Sep

Crossing Cultures To Tell A Story of Turmoil

by Meredith Mullins on September 9, 2019

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Environmental disaster in Ogoniland, Nigeria (2013)
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

The World Is Screaming

The power of an image can be far reaching. A story can be told—or a message delivered— in even a single photograph.

And when a space is filled with images that have a common theme, the story becomes exponentially compelling.

This is the impact of photographer Philippe Chancel’s series “Datazone”—photographs made in remote and diverse corners of the world to reveal realities that we don’t ordinarily see. The interwoven essence becomes increasingly clear.

Damaged ship and house after earthquake and tsunami in Tohoku, Japan, part of the Datazone exhibit at the Rencontres d'Arles, using Chancel photographs and crossing cultures to deliver a message via documentary photography. (Image © Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and the Melanie Rio Fluency Gallery.)

The aftermath of natural disasters
Tohoku, Japan (2011)
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

This series of images delivers the disturbing message that our planet and its inhabitants are in trouble.

Chancel is adept at crossing cultures to reveal the signs and symptoms of what Datazone Curator Michel Poivert calls a world in decline. “The world is screaming,” Poivert says. And we have to take notice.

Philippe Chancel’s Datazone at the Rencontres d’Arles
© Meredith Mullins

“Datazone” at the Rencontres d’Arles

The Datazone exhibit was one of the highlights of the 2019 Rencontres d’Arles photography festival. The images filled the cathedral-like Église des Frères Prêcheurs. The 16^th century gothic space lent a symbolic importance to the visual storytelling.

Directional lines on the floor led to each of the countries represented, reminding us that the world’s problems are not isolated to a few “hot zones.” We are surrounded by turmoil.

Chancel includes 14 countries in the Datazone exhibit.
© Meredith Mullins

Chancel’s sensitive and thoughtful explorations from the past 15 years show us brutal dictatorships, environmental tragedies, the effects of climate change, war, natural disasters, and the dehumanizing effects of modernization.

French photographer Philippe Chancel
© Meredith Mullins

The Datazone exhibit includes 14 different sites, from Fukushima to Haiti, from Marseilles to Nigeria, from North Korea to Afghanistan, from Antarctica to the United Arab Emirates, from the West Bank in Israel to the Greece/Macedonia border. From Kazakhstan to South Africa. From the U.S. (Flint, Michigan) to India (Mumbai).

Marikana, South Africa (2012)
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

The places were chosen by Chancel as areas in peril. They became part of his journey perhaps because of a specific disaster or social or political event. But they were often selected because the issues were off the main media’s radar or were insidious growths, moving slowly toward danger.

Dehumanizing modernization
Marseille, France (2017/2018)
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

Moments of Truth

Once on site, Chancel chooses his photographic moments carefully. No clichés. No staging. No special effects. Just reality, which is sometimes subtle and sometimes dramatically direct. He shows us hidden truths.

In many scenes, Chancel shows us the future conjoined to the past. Skyscrapers mixed with barren desert land. Opulence and poverty in close proximity. High speed roads alongside well-trodden paths. Natural beauty overtaken by industrial disaster.

The past and future together
Abu Dhabi (2007)
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

Chancel shows us not just the effects of war, but the change in life as a result of years of war. We are shown the compounds, surrounded by barbed wire, built to protect the rich warlords from attack . . . and the mercenaries who guard the concrete structures with Kalashnikovs.

Guarded compound in Kabul, Afghanistan (2012)
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

He shows us the aftermath of natural disasters, such as the 2010 Haiti earthquake and the 2011 earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear reactor tragedy of the Tohoku region of Japan.

The photographs are not the immediate headline-grabbing scenes, but images that tell of the long struggles and hardships that follow such tragedies for years.

The people of Haiti continue their life after the devastating 2010 earthquake
(Port au Prince, Haiti, 2011).
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

He unveils the theater of a dictatorship that requires blind loyalty and enthusiastic support, as well as the growing international tendency to create border barricades to prevent the influx of refugees.

Theater or truth?
North Korea. Pyongyang (2013)
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

In several series, he shows us how the pristine beauty of many places on earth is in jeopardy and how once thriving ecosystems have been destroyed.

We see the oil seeping into the life of the people of the Niger Delta from fractured pipelines, threatening the very existence of the farmers and fishermen of the area.

