Exploring Letizia Battaglia’s Captivating Lens on Palermo | Apollo Magazine

There’s no finer way to introduce Letizia Battaglia, the center of a compelling new exhibition at the Photographers’ Gallery in London, than through the categories she established for the index cards of her image collection: ‘Arrests’, ‘State police’ and ‘Widows and victims’ should offer you a glimpse. During the late 1970s and ’80s, these were part of daily life in Palermo, Sicily, where Battaglia served as head of the photography department for the city’s afternoon paper, L’Ora, but primarily as a photojournalist.

Those years marked a dark and exceedingly violent period in what is labeled the Mafia wars, with competing factions vying for dominance resulting in the slaughter of thousands. This tragedy did not exclusively target the bosses, their kin, and associates, but also encompassed numerous law enforcement officials, prosecutors, judges, government personnel, and many innocent individuals simply caught in perilous situations.

Battaglia – whose surname aptly translates to ‘battle’ – pursued her subject matter with relentless fervor. She chronicled every bullet-ridden brain, every devastated life, and every confrontational gaze. Her fierce determination attracted multiple death threats, one of which – crumpled, typed in harsh capitals – is displayed on the gallery wall. ‘You could no longer distinguish between friends and foes,’ she remarked. ‘You left your home in the morning, unsure if you would return by night.’

Born in Palermo in 1935, Battaglia left home at 16 and ventured into photography in the early 1970s. Being self-taught perhaps fueled her unique and visionary blend of form and emotion. Her style, characterized by an up-close, spontaneous approach – ‘at a distance akin to a punch or a caress’, as she memorably articulated – resulted in images that were powerful and disconcerting, yet retaining a certain beauty. She tackled the chaos of death with a poetic lens, capturing a body from a sharp angle, or glistening under the noon sun.

Striking images like these, which draw you in and then leave you to grapple with their emotional intricacies, are abundant in this exhibition. Spanning half a century, it illuminates both the photographs Battaglia captured of her fellow residents of Palermo. A youth in her Sunday best, illuminated by a beam of sunlight; lively May Day festivities at the city’s Parco della Favorita; the affluent socialites adorned in jewelry and furs strolling through glamour-filled drawing rooms.

Numerous photographs are presented alongside their original captions, enhancing their immediacy: ‘San Giusto celebration, the horse broke a leg during the race, it will be euthanized later today. Meanwhile, the race continues’ (Misilmeri 1981). And: ‘He pilfered copper from electricity manholes to provide for his children. He met his demise accidentally from electrocution’ (Palermo 1976).

Palermo – charming, deteriorating, sculptural – is a persistent backdrop. In the 1970s, the city was still bearing scars from the devastation of the Second World War, both architecturally and financially. Fractured and damaged plaster, soiled walls, residences lacking water and electricity, a mother too fatigued to awaken as a rat munched on her infant’s finger, a son vigilantly watching over his ill father in poverty. Battaglia traversed through one catastrophe to the next, utterly consumed.

The exhibition continues on the lower level, where Battaglia’s photographs hang in cascading rows from the ceiling, ‘forest’ style – a method she first tested in 2015 to allow viewers to navigate through the images freely and create their own connections. The sensation of being immersed in it takes some acclimatization, but once you find your footing, it possesses an intriguing effect. While observing one photograph, fragments of others are visible in your periphery, and I envision that when the space is bustling with people, it could resemble a hall of mirrors or a labyrinth – a space to traverse, with no single ‘correct’ route to take.

The atmosphere is significantly enhanced by the audio emanating from a documentary regarding Battaglia, which is being shown in a distant part of the space: something divine one moment, something dissonant the next, a burst of something trendy and ’70s, interspersed with abrupt snippets of Italian dialogue. I suspect it wasn’t deliberate, yet it beautifully encapsulates the wild turmoil that seems to have been Battaglia’s essence. ‘Palermo, a wild place?’ you hear her voice at one moment. ‘I wish it were even wilder.’

‘Letizia Battaglia: Life, Love and Death in Sicily’ is displayed at the Photographers’ Gallery, London, until 23 February.