by Goffredo Fofi
Il Sole 24 ORE
(This is a translated version of the review of Hidden Islam that appeared on the Italian newspaper Il Sole 24 ORE on August 17th 2014 and can be retrieved here.)
This year’s Arles Festival—the leading photography event in Europe—has crowned 29-year-old Nicolò Degiorgis from Bolzano, a graduate in Chinese from Ca’ Foscari and a scholar of immigration issues at the University of Trieste, as the author and publisher of this year’s “best author’s book.”
It’s an important award, this time given to a self-produced book, and a well-deserved one—for the precision and beauty of the edition (the book can be requested via www.rorhof.com; Rorhof is the name of the photography publishing house, which Degiorgis hopes to expand into other areas as well, together with Eleonora Matteazzi in his hometown), as well as for the originality and strength of the idea behind it, the subject matter, and the way it is explored.
The title of the book is Hidden Islam, and the subtitle is Islamic makeshift places of worship in North East Italy, 2009–2013. It is essentially a survey, an investigation into the improvised, temporary, and sometimes semi-permanent prayer spaces that Muslim immigrants in Northeast Italy have created—often in semi-clandestine conditions due to hostility from the surrounding environment.
The Venetian paradox lies in the massive presence of immigrants (mostly Muslims), whose labor the local economy depends on, and the often racist way that society has chosen to receive them.
As Martin Parr—one of the most original and formidable photographers of our time—recalls in the preface he wrote for the book, Italy is home to nearly one and a half million Arabs and has allowed the construction of only eight mosques throughout the entire peninsula. “Even though in Italy the right to freedom of religion, without discrimination, is protected by the Constitution,” and even though “Islam is the second most widespread religion,” it is not officially recognized by the state.
Parr continues: “One fascinating aspect of photography is that it can speak of places and ideas we would otherwise have no knowledge of.” Yes, there remains a cognitive aspect of photography (and of journalism and documentary cinema, when they avoid the obvious) that should never be taken for granted. Even though in recent years the explosion and invasion of communication—the manipulated and manipulative kind, the fake communication—has made its role uncertain and often relegated it to simply confirming what is already known or to the misadventures of art, that doesn’t mean it cannot still be used—like investigative journalism or documentary and semi-documentary cinema—to explore the unknown, the dark corners of society, and all those things we refuse to see, even though we ought to.
This is an active book, then—one after which we can no longer claim ignorance, and which invites us to take the matter into our own hands, according to our conscience.
Degiorgis explored his Northeast, from Trento to Trieste—the westernmost and easternmost cities—and from Badia Polesine to Merano—the southernmost and northernmost. He divided his photos into exteriors (black and white, a frame on a white page) and interiors (in color and spread across two pages, enclosed within folded pages that show the exteriors), according to the kinds of places that the faithful have repurposed into places of worship.
These include warehouses, storage rooms, shops, supermarket corners, apartments, stadiums, gyms, garages, and nightclubs… Sometimes the interiors are really outdoor spaces inside other interiors, so to speak—small, secluded areas between buildings, passageways, courtyards, and grassy patches between a wall, a fence, and a hedge, brought to life by multicolored rugs. They show a few or many individuals—mostly men—bowing in prayer toward Mecca, barefoot, seen from behind, from above, with their faces hidden; men who are once again feeling and becoming part of a community, of a collective.
The dominant aridity of the exteriors—mostly soulless buildings, though occasionally spaces belonging to sympathetic associations or non-profits, in supportive communities that are not shown here—is starkly contrasted with the color and warmth of the interiors, always presented without emotional manipulation, with maximum objectivity and respectful distance. Degiorgis’s book is not one of denunciation, but one of acknowledgment: of discrimination, of injustice; something more than just a “problem,” as our politicians would prefer to label it.
This beautiful and important book is not the only one, from within the Northeast, that brings to light the ambiguities of a region blessed with wealth and now forced to reckon with painful truths. Many writers and directors are working there with clarity and determination—I think, among the more recent examples, of Alessandro Rossetto’s film Piccola patria and Francesco Maino’s novel Cartongesso, though many more names and titles could be listed.
Nicolò Degiorgis’s photos tackle the Northeast from the side of the “new Venetians,” necessary and undeniably different, who must be afforded the same responsibilities but also the same rights as everyone else, without distinction of faith. Long live Rorhof Editions.
Goffredo Fofi, Il Sole 24 ORE, 17.08.2014