Oil-scarred land of the Niger Delta
Ogoniland, Nigeria (2013)
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

And we sense the melting ice of Antarctica, once described by explorer Charcot as “a vast, magnificent city made from the purest marble”—a dream that he would like to keep dreaming. That collection of “towering amphitheaters and temples built by divine architects” is melting. Yes. Climate change is very real.

Melting majesty
Charcot Point, Antarctica (2017)
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

Although the Datazone exhibit has ended, additional exhibits of the Rencontres d’Arles can be viewed until September 22. The Datazone work will next be shown at Paris Photo 2019 in the Grand Palais of Paris from November 7–10 at the Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency and can also be seen on Philippe Chancel’s website.

Contrasting realities
Abu Dhabi (2007/2011)
© Philippe Chancel. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Melanie Rio Fluency.

Oh I See: A Wake-Up Call to the Planet

When Chancel’s images are taken as a whole collective—crossing cultures on so many continents—the future seems all too clear. This is a wake-up call to the world. The only question that remains is what shall we do . . .

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Meredith Mullins 6 Comments

Afghanistan/Africa/Asia/Crossing Cultures/Greece/Haiti/India/South Africa/USA

Apr

Idyllic, Yet Never Idle

by Joyce McGreevy on April 3, 2017

The Chora, the original capital of Serifos inspires wanderlust to visit this tiny Greek island in the Cyclades. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Parts of the original Chora, the hilltop capital of Serifos, date back to 3 BCE.
© Joyce McGreevy

When Wanderlust Leads to Serifos

I’m on Serifos—and the side effects are wonderful. What sounds like a lyrical Big-Pharma trade name is actually a tiny Greek island, part of the Cyclades southeast of mainland Greece. Wanderlust has led me here. Around 225 of Greece’s 6,000 islands are inhabited. Their populations quadruple with tourists every summer.

But I’m traveling in January to the bafflement of friends. Why Serifos? Why now? One high-powered chum tells me, “Wait till summer, go to Hydra, Mykonos, or Santorini. There’s a fantastic party scene and I’ll introduce you to a TON of contacts.”

And there’s your answer, folks. Because I don’t want to do “the scene,” exchange business cards over cocktails, sign up for “kick-ass Pilates classes,” have my aura read, my spine realigned, or my roots touched up.

I want to just be.

A boat in the harbor at Serifos symbolizes the author's wanderlust to visit this tiny Greek island in the Cyclades. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Serifos in winter: I saw more traffic in the water than on the road.
© Joyce McGreevy

“The Journey Is the Thing”—Homer’s Odyssey

A crewman on the ferry at Serifos makes work into art on a tiny Greek island in the Cyclades. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Ferryside Theatre?
© Joyce McGreevy

I make the five-hour journey by ferry from Piraeus, Athens’ main port, to the Cyclades with laptop in tow. The plan is to divide my time between meeting deadlines and exploring the 30-mile square island.

As the ferry nudges the shore, crewmen stride the descending ramp, nimbly riding its metal edge to the pier and tossing the ropes. Inky night and the Aegean Sea surround us. The darkness is deep, the stars spectacular.

Christos, my host, is there to greet me. His family has traveled from Thessaloniki to make ready what will be my home for the next month.

The house is newly built but traditionally designed, gleaming white with blue trim. Inside, stone walls have been sculpted into counters, shelves, and bedside tables.

On a rain-swept winter’s night, this is heaven. As I unpack, there’s a knock at the door: Athina, Christos’ mother, brings supper on a tray. It’s a good omen when the namesake of the Goddess of Wisdom visits.

A house on the tiny Greek island of Serifos in the Cyclades evokes both wanderlust and a sense of home. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

In tiny Serifos, Christos’ Seaview Modern needs no address, its road no name.
Mail sent to “American lady who talks to cats” would have reached me.
© Joyce McGreevy

Mythology and the Everyday Epic

I settle into pleasant routine, dividing my day between work, walks, and classes. The classes are online: Greek history, language, mythology. According to myth, wing-footed Perseus washed up on Serifos as a baby locked in a wooden chest. Years later, the island’s king sent him on a suicide mission to slay the Medusa. But Perseus returned, using Medusa’s head to turn the king—and Serifos—into stone.

As I gaze up at the commanding heights of stone peaks, the presence of Perseus and other immortals seems completely plausible. In this setting, it’s thrilling to read Homer’s Odyssey, as the hero’s longing for home plays tug-of-war with wanderlust. I read, then head off on rambles of my own.

