Amidst a nation’s political crisis, the stillness of an apartment or house in disarray, encapsulated by a photograph consisting merely of domestic objects—a “ruined kitchen” in the city of Donetsk set in 2014, for instance, an indirect depiction of the destruction ensued by Ukraine’s political violence—carries with it a grim, yet moving sense of solace and nostalgia. Consider the still, object-based photograph of a bedroom in the village of Kobar in Palestine entitled “Habibi,” which means “my love,” captured in August 2015 by Italian documentary photographer Antonio Faccilongo. A man’s suit hangs in the center of a pink-lit bedroom. The man’s name is Nael Al-Barghouth; he is the longest serving Palestinian prisoner in Israel, imprisoned for more than 40 years in Israeli prisons for leading anti-Israel commando operations amidst the century old Israeli-Palestinian conflict (“Habibi”). As a result, he has been separated from his family all these years. Rather than depict violence or war, Faccilongo sought to portray everyday domestic life in Palestine, a tribute to families separated due to rampant Palestinian male imprisonment in Israeli prisons, stemming from cultural conflict. Importantly, Faccilongo endeavored to depict a narrative centered on love and family complicated by separation, but restored bizarrely: through the smuggling of semen out of prison as a means for procreation—an act of familial love (“Habibi”).

In the photograph, Al-Barghouth’s suit ominously hangs by the curtain. His shoes are positioned below, yet his pants are missing, creating an unsettling void in the center of the photograph. Sunlight seeps through the curtains, coating the spacious room in light pink. The room is absent of humans, filled rather with domestic ornaments: a man’s suit, dress shoes, chairs and a table on the left, a large bed on the right, plants, a drawer, picture frames, a clock, a candle, and various decorations. The negative space in the photograph creates a sense of emptiness. Yet the domestic, colorful aesthetic gives us a sense of solace, even hope. How are we to make sense of this contradictory object-based image? How does the use of objects impact our perception of space and time? Moreover, how is our understanding and reaction towards the image altered relative to traditional people-centered conflict photography?

American writer Susan Sontag maintains, through “In Plato’s Cave,” that all photographs by nature are an “elegiac” or “twilight” art, a “memento mori”; they promote a tragic, sorrowful sense of nostalgia, and are ultimately a testament to “time’s relentless melt” (Sontag). While acknowledging the inherent nostalgia present in photographs, Nigerian-American writer Teju Cole, however, elucidates the same phenomena in a different light in his NYTimes article “Object Lesson,” capturing the use of objects in space as intimate vehicles for inspiration and growth of the emotional, “sympathetic” self (Cole). To Cole, if effectively done, conflict photographs of objects can connect the viewer with the image on a deeper emotional level, giving us a “kind of solace” and quietly cultivating in us a sense of love and empathy. Faccilongo’s “Habibi” embodies this contradiction: on one hand, the photo is ominous and empty, an embodiment of Sontag’s pessimist perspective; on the other hand, the image’s calm pink and domestic aesthetic reminds us of home, filled with Cole’s familiar objects that give us a warm sense of nostalgia.

Synthesizing these narratives illuminates the emotional impact of conflict photographs that depict objects. Removing humans from his photograph “Habibi,” Faccilongo creates a thought-provoking narrative for families afflicted by the Israeli-Palestinian conflict by using domestic objects as a lens for personal introspection and associative recreation, morphing the lack of a Palestinian paternal figure in the image, elegiac to the eye, into a universal, touching phenomenon grounded in love, depicting the familial bonds that prevail amidst this cultural crisis, a story that we as an audience can sympathize with—as such, the image is transfigured with a sense of love, strength, and compassion. Through Faccilongo, we see how object-photography can enkindle the emotional self and allow an audience to develop a more intimate understanding of global conflicts in a way that traditional, generic conflict photography fails to do, bridging the gap between the viewer and the people that the objects in an image signify.


