In September 2002, Farah Nosh hit the ground in Baghdad as one of the few freelance photographers working in Saddam Hussein’s Iraq.

Seven years later, Nosh is an award-winning photographer with enough acclaim in the photo world to have her pick of projects, yet she has returned to Iraq–over and over again–to try and get that story right.

“When we look back on Iraq, we’ll see that there is a huge part of the history that is missing,” said Nosh, the only photographer speaking this year at ODU’s annual Literary Festival. “Even with my intimate personal experience, I feel that I don’t fully know the story. I don’t think the world has the slightest sense of what happened during those last couple of years.”

Nosh also has worked in Afghanistan, Lebanon, Pakistan, Syria, the West Bank, Gaza and Egypt,  not to mention her native Canada. In mid-September, AltDaily caught up with her via phone to talk about what it’s like to wield a camera in a war zone, the difficulties of creating photo stories in 2009 and why she has  no plans to work at Picture People.

Your work has been published in North America and the UK. Where else has it been published, and how are your photos received differently around the world?

It’s also been published in Europe and the Middle East. The biggest difference is… in the Middle East, when people look at my subjects, they feel like they are looking at their own people. [My photography] stirs more anger and frustration than compassion [there]. In  America, I often get thanked for showing a side of the Iraqi people they are not exposed to. There is a disconnect in the everyday coverage of Iraq [here in the U.S.], and somehow my work has brought people closer to the Iraqi experience.

You often photographed the people in your Wounded Iraq series in their homes and with a family member. How did you find these people?

In Baghdad at the end of February 2006, I started researching the subjects before the Samarra shrine bombing, which triggered a massive security decline in the country. Sectarian violence was blowing up. I have a driver I trust very much. We kept touring hospitals. I asked [to photograph] a lot of people. Many said no because of the security situation. One condition I had was [that I wanted] to photograph people in their homes.

Why?

To make the pictures more intimate. It took me six weeks to get access to about 10 or 11 Iraqis. It was such an unusual experience for an Iraqi to have a stranger come in and take pictures. I did not intend to photograph the family members, but they were nearby and they kept ending up in the frame. It’s something that just happened naturally.

If I had to select a theme for the photos on your Web site, I would use the word “loss.” Wounded Iraq has pictures of Iraqis who have lost limbs, and the two other essays, Lebanon and Haida, address loss of home and loss of language. Do you see a theme of “loss” as being central to your work? What is it about these stories that you find so interesting?

I’ve never thought of it that way, but I think you’re right. Part of it is about giving a little bit of recognition to those that don’t have control over what they are losing. Part of it is recognizing what we don’t have control over. With the Haida story, I started looking into the language and the state of language. There are only 40 speakers left. I’m exploring what it means for a culture to lose a language. And lamenting it. Half of those I photographed [for the story] over the last few years have died.

[Editor’s note: The Haida are an indigenous nation of the Pacific Northwest Coast of North America.]

Can you speak about the importance of being able to speak Arabic in Iraq?

So much of photography is intuitive. You are trying to find the right spot to take a photo. Speaking Arabic has allowed me to tap into my intuition more. By hearing certain things, it’s helped me with security. It’s allowed me to be more familiar with what’s going on around me.

A lot of your work,  if not all of it, is shot on film, not digital. Can you talk about why you use film and how that affects the way you photograph?

Farah Nosh

I shot Wounded Iraq on a Rollei. I’m shooting Haida on a four-by-five Shen Hao. I find that these medium and large format cameras slow me down. The feeling I wanted  [in those pictures] was intimate and slower, and the format fit the feeling. I spend a lot of time obsessing over format, type of film, color or black and white.

We hear a lot about the changing economy and the changing media environment. How does this affect your ability to make a living?

It’s really difficult to make a living as a photojournalist right now. You have to have a strong network of colleagues and editors and have established a name for yourself. The industry is changing so quickly and that started when I started my career. Editors want to spend less money. It really is survival of the fittest. When I talk to students who want to be photojournalists, there is a part of me that wonders how or why they want to do it. You’ve got to be incredibly creative. If you’re not a hustler, forget it.

What can a photographer contribute to an event  like ODU’s Literary Festival, something dedicated to the written word? In your experience, what are the limitations of photography?

The limitations are not knowing the full story. [When we see a photograph,] we are often left with more of a feeling of the event than really knowing the details. That’s the beauty and limitation of photography. I might get killed for saying this, but I think that photographers have to take more risks to get what they need. There are a lot of western writers in Iraq writing [about the country] without moving around a lot. They’ll send out a translator to go and collect reporting, or they’ll [only] go into the green zone or safe zones. As a photographer you can’t do that. Sometimes I was out so late I spent the night. There is no way for me to illustrate the story of the girl who had her leg ripped off and lost her unborn baby without being in her home and photographing her.

Do you ever  think about getting a “normal” job or moving into a photography field that would allow you to be at home more and in harm’s way less?

Definitely. I joke with friends that this job is everything I ever asked for, but it is difficult being away from family and friends. I question it often. Eventually, I’d like to have a normal life with home and family. I don’t think I’d ever stop, maybe just slow down a little bit.

You can see Nosh’s work at farahnosh.com. Find Roberto Westbrook’s photography at robertowestbrook.com.

Nosh will be discussing her work Wed, Oct 7, at 7:30 pm in Chandler Hall on the ODU campus.