Hikers on a stone path in Serifos understand the wanderlust to visit this tiny Greek island in the Cyclades. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Springtime in Serifos: a walk with Athina and Aleka.
© Joyce McGreevy

Oh, I see: On an island, everyday moments become epic:

Skirting seasonal ponds by navigating through neighbors’ gardens, a delightful workaround
Savoring the only sound at night, the whispering of the sea
Witnessing the gradual approach of spring, like a ship on the horizon, as tender grasses and wildflowers re-emerge and trees become “birdful” again.

A garden on the tiny Greek island of Serifos in the Cyclades invites those with wanderlust to wander through. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

On Serifos, a rain-blocked road is an opportunity, not an obstacle.
© Joyce McGreevy

Low-tech in Paradise

When Homer’s Odyssey takes our hero to Scheria, he finds a magical land with self-steering ships and self-harvesting crops, yet women still do laundry by hand. On Serifos in the off-season, I have superfast wifi, but my washing machine is a bucket. When I ask a local what time the town’s laundromat opens, she replies Aprílios—“April.”

Christos offers to have someone do my laundry, but neither I nor my minimalist wardrobe warrant the fuss. Better to take a leaf from the Scherian women. Hanging laundry outside becomes my favorite ritual, a meditation on the elements—sea, sky, sun, and the mineral richness that speckles this green and rocky earth.

Laundry on a patio in Serifos, a tiny Greek island in the Cyclades, evokes the simple pleasures that come from wanderlust. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

You won’t find this at a laundromat.
© Joyce McGreevy

No Stereotypes on Serifos

The winter population of Serifos hovers around 1,200, excluding small herds of friendly cats. The people are friendly, too, infinitely patient with my child’s-level Greek. I study every evening before bed, letting the words percolate into my dreams. As Homer’s Odyssey says, “There is a time for many words, there is also a time for sleep.”

A leaping cat in Serifos, a tiny Greek island in the Cyclades, shows that wanderlust isn't limited to humans. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

The colors of sea & sky, sand & stone are everywhere on Serifos.
© Joyce McGreevy

Sigá-sigá (“step by step”), says Christina, a local shopkeeper. She, Athina, and others help me gather a living glossary from this small, rich universe—words for sky and clouds, wildflowers and windmills, honey and olive oil. At one taverna, the staff is fluent in English yet take the time to coach me in Greek. The syllables taste as satisfying in the mouth as the exquisite roast chickpea soup with garlic and oregano.

A bowl of revithia, or chickpeas soup, in the tiny Greek island of Serifos in the Cyclades, is one of the rewards of wanderlust. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Revithia sto fourno, a traditional Greek soup made with roasted
chickpeas, oregano, lemon, olive oil—and magic.
© Joyce McGreevy

If this were a movie, Hollywood would reinvent the locals as a Colorful Cast of Loveable Eccentrics. But quaint stereotypes don’t match the reality. People of Serifos travel the world, access 24-hour news, work at a range of professions. Among these thoughtful and serious-minded people, the only oddball I know of is myself.

A well-stocked shop in Serifos shows that even a tiny Greek island in the Cyclades, can satisfy any appetite, including wanderlust. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Think you can’t find gluten-free or other speciality foods in
the hilltop village of a tiny island? Guess again.
© Joyce McGreevy

McGreevy’s Odyssey

One night there’s true misadventure. Whatever gods I’ve inadvertently offended exact revenge on my laptop. Suddenly, I’m not so complacent. Up against deadline, I have two choices:

travel all the way back to Athens, hastily book a room, sort out the laptop, invest in a second one for backup (the cost of doing business while traveling full time), and meet that deadline with minutes to spare; or
curse my fate. As Homer’s Odyssey says, “These mortals are so quick to blame the gods.”

I opt for the journey.

“To Long for the Sight of Home”—Homer’s Odyssey

A ferry pulling into Serifos, a tiny Greek island in the Cyclades, symbolizes the tug-of-war between wanderlust and love of home. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Back in port.
© Joyce McGreevy

When I return to the Cyclades, my sea legs are steady but my land legs not so much. Disembarking, I walk a few paces, then stumble. Immediately, arms reach out to lift me up. There are no strangers on Serifos, only neighbors.