From Teju Cole’s “Object Lesson”: “Kitchen scene in Donetsk, Ukraine, August 2014” by Sergei Ilnitsky



“Habibi” by Antonio Faccilongo (Main Exhibit) https://www.worldpressphoto.org/collection/photo-contest/2021/antonio-faccilongo/1

Sontag’s bleak, elegiac outlook on photographs is reflected in Faccilongo’s sole use of objects, which, in tandem with the absence of humans in the image, create a negative space that amplifies an overarching sense of loss associated with the respective objects in the photograph: this loss suggests that the absence of a paternal figure, stemming from the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, fragments a family to the point of total loss, precipitating the “death” of a family, as Sontag might suggest. This loss particularly is embodied by the striking, haunting image of a suit hanging in mid air, positioned vertically relative to dress shoes. There is an empty space where the pants should be, a void if filled would represent a male figure. The void that the pants represent is an emasculating absence, an act of castration almost, stripping the male figure of his masculinity. This figurative castration is emphasized in the image, and amplifies the notion of families, in effect, having lost the ability to procreate, and in effect becoming fragmented and lost.

The hanging suit is reminiscent of a man who has taken his own life and hung himself— this “elegiac” characteristic is reminiscent of Sontag’s “memento mori” in photographs. The suit serves as a haunting reminder of death, as such, and is both a “pseudo-presence and token of absence” (Sontag). In effect, the entire photograph, tainted by the suit, can be seen through Sontag’s eyes as an image, and reminder, of the loss, or death, of family. The image, as a result, is sadly nostalgic, reminding us of the eventual demise of Palestinian families as a result of male imprisonment and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict as a whole. In Sontag’s eyes, we as an audience are made to pity deeply the sadness of this familial mortality.

Like Sontag, Cole similarly highlights the inherent nostalgia present in photographs—however, he focuses particularly on domestic objects and settings, which he argues hold a special, restorative power that “people-centered” (Cole) photographs often lack: objects in a photograph cement a more intimate relationship between the image and the viewer by forcing the viewer to personally reconstruct their own memories associated with an object, as well as an image of the human agent of that object. The viewing process is not destructive or a reminder of eventual death, as Sontag argues, but rather restorative and creatively thought-provoking in Cole’s eyes. The absence of humans invites the viewer to figuratively enter the realm of the photograph and explore that void.

For instance, when looking at an image of a kidnapped girl’s blue blouse, Cole writes: “The faint biographical traces left by this one girl activated my own memories and emotional responses…The blue blouse restores these fragments to me in a way that a portrait of the girl might not have. Photographs of people’s things reach us in this way even in the absence of such biographical coincidences because we recognize their things as being like ours” (Cole).

When we look at “Habibi,” we are compelled to reconstruct remnants of our own childhoods, particularly in a domestic setting, or any associative memories with the the objects in the image, even the color pink, warm and cheerful—the absence of humans ensures our focus is pinned on these sentimental objects. We recognize, as Cole would, that these objects have been used by Al-Barghouth and his family. We can see ourselves situated in the chair, sleeping on the bed, using the drawer, moving the curtains, stepping in Al-Barghouth’s empty shoes and immersing ourselves in the bedroom. We as an audience can both imagine ourselves within the realm of the photograph, and reconstruct our own associative memories. When we consider that we, just like Al-Barghouth, can live within the image, we are intimately absorbed within a fragment of his domestic world, and can empathize with his familial plights. These objects allow us to emotionally connect with the photograph, reminding “us of what was and no longer is” (Cole).

Moreover, we are further compelled to recreate the identities of the human agents of the objects not depicted in the image, “toward the now lost tranquility of the people who owned these items” (Cole). By context, we know that the suit is Al-Barghouth’s. However, we also wonder whose room is being depicted, whether or not it is a child or his wife’s room. What is the story behind the clock in the background? Who purchased the curtains? As a viewer, we become more invested in Al-Barghouth’s story by asking these questions.

