LITTLE EYES, photography series

AIP1, Session 13

We are all familiar with the expression “child’s play”. Any task marked as “child’s play” is undeniably simple. But if we were to analyse the term literally, does it still apply to the situation today? Perhaps mass media is too blame—a crisis can quickly turn from a neighbourhood issue to a blown up war on the silver screen. But one can’t deny that the world is a dangerous place, and much more so to the eyes of a child. Finding a place to grow on a planet so caught up with politics, environmental issues, war, plague, and prejudice is akin to a seed lost among rocks. You don’t even have to traverse to another continent to see these crises. A quick stroll down the street, a few hours on a train, a peek into one or two public schools, a drive down the main road… Do we really want to raise our children under a sky of smoke? Are rubbles and potholes considered standard playgrounds now? Are barbed wire fences designed to keep external forces at bay, or is it doing the opposite?

“Little Eyes” focuses on just that—the role of childhood in a world where everything is unfamiliar, and often threatening. Accompanied by Baby, a plush monkey no taller than 20 cm, I attempted to peek into the eyes of a child, analysing each nook and cranny for a space to grow. It was a very eye opening experience. When your travel companion (and subject) is so small, it opens up a whole new dimension of potential spaces. The park bench isn’t a park bench, it’s a bomb shelter where you hide to avoid falling leaves. Potholes filled with rainwater become private jacuzzis, and car tires turn into massive ferris wheels. The possibilities are endless, because when you’re a child there is no tomorrow—there is only a today that lasts forever.

And yet, it was disturbing. There’s just something so profoundly wrong about a brand new, fresh-from-the-store little monkey doing amidst rubbles and trash cans and barbed wire. There’s just something wrong about walking past a mosque, only to see graffiti decorating its rear walls. There’s just something wrong about taking a stroll in a park, only to realise that the pathways are cracked and you’re surrounded by barbed wire fences.

The power in the series lies in its absurdity—the juxtaposition between the innocent and the threatening. Whether it’s posing in front of trash piles or graffiti, Baby wears a constant smile. His movements are placid and trusting. I can almost feel him embracing me wholeheartedly, even if I’m about to place him between the wheels of a vehicle. The child is naïve, heartbreakingly so. It colours each photograph with a sweet, melancholic hue—a tiny hero, seeking to vanquish the evils of the ever-growing world.