Next morning, as I hang the laundry, the scent of wild rosemary and the thrum of hedgerow bees deliver a message to my senses—spring has landed! Soon it will be Kathari Deftera (“Clean Monday”), a day when children fly kites, bakeries offer unleavened lagana bread, and festivities mark the eve of Lent.

Lagana, a traditional bread found on many a tiny Greek island in the Cyclades, is tasty enough to inspire wanderlust. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Lagana bread: The name, which is also the origin of the
word lasagna, comes from a Greco-Roman pastry dough.
© Joyce McGreevy

Settling into work, I switch on the new laptop. The QWERTY keyboard includes a few Cyrillic letters. Since my software is set for American English, it makes no difference on a practical level, but on a heart level it means something that fills me with joy.

Then it hits me: wanderlust has led full circle. I feel at home on a tiny Greek island in the Cyclades. As Homer said, “Even a fool learns something once it hits him.” Dear Christos, I type, I’d like to stay on Serifos for another month.

A cat, Chora steps, and a weathered urn on Serifos, a tiny Greek island in the Cyclades, create the kind of tableau that inspires wanderlust. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Whether you’ve got nine lives or just one,
Serifos is a good place to be.
© Joyce McGreevy

Access superb online courses in Greek Mythology (University of Pennsylvania) here and
Ancient Greek History (Wesleyan University) here.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Joyce McGreevy 4 Comments

Art of Travel/Crossing Cultures/Greece

Feb

Nobody in Bulgaria Is Calling You a Hobo

by Joyce McGreevy on February 27, 2017

A Bulgarian street prompts the thought that learning a second language will mean learning a second alphabet, Cyrillic. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Not all who wander Bulgarian streets are lost, just the non-Bulgarians.
© Joyce McGreevy

When Learning a Second Language
Means Learning a Second Alphabet

Your mission? Walk to the store. The one with signs that say “HOBO!” Funny, many stores in Bulgaria display that word. Why? You’re learning a second language, but hobo is nowhere in your phrasebook.

Even more mystifying to an English speaker? Bulgarian maps.

A Bulgarian map helps the author understand that learning a second language will mean learning a second alphabet, Cyrillic. (Image in the public domain.)

Should I turn наляво or надясно? And which is which?

Someone tells you, “Bilingual signs are everywhere.” So off you go, innocent as the day you were born. Sure enough, you find a sign with two versions of a street name.

Breakthrough? Nope. Because the sign isn’t actually bilingual. You’re looking at two distinct alphabets showcasing one common language.

Oh sure, the Roman script looks familiar because, it’s used for English. You can even sound it out: Ulitsa Sveti Kiril I Metodiy. But the language is Bulgarian.

And that other script? Кирил И Методий ул. That’s Cyrillic. If it were in English it would say Saints Cyril and Methodius Street.

You don’t just have a language barrier—you have an alphabet barrier.

Bulgarian lettering on a beer glass helps the author understand that learning a second language will mean learning a second alphabet, Cyrillic. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Do I “ask for it by name” or keep pointing
at the cute horsey on the menu?
© Joyce McGreevy

Surprising Cyrillic

Oh, I see: Sometimes learning a second language means learning a second alphabet.

What to do? Stick to GPS? Staring at your phone while crossing city streets seems unwise.

Brazen it out? Seek directions by speaking only English? Also problematic.

It promotes a double standard: “When people come to our English-speaking country they should learn the language, and when we go to their non-English speaking countries we should . . . uh, be able to count on others speaking English.”

Decorative graffiti on a Bulgarian street shows that learning a second language and a second alphabet, Cyrillic, can be fun. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

When in Bulgaria . . .

You could copy street names in Roman script and show them to locals while looking pathetic and finger-miming the act of walking. Thing is, Roman script in Bulgaria, like many other Balkan countries, is a relatively recent phenomenon. It’s a linguistic standardization linked to membership of the European Union.

So, unless you’re showing your note to Sofia’s millennials—many of whom speak three or more languages—you’ll find that Roman script is as unfamiliar to many locals as Cyrillic is to you.

In a pinch, there are translation apps. But good luck forging authentic human connections as you stand jabbing the keypad of a device while holding up the line at a café.

My friend, it’s time to learn a little Cyrillic.

Language Geeks and Greeks

Zahari Zograf's 1848 mural of Bulgarian saints Cyril and Methodius show how the Cyrillic alphabet relates to learning a second language. (Image in the public domain)

Men of letters: Cyril and Methodius with alphabet.
Mural by Zahari Zograf (1848)

First, meet Cyril. St. Cyril, to be precise.

