Photographs really should be printed and hung on walls; I say this as someone who loves photography not as a photographer.
As I work towards launching a new website dedicated to print sales I am offering a generous discount to raise the necessary funds, buying a print will go a long way to supporting my work as well as the opportunity to own a beautifully crafted image.
The prints are made at a London lab that pride themselves in producing the highest quality Giclee prints using the latest Epson professional Ultrachrome inks on beautiful archival rag paper.
Only $75 for a 30cm x 40 cm print (+ postage) other sizes are of course available.
The images on this post are just a sample; please do search my website and Facebook page for alternatives.
(Please note a few images are not available due to lost hard-drives when I fled my house in Syria)
Have a browse and drop me a line and I will forward a detailed price list.
One of my enduring memories of living in Damascus will always be the early morning ritual of my neighbor’s pigeon’s swoop and circle above my house. While I sip coffee on my rooftop he would wave and whistle at his birds, even when the war started they continued to fly, they still do. The formation they rarely strayed from their flight path, much like the fighter jets that also became a morning ritual and one I wish would not endure.
Syrians know the men as Kashash al Hamam, almost every working class neighborhood has one, men of dubious character, so dubious in fact their testimony is not accepted in court, although they’re hardly pushers or pimps. I am sure most Syrians in exile reading this will feel a peck at their heart strings; looking down from Qasyun as the sun is setting and among a thousand minarets are a thousand flocks that swirl and eddy over the city.
Innocuous it may seem but their reputation as fly-by-nights has been earned through guile; kidnapping and extortion are all part of the sport – when a neighbor’s bird is lured by a feathered temptress onto the roof of the pigeon loft, a net is waiting, and then begins the harangue and haggle. Mostly it’s a game and all the contestants know the unwritten rules but from time to time blood is spilled.
Morally too there is dispute; Kashash al Hamam are deemed un-Islamic, spending too much time and money on their birds and not enough with their family, and of course the fact that the sport is carried out on rooftops that afford a voyeuristic vantage point, open courtyards where modesty can be disregarded.
In my time exploring this fascinating world I found less of the darker side, constantly being warned to stay away from the edge of the roof so as not to annoy the neighbors, for the most part the men I met just wanted a distraction from the usual stresses of everyday life, a cigarette and a cup of tea.
Now as Syria is being ripped apart by a brutal war and the Daesh virus spreads unchecked across the country, the self-styled Mullahs of the so called Islamic State have issued a Fatwa outlawing the keeping of pigeons, the reason farcical in the extreme; the sight of the birds genitals as they fly overhead being offensive to Islam. It would be funny if it were not so desperately sad.
The fabric of Syrian society is being torn to shreds, once tolerant and accepting it’s now divided and bleeding, the bearded firebrands are not welcome in Syria, perhaps it’s not the keeping of pigeons that is the problem but that the dove is a symbol of peace.
I lived in Syria for ten years including the first two and half years of the war, I ran foul of the security services and was placed under investigation, follow my Damascus Diaries for the unfolding drama.
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I photographed Syrian farmer Mohammed Darwish in late 2009 while on assignment for the Financial Times, this was three years after the worst drought for nine hundred years and two years before the beginning of the current Syrian war.
Mohammed was forced to leave his farm in Hasekeh in the north east of the country after successive crop failures, over the course of the drought hundreds of thousands of other Syrian farmers were forced to migrate south to the cities which were often already overcrowded with refugees from the war in neighboring Iraq.
How much the drought impacted the war is open to debate but there must be little doubt that socio economic factors must have contributed, the war has touched every segment of Syrian society but the poorest needless to say suffer most, millions of refugees in the camps of Jordan, Lebanon and Turkey are from the most vulnerable communities.
Mohammed was determined to continue working the harsh Syrian steppe and resist migrating to the city, we found him tending a flock of sheep on a narrow strip of land currently under Syrian government control but sandwiched between the deluded forces of the Islamic State to the east and west.
Needless to say I have no idea how or where Mohammed is now, like so many Syrians I met and photographed over the years, I do though smile when I remember him asking if I was going to take a thousand pictures and when we asked if he had anything waiting for him back in Hasakeh he replied only an old mattress, but you can’t eat a mattress he said and drew heavily on his cigarette.
My fingers were freezing as I fired off the thousandth frame but I wanted to capture the resilience etched in Mohammed’s face.
So it was bound to come out sooner or later; Me, Clinton and the funding ISIS scandal.
Thanks to that bloody Assange and his leaking Wiki tittle-tattle, like a jealous teenager Julian it seems has been scrolling through Hilary’s Whatsapp messages and internet history to find irrefutable proof that the inevitable leader of the free world has been funding the Islamic State.
That the Democrat nominee is corrupt would not come as a surprise to many, that she has been funding ISIS is, albeit unlikely, hardly something she would shy away from had the deal something to offer in her interests such as, well you know, profit, no, obviously the shock of the revelations is my involvement.
