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Stewart Clelland

Stewart Clelland

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Tag: Photography

Posted on July 9, 2017November 11, 2018

Jerusalem: Photographic Essay

'And did those feet in ancient time'..... A photographic essay from a recent trip to Jerusalem, Israel. These pictures were taken days before the escalating Israeli-Palestinian tensions turned into violence that killed six people: three Palestinians in street clashes in Jerusalem and three Israelis in a stabbing attack at a West Bank settlement. Three Palestinians …

Continue reading "Jerusalem: Photographic Essay"

Prague | Czech Republic | 50.0755° N, 14.4378° E

The Crucifix and Calvary (Prague). There are 30 statues mounted to the balustrade of Charles Bridge in Prague. This sculpture is one of the most historically interesting sculptures on the bridge, which gradually gained its present appearance throughout many centuries. The original wooden crucifix was installed at this place soon after 1361 and probably destroyed by the Hussites in 1419. A new crucifix with a wooden corpus was erected in 1629 but was severely damaged by the Swedes towards the end of the Thirty Years' War. The remnants of this crucifix can be found in the lapidarium of the National Museum in Prague. This was replaced by another wooden Calvary which, in turn, was replaced with a metal version in 1657. Bought in Dresden, this crucifix was originally made in 1629 by H. Hillger based upon a design by W. E. Brohn. In 1666, two lead figures were added, but these were replaced in 1861 by the present sandstone statues by Emanuel Max, portraying the Virgin Mary and John the Evangelist. The golden Hebrew text on the crucifix was added in 1696 and is a prime example of Medieval European anti-Semitism. In that year, the Prague authorities accused a local Jewish leader, one Elias Backoffen, of blasphemy. As his punishment he was ordered to raise the funds for purchasing of gold-plated Hebrew letters, placed around the head of the statue, spelling out "Holy, Holy, Holy, the Lord of Hosts," the Kedusha from the Hebrew prayer and originating in the vision from the Book of Isaiah. The inscription was a symbolic humiliation and degradation of Prague Jews, forcing them to pay for a set of golden letters referring to God and hung around the neck of the statue of Christ (information from Steven Plaut, The "Vav" from the Charles Bridge). A bronze tablet with explanatory text in Czech, English and Hebrew was mounted under the statue by the City of Prague in 2000. The tablet's placement came after an American Rabbi, Ronald Brown of Temple Beth Am in Merrick, New York was passing over the bridge and noted the possibly offensive nature of the placing of the text. Upon a direct request to the mayor, the tablet was soon placed to the side of the statue.
The Crucifix and Calvary (Prague). There are 30 statues mounted to the balustrade of Charles Bridge in Prague. This sculpture is one of the most historically interesting sculptures on the bridge, which gradually gained its present appearance throughout many centuries. The original wooden crucifix was installed at this place soon after 1361 and probably destroyed by the Hussites in 1419. A new crucifix with a wooden corpus was erected in 1629 but was severely damaged by the Swedes towards the end of the Thirty Years’ War. The remnants of this crucifix can be found in the lapidarium of the National Museum in Prague. This was replaced by another wooden Calvary which, in turn, was replaced with a metal version in 1657. Bought in Dresden, this crucifix was originally made in 1629 by H. Hillger based upon a design by W. E. Brohn. In 1666, two lead figures were added, but these were replaced in 1861 by the present sandstone statues by Emanuel Max, portraying the Virgin Mary and John the Evangelist. The golden Hebrew text on the crucifix was added in 1696 and is a prime example of Medieval European anti-Semitism. In that year, the Prague authorities accused a local Jewish leader, one Elias Backoffen, of blasphemy. As his punishment he was ordered to raise the funds for purchasing of gold-plated Hebrew letters, placed around the head of the statue, spelling out “Holy, Holy, Holy, the Lord of Hosts,” the Kedusha from the Hebrew prayer and originating in the vision from the Book of Isaiah. The inscription was a symbolic humiliation and degradation of Prague Jews, forcing them to pay for a set of golden letters referring to God and hung around the neck of the statue of Christ (information from Steven Plaut, The “Vav” from the Charles Bridge). A bronze tablet with explanatory text in Czech, English and Hebrew was mounted under the statue by the City of Prague in 2000. The tablet’s placement came after an American Rabbi, Ronald Brown of Temple Beth Am in Merrick, New York was passing over the bridge and noted the possibly offensive nature of the placing of the text. Upon a direct request to the mayor, the tablet was soon placed to the side of the statue.
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Isle of Skye | An t-Eilean Sgitheanach | 57.5359° N, 6.2263° W

