Cédric Gerbehaye had not worked in his homeland for a long time. Maybe he never really ‘saw’ it, as he was only an infrequent visitor between his many trips abroad. The Belgian photographer was always taking us somewhere else: to other continents where living conditions differ greatly to our own; or into the middle of war zones that have no impact on our lives. At the same time, he brought us closer to the indelible, haunting scenes he witnessed.

Photographing in Belgium meant finally coming home, far from extreme situations – perhaps to explore his own terrain, discover his own identity. You might wonder if the intensity of his previous work, where he dealt with violence abroad, might lose some of its power when taking pictures in his own country.

Who would be able to summarize a territory where different regions confront each other without spilling blood, a small state where life continued to function in spite of 540 days of no government? What does this society so accustomed to compromise look like? What inequalities are kept under wraps? How many men and women have been forgotten and left behind? What humanity remains when a landscape fades away?

The beast is a monster

Its smoothly shaven skin makes the muscles appear even more impressive. The ‘Belgian Blue’ cattle have existed for over 200 years, and they have 20 percent more muscle meat than normal animals. Its appearance speaks of wealth, performance and of flesh that is slaughtered and consumed. It speaks of Europe, of his masks and monsters. Where are the people? Is this what they eat? Is this what they live for? What does this champion bull tell us about unemployed youths, about women in prison and in love, about the desolate faces of the mentally disturbed? What can this mass of flesh reveal about the amorous woman fluttering her eyelashes, about the exhausted fans at an open-air concert – Belgium, that Mecca of festivals – or about the beer enjoyed after a traditional parade?

If on the one hand, the display of the legendary ‘blanc bleu belge’ masks the despair of a rural community which feels threatened by foreign competition and the shrinking of an over-urbanized country, there are others dramas that reflect a deeper decline. The melancholic glance of a young metal worker and the fireproof jackets hung up forever tell the story: Gerbehaye visited the Seraing coking plant shortly before its closure after a period of drawn-out agony. It used to be one of the world’s main strongholds in the steel industry.

There were other places he also visited: the Berkendael women’s prison, one of three prisons bordering his lodgings on the outskirts of Brussels; and he walked the streets of Charleroi which is intersected by motorway ring roads that typically cut through Belgian cities with no regard for neighbourhood life. Here, an old lady sits with her back to us enjoying a rare bit of sunlight; over there, a young teenager avoids eye contact, maybe embarrassed by the undersized bike he is riding. Somewhere else, two young girls with smart phones, naively catch the attention of underground travellers, while somewhere else – it could be Flanders, Walloon, Dortmund or Arizona – two bored teenagers sit in the back of their parents’ car during an old-timer competition. Somewhere else an engine roars, wheels spin and dust flies.

Apparent Vulnaribility

Here people are caught in a moment of solitude, of surrender. We feel the end of the big struggles; and through this surrender, a vulnerability. Or, to put it another way, a willingness, which – it is one view among other – questions the announced end, infinitely back on the Belgian political chessboard, of this small country barely one hundred and eighty five years old, a country that is more of a foreigner to his own regions than to its large neighbours.

Those of us who live here know all about it. On both sides of this impermeable language barrier you find the same uncertainty and the same need of tenderness. Above all, this work moves us by pointing out the decline of crafts-manship, the disappearance of gestures of work, and the criminalisation of the inactive and how they have been abandoned. At the same time, these photographs testify to a life that is carefree – a life of timeless leisure, and of gentle resilience.

It seems a different era, a time long gone, certainly, but also: yet to come, a critical threshold, a turning point. If you look at these portraits carefully, you will see something which is both open and clear. It is another perspec-tive, and perhaps it is responding to separatist ideologies, plans of miraculous recovery, or exaggerated pessimism. Is it a call?

Let us stick to it. Let us go within and lose ourselves, enveloped by the same hearing, feeling and atmospheric space, looking out for the intimate, the tiny detail, the indecision, being both within and without, in pain and in tenderness- the inner bond.