Giulia Privitelli finds a touching analogy between Darrin Zammit Lupi’s Isle Landers exhibition and Jacques Louis-David’s Oath of the Horatii

“No way will that be going on Facebook. My hair is a mess, and my eyes are closed!”

How often have we heard such words, or have been the ones to actually say them? Be it a formal or casual photoshoot, we have now become the masters of control.

In an instant, what we approve of can be enhanced; what we dislike, edited or completely removed. We pose, shoot and re-shoot, with our mind comfortably at ease thanks to the ever-present delete button. That is all it takes to project our self-image and convince the world that our life is perfect.

Until, once in a while, you walk into a gallery where all you see are faces and bloodshot eyes. And bodies. So many bodies, none of which choreographed to suit an ideal. They are bodies of people huddled up so close you’d think they were one. Bodies of people cradled not by the secure arms of their families but by the swaying motion of a worn-down, weather-beaten boat.

Bodies lying on unmade beds in cluttered rooms and tents, sleeping their troubles away or playing ball in a bid to sustain the crushing weight of boredom. They are bodies of survivors, reaching out desperately to an ancient source of life and energy, pure and fresh, now a daily commodity and a discounted symbol of hope... reaching out to catch a bottle of water.

The aim of this article is not so much to review the photo-journalistic exhibition Isle Landers, because each photo is already in itself a review that needs few additional words, if any at all.

Rather than artworks, it is enough to refer to these exhibits as riveting images of the suffering human

It is not meant to condition how one is to react to the photographs, either. Nor is it meant to poke at the conscience of whoever may be reading these lines, although this consequence should be quite inevitable. Rather, it is an attempt to view a purely incidental photograph in light of an iconic image of sacrifice, strength and unity in the pursuit of liberty – a 21st-century Oath of the Horatii.

It is a story wherein the drama unfolds from the very beginning, with the know-ledge that all are sacrificing everything they have; their families, their safety, their lives, for something only a few of them will actually get to taste – freedom and respect.

Oath of the Horatii, 1784 oil on canvas, at Louvre Museum, Paris.

Taken way back at home, it is an oath to defend that which is held most dear. For the Horatii brothers it was the Republican state; for the asylum-seekers, personal dignity. And nothing would hold them back, not even the tears of family members left behind.

This is a mission undertaken largely, though not exclusively, by men, with males being the majority of the arrivals. In a gesture that immediately recalls that of the Horatii brothers, it is they who raise their arms towards the instrument of what will bring them victory and renewed hope for a better life.

Not quite a sword, but a mere bottle of water suspended high above, between one resolved group of people, the irregular immigrants, and the other group, the calm yet troubled Armed Forces of Malta. In a way, the moment of highest dramatic action which Jacques Louis David manages to represent with one deft stroke, Zammit Lupi captures with one single shot. Pregnant with meaning – sudden, sharp and arresting – it is, perhaps, what stops you dead in your tracks.

If art is meant to inspire a message of some sort, then technically Isle Landers also belongs to the vast field of art. But there would be little scope in viewing these works from a merely aesthetic perspective.

In fact, editing things out of an aesthetic concern is simply not an option in the work ethic of Zammit Lupi. Thus, describing these photographs in terms such as ‘nice’ is literally the degeneration of a compliment into an outright offence. There is nothing ‘nice’ about these photographs, except perhaps the composition and tonal contrasts – the superficial elements, so to speak.

It is when we speak in those terms that we start to forget that these photographs are images of real human beings, chained like criminals for no apparent reason, left on the borders of society because in them we smell the stench of what the human person is actually capable of.

Rather than artworks, it is enough to refer to these exhibits as riveting images of the suffering human – visual facts – spread not over the pages of a daily newspaper but over whitewashed walls as contemporary vere icone. Yes, each photo is a true image and, like the original, they are anything but ‘nice’ to look at. Yet, it is not all dark and gloomy. There are, in subtle smiles, glimmers of hope. And most of it, unwillingly perhaps, has been entrusted to us. So what exactly are we to do with such trust?

Try an exhibition for starters, where looks don’t matter but faces do. Where, as you leave, you can almost feel those blood-shot eyes boring a hole into your back, drilling their way to your heart; searching, hoping, wondering whether there will ever be what might look like another bottle of water.

• Isle Landers runs at St James Cavalier until Sunday evening , when the artist will be giving a final guided tour of the exhibition at 7.30pm. The project is supported by the Malta Arts Fund, the UNHCR and other sponsors.