Bodach an Stòrr (The Old Man of Storr) The folklore of the Western Isles often describes the formation of the surrounding landscape as the result of the exploits between fairies and giants, and their ill-fated conflicts with Men. One such story explains that the geological oddity known as the 'Old Man of Storr' on the north of Skye is in fact the thumb of a giant who died and became buried in the earth. Another version is that whilst fleeing from attackers, two giants, an old man and his wife, made the unfortunate decision to look back and as they did so were turned to stone.
Bodach an Stòrr (The Old Man of Storr) The folklore of the Western Isles often describes the formation of the surrounding landscape as the result of the exploits between fairies and giants, and their ill-fated conflicts with Men. One such story explains that the geological oddity known as the ‘Old Man of Storr’ on the north of Skye is in fact the thumb of a giant who died and became buried in the earth. Another version is that whilst fleeing from attackers, two giants, an old man and his wife, made the unfortunate decision to look back and as they did so were turned to stone.
An t-Eilean Sgitheanach - The Fairy Pools
An t-Eilean Sgitheanach – The Fairy Pools
Bodach an Stòrr (The Old Man of Storr)
Bodach an Stòrr (The Old Man of Storr)
An t-Eilean Sgitheanach - The Fairy Pools
An t-Eilean Sgitheanach – The Fairy Pools

Lewis & Harris | Na h-Eileanan Siar | 58.2416° N, 6.6616° W

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Chanoud Garh | Rajasthan, India | 25.53° N, 73.13° E

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Budapest | Hungary | 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E

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Carpathian Mountains | Transylvania | Romania | 46°46′0″N 23°35′0″E

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The Findhorn Foundation | Scotland | 57.65° N, 3.60° W

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Prague | Czech Republic

Goulash and absinthe have a way of waking you up, and waking up in Prague in the morning winter sun is, however delicate your condition, a good thing. Leafing through an old stained copy of Hašek’s ‘The Good Soldier Švejk‘, I went for a walk beneath the Astronomical Clock and into an empty Church hidden by the narrows of the Old Town. Loitering there among the pews, I started to remember the piano player I heard the night before and thought how strange it was that Prague should feel the way I imagined Paris would, but didn’t. Lit by broken panes of coloured glass, I was drawn to the figure of an old man in black opening the doors of a wooden partition. By way of introduction, he told me about the historic stones carved out around us. ‘Furthermore’ he said, ‘for seven years, I was interned in a Communist Camp’. Asking if I was a Catholic if I too had suffered, he raised his hand to my head and blessed me. He blessed my wife, and he blessed our unborn Presbyterian moon-child. I thanked him and awkwardly turned to leave. A young man in an orange baseball cap entered the Church and asked if he could take a photograph of them both together. Dutifully and woefully, the Priest obliged. Leaving, I looked at my phone and up towards the Altar. I smiled and wondered what Kafka would have made of all this, and I started to feel better; I began to feel less like the gin-soaked imposter the Priest, and I had hitherto suspected. I took a selfie in the vestibule; apathetic, I posted it to Facebook.

Rajasthan | India

Cap in hand, and in the 42º heat, we drove through the Great Indian Desert, also known as Rajasthan’s Thar Desert. It is a vast, arid region in the northwestern part of the Indian subcontinent that forms a natural boundary between India and Pakistan. It is the world’s 17th largest desert and the world’s 9th largest subtropical desert. A few hours in, we come across a mobile disco. Brightly coloured, with an impressive PA system, the retrofitted van drew a small, but enthusiastic crowd of devotees. It was here, in this populated desert region, that I was lucky enough to meet several Hindu priests and holy men, known as Sādhus. In Hinduism, a sādhu is a religious ascetic. It means one who practices a ″sadhana″ or he who follows a spiritual path. The sādhu is wholly committed to the practice of achieving mokṣa (liberation), through meditation and the contemplation of Brahman. Sādhus are known for wearing saffron-coloured clothing, symbolising their sannyāsa (renunciation). One certain temple priest, whom I had the pleasure of spending the afternoon with after the disco, told me the saffron colour represents the fire into which they have cast their material possessions. The Sanskrit terms sādhu (“good man”) refers to these renouncers who have chosen to live lives apart from or on the edges of society to focus on their own spiritual practice. Sādhus are considered to be dead unto themselves, and legally dead to the country of India. As a ritual, they may be required to attend their own funeral before following a guru for many years. With the help of different guides and hotel staff as translators, I was able to spend some time chatting to this temple priest by the name of K.B Vyas, who in a past life worked for the Food Corporation of India. He told me about the processes and rituals of becoming a sādhu. A sādhu is initiated by a guru, who bestows upon the initiate a new name, as well as a mantra, (or sacred sound or phrase), which is generally known only to the sādhu and the guru and may be repeated by the initiate as part of meditative practice. At the end of our chat, the Priest passed me a piece of paper with a mantra he had selected for me – ‘There are no necessities, but everywhere possibilities; and man, as a master of the possibilities, is the judge of their use’.

