Paul Bennett | Photographer  
   

I have a desk drawer where I keep Iraq. All the negatives, all the test prints, my ragged journal stuffed with wallet pictures and dinars. When I first got home I’d pored over the images, disappointed with most of them. I don’t know exactly what I wanted them to be, but I’d felt they largely fell short. I made a small edit at the time of about 20 or so that I’d show to people, and the rest just got tucked away. As time passed I didn’t want to look at them, I’d made my selections. I didn’t feel much like reading my journal either, not for years. A few months ago I decided it was time. I sat alone in my room and read my journal from start to finish, I spread all those prints out on the floor. I’ll admit it was hard for me, reading my own words sparked a kind of total recall. The images brought sounds and smells and absolutely overwhelming emotions. Looking back, I’d been so young. Young in a way that you don’t get back. But it’s all a personal history now. I’d left most of the war on the plane, and tried hard to bring back only pictures. Pictures that upon later inspection offer a view into what I’d seen at the time and felt a need to photograph. It wasn’t digital then, and I’d had a limited number of frames to remember by. I’ve begun revisiting those images I’d been ignoring. I remember where I was for each one, and many of them coincide with stories in my journal. I have mixed feelings about sharing some of that work. The photographs are often snapshots, made by a young man who didn’t fully understand his light meter. Some of them were with a disposable camera. I know now where I went wrong technically. I know now how I could have made them better. Like a schoolyard fight lost, I’d give anything to relive it as who I would become. But six years later, I see now where my own history was a part of our history, and I think that’s a story worth sharing. I’ll start with a new gallery on my site, SPACES.