So the accusation that Hills back in the early 1990’s was a board member of the French cement company Lafarge, the same company may have received micro finance loans aimed at development projects in third world countries, Lafarge has a cement factory in Raqqa province in Syria, in the heart of the short lived (I am sure) Caliphate, the French CEO is reported to have paid via a series of middle men, or as we prefer to call them; blood sucking parasitic war lords, substantial amounts of cash to keep the factory operational, ISIS taxes or protection money call it what you like, the factory was able to continue production and importantly continue to employ and pay local staff until it finally closed in 2014.
So where in this sordid story does Wreford come in I hear you ask; In the summer of 2011 I was commissioned by Lafarge to visit Raqqa province and photograph the factory, staff and some of the surrounding area, the revolution in Syria was well underway by that time and fighting was taking place in Homs and the south but Aleppo and the north still relatively calm, it proved to be one of my last paying jobs in Syria.
I flew with a representative of Lafarge to Aleppo, as usual on arrival my camera equipment caused a degree of excitement with the security guys, journalist, journalist one was the cry of one young recruit almost weeping with pleasure, we calmed them down with some official paperwork and set of for our hotel.
We checked into the brand new Carlton Citadel hotel, a swanky palace of a place that was once a beautiful Ottoman hospital, I had already visited the hotel just before it opened the previous year, its only redeeming feature being the views over the beautiful old city of Aleppo. Syria in 2010 was a very different place and tourism investment was flourishing, the Carlton though was in the wrong place at the wrong time, the time being 2014 and the wrong place being the front line between the Syrian regime army who were using it as a base to attack the rebel opposition, in an audacious attack opposition forces tunneled under the hotel and laid enough explosives to raise the hotel to the ground, its Google + page now declaring it permanently closed.
Early the following morning we drove the 150 Kms or so via a few military checkpoints without problem to the factory where we spent the day, unlike cement factories I have photographed in Egypt this was pristine, efficient, safety conscious and came with the usual overwhelming Syrian hospitality that included not only a substantial lunch but also a porta-cabin with bed and shower to relax in. The afternoon was spent visiting some of the local farming villages, remote and beautiful countryside, Bedouin shepherds and fields of smiling sunflowers, it was a calm and peaceful time but the war was very close and would inevitably arrive.
The factory eventually closed its doors in 2014, the staff were paid for a while but soon mostly fired, and the local villages were overrun by the godless animals of Daash, now as I write this the trip is fresh in my mind yet so much has changed, I hope those beautiful people have survived all that has been wrought upon them.
My name has been redacted from the emails but I will confess here and now I did take money from Hilary Clinton via a Syrian intermediary working for Lafarge during the Syrian uprising.
Every day my Facebook time line is filled with pictures of your beautiful children, their birthday parties, dress-up Halloween, guitar practice and first day at school, happy moments you share with friends and family, I love this insight, the peek into another life often far away.
So I want to share with a photo of a little girl who’s life is not so happy although with her straw blonde hair, blue eyes and knowing smile she could easily be a part of any of your families or friends, but she isn’t, she is unfortunate enough to live in a tent on the side of a freezing windswept hill in Syria, her Mum is not instagraming pictures of her blowing the candles out on her birthday cake she is just too busy trying to stay alive, she is not there by choice, she has fled the horror of war, she would love to go back home but she can’t.
She could though with a little help and kindness benefit from a wonderful educational program organsized by the Karam Foundation called Zeitouna; is it really too much to ask for you to make a small donation or at least share with your friends the link-please?
I have to confess Aleppo has never been my favorite city in Syria, I tried often to like it, after a decade of life in Damascus I guess I succumbed to the Shami perspective of preferring the capital, that said I did enjoy my frequent visits, the bus journey though was tedious, five hours of monochrome monotony apart from a brief glimpse of greenery while passing through the gardens of Hama, arriving in just the wrong mood for a city too busy to woo me the way Damascus would, I preferred the train, leaving on the midnight sleeper and arriving just after dawn, it was a longer journey but at least sleep was a possibility, arriving in any city by train is infinitely preferable, Aleppo station has seen a great deal of history pass along its platforms, the Berlin to Baghdad posters have given way to Bashar’s but the essence has been retained, well run and spotlessly clean with toilet facilities a joy to behold, not that you would, in 2003 the management even had the foresight to agree to hold the Syrian International Photography Gathering arranged by the eponymous Issa Touma, I remember old Bedouin farmers stepping off the train from the north east and pondering my images with genuine interest before heading off to do battle with the businessmen of the souk.
From the station into town is a casual stroll through a well-kept park that early in the morning is always busy with joggers and walkers, old and young, Christian and Muslim, male and female, Versace sweat pants and ipods, sitting on park bench sipping coffee it would seem to me it that it was almost compulsory that every facet of Syrian society was represented, the fountains and pools the manicured lawns, you could learn more about Syria sitting here drinking coffee than you ever would staring at Saladin’s stones, judging by the media representation of Syria recently I get the impression though that nobody ever did, so let’s stroll on to the souk, and yes it’s a labyrinth and an assault on the senses, lets gaze up at the medieval marvel that is the citadel and remark that it is, indeed imposing and then let’s turn our backs and walk away.