Cole’s theory on objects extends Sontag’s commentary: while Sontag’s perspective embeds a sense of futile loss, the impact of this narrative of loss is amplified by the use of objects, which causes us to inquire and sympathize with the human agents of the objects in the image. This sense of loss is even further amplified by objects, but also quietly enkindles a sense of solace and nostalgia, defying Sontag’s notion of “memento mori.” There is Sontag’s sense of loss associated with the hanging suit and the consequent fragmentation of families and domestic life. This sadness is also felt by the audience—amplified particularly by the use of Cole’s objects—but countered by the hopeful pink aesthetic of the room. This loss is not futile or definite, however, as Sontag would suggest. Sontag maintains that photographs are “attempts to contact or lay claim to another reality,” a futile, desperate reach towards “the unattainable” (Sontag): despite the potential portrayal of an unattainable family in the photograph, the room being intact, furniture undamaged, and the warm pink light spreading across the room highlights the strength of familial bonds and relationships amidst the lack of paternal figures. The distance between the human agents of the objects and the viewer sparks curiosity and introspection, urging us to further inquire about humans represented by objects, and become more invested in their stories. We discover through this introspection the universal connections we share with not only Al-Barghouth’s but all affected families indirectly portrayed by “Habibi.”

The use of vacant objects allows us to more intimately envision and then understand the total absence that Sontag observes, universalizing Al-Barghouth’s struggles to that of all families afflicted by the conflict. Through Cole, we see the ramifications of this process on our emotional self. The photo rekindles love and understanding, reminding us of our own families and our own childhood experiences we may have forgotten. Cole quotes Proust: “‘We think we no longer love the dead because we don’t remember them, but if by chance we come across an old glove we burst into tears’” (Cole). Cole extends Sontag’s notions of nostalgia and sadness in photographs, adding a layer of nuance through objects, a medium that transfigures seemingly hopeless, morbid images, amplifying the nostalgic emotions in a photograph, but simultaneously reminding us of what we “love.” What seems dead—family, paternal figures, domestic life—in Sontag’s eyes in “Habibi” is rekindled by a sense of love and appreciation for family and households, catalyzed by Faccilongo’s incorporation of nostalgic domestic objects.

Israeli professor Ariella Azoulay, perhaps best meshes Sontag’s and Cole’s perspectives, positing that a photograph’s “failure to fulfill the fantasy of a sovereign source” is what “turns photography into a civil medium and a priceless source” (Azoulay). The multidimensional interpretations occur as a function of Faccilongo’s use of objects. Indeed, his photo contrasts the “productive shock” (Cole), yet simultaneously generic senselessness, of many conflict photographs that feature humans as the main protagonists. We are so often desensitized to the commonality of these shocking depictions of human suffering. Despite the absence of humans in Faccilongo’s photo, we see through Azoulay and Cole that the objects themselves serve as a “civil medium,” reminding us of the stories of the humans whose troubles are signified by the objects in Faccilongo’s image. The impact of “Habibi” on our emotions is evident: the use of objects creates a quiet and nuanced, yet moving rendering of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, allowing us to intimately understand its impacts on domestic life and familial relations, giving us a sense of solace and enkindling our emotional self.

Works Cited:

Azoulay, Ariella. What Is a Photograph? What Is Photography? - Monoskop.org. https://monoskop.org/images/7/71/Azoulay_Ariella_2010_What_is_a_photograph.pdf.

Cole, Teju. “Object Lesson.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 17 Mar. 2015, https://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/22/magazine/object-lesson.html.

“Habibi.” Antonio Faccilongo SOY-AAD | World Press Photo, https://www.worldpressphoto.org/collection/photo-contest/2021/antonio-faccilongo/1.

Sontag, Susan. Susan Sontag, in Plato’s Cave from the Book: On Photography. https://cpb-us-e2.wpmucdn.com/sites.uci.edu/dist/d/1438/files/2014/02/SontagSusan_InPlatosCave.pdf.