Sahara desert | 31.1458° N, 3.9678° W

Marrakesh | Morocco

With three distinct gold globes, the minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque dominates the Marrakesh horizon. Legend tells that one day during the month of Ramadan, the wife of Youcoub El Mansour (c. 1160- 1199) ate three small grapes. In penance, she melted down all her jewellery and moulded them into these three great gold spheres. My wife and I, in the shadow of the famous minaret, sat amongst the madness of the city’s Djemaa El Fna market. Formerly a place of execution, it now hosts a carnival of hectic snake charmers, vendors and wide-eyed tourists. In front of me is a monkey in a Barcelona shirt and a plate of freshly steamed sheep head. I took a bite and convinced myself that it couldn’t be any worse than the snail soup I’d already eaten. In the souq, sheep heads are steamed for five hours and served for dinner. Sold as a half or whole head with or without the eyes, the brains are sold separately at other stalls, so I’m told. The steamed head in front of me had the brains, but no eyes. I sprinkle the whole thing with cumin, salt and chilli, and scraped out the tender cheek meat and tongue. The drumming starts to intensify behind us, and I decided that the snail soup was better.

Marrakesh is an ancient maze filled with countless winding streets and even more motorcycles. The souqs are a confusing warren of spices and artisan quarters. The Jewish Quarter of Marrakesh is one such souq built by Spanish Jews after the time of the inquisition in the 15th and 16th centuries. Containing the oldest synagogue in Morocco, built-in 1492, Moroccans are at pains to emphasis to the peace and harmony of the countries different ethnic and religious denominations, which given the long-established marginalisation of the indigenous Amazigh (Berber) people is something of a half-truth. Only the day before, on the way to the seaside town of Essaouira, one rather friendly driver openly revealed his official obligation to give specific hand signals to roadside police indicating whether or not he had a Jew and/or Americans in the car. He told me he didn’t know why… ‘economic reasons or something’. I didn’t pursue the matter, but then again, I’m neither a Jew nor American. I am European, at least until the end of the month. Very few people knew where Scotland was, so I then said we were British, for the moment anyway, depending on who you ask. Most people just assumed we were German. It was easier to play along.

Nearby, the Saadien Tombs sit. They date to the time of Ahmed El Mansour (1549-1603) the Saadien sultan. The Alaouite monarchy, the royal family of Morocco’s current King Mohammed IV, who succeeded the Saadiens, feared the love the people had for the Saadiens and so built a massive wall around the tombs to ensure it did not become an emblem of devotion. The tombs remained hidden and practically unknown for two hundred years until an aerial survey by the French in 1917 revealed its location. With its fakes, façades, parody and authenticity, Morocco is a strange brew of contrast and contradictions. And as we sit in the square, I loved it all and did my best not to participate in the objectification of the ‘Other’. I told myself this when I arrived in the square. A multitude before me had taken pictures of the locals and without permission, turning them into strange oriental objects. People, however, actively court my camera for the money, and I succumb. It is too easy to intellectualise the ethics of post-colonialism when you have money and a passport. I am no better than the multitude – I took plenty of pictures. And posted a great deal on social media – adding brick after brick to a façade of my own.

After a few days, we take the road southeast from Marrakesh towards Ouarzazate zigzagging up the dizzying turns of the Tizi-n-Tichka. We would be stopping off at a tiny village known as Skoura via Telouet and Ait Benhaddou. The Kasbah of Telouet was until Moroccan independence, in 1956, the seat of power of the Pasha of Marrakech, el Hadj T’hami El Glaoui, known as the Lord of the Atlases and believed at the time to perhaps be the richest man in the world. His court in Marrakesh attracted the Great and the Good. Here he held lavish banquets and entertained the likes of Winston Churchill and Charlie Chaplin. In 1953 he attended the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II at Churchill’s invitation, hoping to be knighted. He also kept slaves, hundreds of concubines, held prisoners in dungeons and placed the severed heads of his enemies on the Telouet’s walls right into the 1950s. El Glaoui’s family is currently restoring the Kasbah. The ruin emits a strange mud-brick aura of gothic-ness – a desert Dracula. Blood soaked and dilapidated, this dark Lord’s palace has been left to rot for more than fifty years, yet evidence of its past grandeur is still visible. Our guide was the son of one El Glaoui’s slaves. Dressed in a pantomime Berber outfit, and persistently interrupted by the ring of his mobile phone, he explained the tears in his father’s eye whenever asked out about his imprisonment by the Pasha. He told the horrors and posed for photos. I paid him a hundred dirhams and we left.

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