Cyril must be the Russian fellow who invented the Cyrillic alphabet, right?

Sorry, no. According to Bulgarian scholars, Bulgaria introduced Cyrillic, not Russia.

So, Cyril the Bulgarian invented Cyrillic?

If only it were that simple.

He was from Thessaloniki, which today is part of Greece, but was then part of the Bulgarian Empire. Cyril and his kid brother Methodius were monks who liked monkeying around with language.

And so these two Greek Bulgarians (or Bulgarian Greeks) invented the Glagolitic alphabet.

So Many Alphabets, So Little Time

Now I know what you’re thinking: Aha! Glagolitic must have been the first Slavic alphabet! And you’d be right.

The whole thing was modeled on Ancient Greek. In 850 A.D., there was plenty of Ancient Greek left over just waiting for hotshots like Cyril and Methodius to put it to good use.

The Acropolis reminds the author that learning a second language, Bulgarian, owes much to Ancient Greece, birthplace of Cyrillic. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Having set up future generations of Greek and Bulgarian scholars with topics for debate, Cyril and Methodius passed mischievously away. Oh, those wacky monks.

In the 10th century, the C&M Brothers’ linguistic start-up was replaced by another evolution of the Bulgarian alphabet. This is the alphabet that scholars named after both brothers—oops sorry, fella—just Cyril.

Alas, there was no Methodius to their fad-ness.

Today, Cyrillic features in more than 50 languages spoken by over 250 million people in Eurasia. Also in Chicago, home to the largest Balkan community outside of the Balkans.

A traditionally dressed Bulgarian woman using a smartphone remind the author that learning a second language means learning a second alphabet, Cyrillic. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Getting from A to Ж

Let’s begin. There are 30 pairs of letters in the Cyrillic alphabet. Some look and sound a lot like letters in the Roman alphabet: A as in palm, E as in best, O as in order.

Then you have trickster letters, like:

CYRILLIC	SOUNDS LIKE	AS IN
H	N	No way!
B	V	Very confusing!
P	R	Reeeally?
C	S	Seriously?

And I haven’t even mentioned Д (not to be confused with Л). Or Щ (not to be confused with Ш).

Decorative graffiti in Bulgaria suggests the feeling of learning a second language by learning a second alphabet, Cyrillic. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Magical Cyrillic

Okay, just dip your toe in. You’d be surprised what a difference even a handful of letters can make. Consider it your magic decoder ring.

Remember: Many letters, including K, A, and E, made it from Cyrillic into Roman unchanged.

Now, look at this letter: Ф. It sounds like PH in Phone. Knowing that, you can decipher this:

A Bulgarian Cyrillic sign for coffee suggests the benefits of learning a second language by learning a second alphabet. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Next, check out these two signs.

Bulgarian street signs in Cyrillic show that learning a second language can mean learning a second alphabet, Cyrillic. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

You’ve learned Ф, so you can read the sign on the green post.

Now check out the sign on the right. Remember: P (Cyrillic) = R (Roman).

Hooked on Cyrillic

But those are cognates, you say. What about words that are All-Bulgarian-All-the-Time?

A Bulgarian sign for antiques shows that learning a second language sometimes means learning a second alphabet, Cyrillic. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Does Aптека mean “antique”? Look again, knowing that п (Cyrillic) = P (Roman).

Roman lettering makes it APTEKA, which means “Pharmacy.” Handy to know when you have a headache and a 17th century vase just won’t help.

As for HOBO, many a tourist out shopping for souvenirs has misinterpreted it—because they mistook the letters for Roman. But—say it with me —they’re Cyrillic.

Seriously, Nobody in Bulgaria Is Calling You a Hobo

Remember:

H (Cyrillic) = N (Roman)
O is O in both alphabets
B (Cyrillic) = V (Roman)

In short, the Bulgarian word HOBO (Cyrillic) is NOVO (Roman), which literally means NEW. As in, “Sale! Buy now!”

Sold on learning a second language? Then consider learning a second alphabet. From Bulgaria to Greece, Eurasia to Chicago, Cyrillic is as easy as АБЦ.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Joyce McGreevy 10 Comments

Becoming Bilingual/Bulgaria/Greece/Language & Culture

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Crossing Cultures To Tell A Story of Turmoil