have seen so far, but I really hope to come back and see all the other exhibits they host because of the unique intimacy offered by art, especially politically driven art. And, as Edward Saaid might say, everything is political because everything produced by humans is done so in the context of a culture with a political structure that influences that work, often subconsciously. My classes are going to be wonderful and I am really looking forward to them, but these art exhibits supplement my knowledge of individual stories that are often missed when learning an entire history of a group of people. In other words, I am so grateful I was able to see such happy snapshots of everyday life for Karimeh Abbud in the midst of reading about the contentious history of the British mandate. Life continues to go on, even in the slow process of a politically changing landscape.