Palestinian photographer Samar Abu Elouf has won the World Press Photo with a shot of Mahmoud Ajjour. The photo portrays a nine-year-old boy who lost both arms in an Israeli raid at the beginning of the war in the Gaza Strip. Much has been written and said. We interviewed Dario Mitidieri – now represented by pepartists.com – who has received two recognitions from the prestigious World Press Photo. One for Lost Family Portraits (2015) and another for the project The Mass Graves in Iraq (2003). Children have long been his rigorous line of research and poetic center of many projects, such as The Children of Bombay (1992) and the long series Children at War (1989).
Dario Mitidieri, “End of war in former Yugoslavia”, 1995, ph. courtesy Dario Mitidieri
Simone Azzoni: Can you help us look at the image that won the World Press Photo of the Year 2025? What emerges from the composition, from the choice of Caravaggio-like lighting? What does it communicate?
Dario Mitidieri: When I look at this photograph, the first sensation that emerges is silence. Mahmoud Ajjour, at nine years old, is there, motionless, with a gaze that seems distant, absent. He lost both arms in an air strike on Gaza. And it’s precisely that absence that hits you like a punch and brutally contrasts with the beauty of the image itself. The light that envelops Mahmoud, warm and theatrical, really seems stolen from a Caravaggio canvas, where the contrast between light and shadow plays a fundamental role in intensifying the drama of what is happening in Gaza. It forces us to look at him, to stay there. The light isolates him, almost as if it wanted to force us to look at him longer, to listen to his silent story. The photograph, without words, says a lot about a suffering that afflicts an entire people. It’s a powerful portrait, without a doubt. There is no desperation in Mahmoud’s face, but awareness and resilience. It’s a photograph that carries an enormous emotional burden. However, there is a contradiction. The image is obviously constructed: every element, such as the composition, the choice of light, the framing, seems thought out, calibrated to evoke a certain aesthetic effect. And this makes me reflect, not on the quality of the shot, which is indisputable, but on the context in which it was awarded. The photograph doesn’t capture a random moment, but tells of a condition, with a certain distance from reality that traditional photojournalism, in my opinion, should embrace: a moment caught on the fly, an emotion that isn’t predetermined. And perhaps this shift towards more “constructed,” more studied photography distances us from what photojournalism should embody, especially when talking about a tragedy like that of Gaza.
Dario Mitidieri, “Angola, a legacy of war”, 1997, ph. courtesy Dario Mitidieri
You have often placed yourself in front of the pain of others, for example in your many photos depicting children. Even more respect and sensitivity are needed. What legitimizes us to photograph them? What is their communicative power?
In my work in Bombay, in refugee camps, or in other places around the world, I have always asked myself what legitimized me to photograph children. There is never a definitive answer. I believe it all lies in the gaze. In the respect and sensitivity with which you approach their reality, in the time you dedicate to listening to them, to understanding their situation. As in Mahmoud’s case, children are often the innocent victims in every conflict. Whether it’s war, poverty, or discrimination, they are the ones who suffer the most serious consequences, in situations where there are no flags or borders. Their communicative power is enormous, precisely because they are innocent and vulnerable. But this communicative power can easily transform into an overly simplistic narrative tool, and for this reason, even more attention is necessary. Every child has a true story behind their gaze, and we cannot reduce them to symbols. Photographing them, therefore, involves great responsibility. We must be aware of how and why we are photographing them, reflecting each time on our intention. Even after photographing hundreds of children, I feel it is essential never to stop treating them for what they are: children, not tools to tell a story bigger than themselves.
Dario Mitidieri, “Boys holding guns”, Darra, Pakistan, 1989, ph. courtesy Dario Mitidieri
You know the award very well. Does it seem to you that it has changed? Some award-winning images in recent years seem to follow visual stereotypes. What is today, in your opinion, the function of this recognition for us as viewers and for photographers?
I know the World Press Photo well, having been awarded twice. Perhaps it’s precisely because of this experience that I feel legitimized to ask myself, and others, some questions. I don’t want to in any way diminish photographer Samar Abu Elouf or this year’s winning photograph. Her image is intense and moving, constructed with respect. And I find it fundamental that we talk about Gaza, that we continue to show that pain, to keep it under the world’s eyes. But my reflection concerns the nature of photography itself. As important as it is, this photo is not a “captured moment”. It’s a constructed portrait, taken in a place (Doha) that is not directly linked to the war scene. And while in Gaza there are photographers who have lost their lives reporting what was happening, it’s inevitable to wonder if the highest recognition shouldn’t also take into account those who work in extreme conditions. It’s not a photo of those that tell an unrepeatable instant, the moment that only photojournalism can capture in its maximum realism. And so I ask myself: is this really the photograph of the year? For me, the photo of the year, in the context of the World Press Photo, must include the traditional elements of photojournalism: content, urgency, visual strength,and above all that unrepeatable instant that tells something significant at the precise moment it happens. I add that I too won an award with a constructed photograph, Lost Family Portraits, a portrait of Syrian refugees in Lebanon with empty chairs symbolizing the missing. It was a thought-out, symbolic image, created with the support of an advertising agency. It was a strong photograph, but totally pre-planned. It was perhaps the first time that such a conceptual image won a prize at the World Press Photo. But at least it was awarded within a specific category, not as photo of the year. If that image of mine had won the highest recognition, I would have been happy, but also confused. I think that award should remain faithful to its DNA: rewarding those who were there, at the moment when something significant was really happening. Today, however, I see that photojournalism is increasingly moving towards a more refined aesthetic, with more curated and visually recognizable images, perhaps more reassuring by certain standards. And in all this, I wonder if we’re not losing sight of the urgency and instinctive force of reportage, which stems from the desire to document reality without manipulation.
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He is an art critic and professor of Contemporary Art History at IUSVE. He also teaches Critical Image Reading at the Palladio Institute of Design in Verona and Contemporary Art at the Master of Publishing at the University of Verona. He has curated several contemporary art exhibitions in unconventional places. He is the artistic director of the Grenze Photography Festival. He is a theater critic for national magazines and newspapers. He organizes research and experimentation theatrical events. Among the recent publications Frame – Videoarte e dintorni for the University Library, Lo Sguardo della Gallina for Lazy Dog Editions and for Mimemsis Smagliature in 2018 and 2021 for the same publishing house, Theater and photography.
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