
If you think it's might be a little awkward having a conversation with an Iraqi artist while standing in front of a rusty bombed out car that exploded on the streets of Iraq, you might think it would be even more unsettling to do so while he's wearing a microphone and another artist is fiddling with his zoom lens and snapping pictures of your conversation.
When I drove into the parking lot of First Congo Church in Cooper-Young this afternoon the first thing I noticed was that giant rusty hunk of exploded car on a trailer behind a tour-bus.
Jeremy Deller's project "It is What it is: Conversations about Iraq," consists of that trailer and two "conversation partners." These men are on hand to answer questions about their experience in Iraq.
Jonathan Harvey, the first man I talked to, is a reservist in the military who recently served in Iraq. This friendly looking young white man was stationed under a tent in the First Congo parking lot with a table full of Iraqi newspapers, comic books, knit scarves, and Urban Art Commission stickers. I sat down under the tent with him and tried to butt into a conversation between him and another vet to ask a few questions about his experience. He told me a little about his work with PsyOps distributing propaganda and even showed me a comic book that he had helped distribute in Iraq. He was obviously having a good conversation with his fellow vet, but the most memorable moment of that conversation to me was when he was talking about the evolution of insurgency tactics. As a metaphor, he started talking about how impossible it is to kill cockroaches in New York with an ordinary can of Raid. Then someone mentioned something about nuclear weapons. Yikes.
That grossed me out a little, so I excused myself from the table and started up a conversation with
Esam Pasha, an Iraqi artist who sought asylum in the US in 2005. Mr. Pasha was very approachable and I feel like I could have chatted with him for hours, I even felt the need to apologize at one point because I felt like I was monopolizing his time. I was fascinated by the duality of his experience. Mr. Pasha, a man who speaks five languages,
has been interviewed about his work by CNN, and who worked in the British Embassy in Iraq, claimed his favorite place in the United States is the decidedly un-exotic Connecticut. Since Connecticut is not high on my list of places to visit, I thought this was really funny. Maybe I should go there to see what all the fuss is about.
Mr. Pasha's descriptions of cafe life on the banks of the Tigris River before the First Gulf War made it seem like a real paradise. He talked about nights spent barbecuing fish with friends and family and afternoons where people would gather at the
Mutanabbi street market to sell or trade their favorite books. Since Mr. Pasha and I were standing in a parking lot that is filled with booths in the Fall during the
Cooper-Young Festival , it was easy to imagine that a Friday on Mutanabbi street would be a lot like neighborhood festivals where vendors set up little booths to sell the things they love. At the Cooper-Young festival we sell art and trinkets and t-shirts while eating corn dogs and drinking something cold; in Bagdhad they'd drink piping-hot super-sweet tea and leaf through books while chatting with neighbors about the things they have read.
Mr. Pasha told me that the education he got while discussing literature at these Friday street markets was far more valuable to him than the things he learned in business administration classes. I guess it's because of those discussions that he's in Memphis today instead of cooped up in a cubicle in Connecticut doing accounting. Knowing how important Mutanabbi Street was to Mr. Pasha added an additional weight to our conversation; the car bomb that travels with Deller, Pasha and Harvey exploded on
Mutanabbi Street on March 5, 2007 .
Although I stood with my back towards that reminder of violence for the duration of our conversation, that hulk of rusted metal seemed to loom ominously over every question I asked. I wondered how Iraq would ever be able to pay to have things put back together in a way that was as beautiful as the world Mr. Pasha described. He reminded me that the Middle East has so much wealth in oil that they really could pay for anything if they could just bring peace to the region. Right now people who need electricity only get about two-hours of power a day in Baghdad. If they want more they're paying for generators the size of a trailer, a substantial investment for the convenience of a working refrigerator or coffee pot.
After chatting with these two men for about an hour and watching Deller running around busily with his cameras, I said goodbye to Mr. Pasha, waved thanks in the general direction of Deller and Harvey, and decided to put some distance between myself and the car bomb. The entire time I was there I couldn't forget that this rusty mess of the trailer killed 30 people and wounded 100 more.
I'm really glad I had a chance to engage in this dialogue. I got an email this morning from my father-in-law showing pictures of him next to the monuments in Baghdad.
How small is the world?
Off to David Lusk and L. Ross, to look at paintings that are pretty and sweet.