The Bones of the City

Whenever I see a photograph from the war—or any image that is heavy and life-draining—and I find myself captivated by its form and composition, I feel ashamed. And yet I know that no image can truly penetrate without these two. This photograph by Aligholi Ziaee is one of those. The entire volume of the image is empty. The whole frame is a skeleton. The bones of the city protrude. There are no walls, no glasses, no trunks of trees—nothing solid left. The photograph is utterly vacant, and I am left suspended between the two sides of the frame, caught in a conversation that is nothing but silence and stillness.