I still remember the walks around town with the whole family on Eid days growing up. In the early 2000s, we would go visit the neighborhood’s photographer, the “musawer,” where we’d strike a pose against the kitschiest of backgrounds surrounded by my brothers, cousins, and family friends. It used to be a staple moment in my life for such a long time, where we’d collectively witness ourselves grow one Eid after the next. Years later, while photos are still a must at our family gatherings, heading to the musawer unfortunately isn’t. A large number of studios have since closed, and we, as a result, no longer indulge in the annual photoshoots that were once such a ritual.
Studio photography in the region took a very specific form in its early beginnings. In the 19th century and into the early 20th, many studios were owned by European photographers, and their work tended to reflect an Orientalist perspective. One such studio is Lehnert & Landrock, which operated in Tunisia and Egypt in the early 1900s. Their photographs often romanticized and exoticized the poverty and simplicity of Arab life, presenting it as quaint and picturesque.
A significant portion of their work focused on Arab women, with underage girls frequently posing or seen set in environments that played into Western fantasies about harems and the sexualization of young, “pure” Arab bodies. Models were often cast as archetypal figures like musicians or merchants which contributed to an aesthetic that emphasized on the alleged sensual aspects of Arab womanhood.
These Orientalist depictions, mainly disseminated through postcards, books, and prints, reached a broad European audience, perpetuating the colonial gaze amongst the public. Although their studios were physically based across the region, it did not cater to locals, but to an overseas clientele instead.
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By the mid-20th century, studio photography in the Arab world began to move beyond the colonial gaze. Local photography studios spread across the region, serving a variety of purposes from documenting family life and couples’ life achievements to providing ID and passport pictures. During this time, the art form underwent a process of transformation and experimentation. A rise in avant-garde approaches saw photographers exploring techniques such as double exposure, minimalism, and a myriad of other styles. These snapshots were increasingly adapted to appeal to local Arab audiences, depicting the realities of everyday life that many could relate to. To this day, the images produced by these studios serve as an archive of what ordinary life was like in those days.
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One of the most renowned studios of this era was Studio Shehrazade, under the direction of Hashem Al Madani. Employing traditional portrait techniques, Madani captured clients in predefined poses. His approach aimed to highlight each person’s unique traits within a standardized format. His subjects were often anonymous individuals who typically remained unnoticed by the public, yet, through their poses, attires, and respective behaviors in front of the camera, his work managed to reflect a deeper social and political context, highlighting the prevailing norms and taboos of the time.
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Another notable studio that emerged during this period was Van Leo. In 1941, brothers Levon and Angelo transformed their family home into an improvised studio, capturing the faces of Cairo’s high society throughout World War II. Van Leo’s style was snazzy and heavily inspired by Hollywood, featuring all sorts of theatrical lighting and refined printing techniques. He often used 35mm film for less notable subjects, saving large sheet films (18×24 cm) for his preferred ones.
Van Leo’s collection is considered an in-depth documentation of Egyptian society over the past fifty years. His unconventional ethos is evident in the numerous self-portraits in his portfolio, many with surrealist influences, reflecting his connection to the Egyptian Surrealist group of the 1930s and ’40s. While Van Leo avoided depicting harsh or inconvenient truths, his studio was likely the most respected in Cairo, photographing celebrities like Farid al-Atrash, Dalida, Faten Hamama, and Rushdy Abaza in glamorous, often surreal settings.
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As photography technology rapidly evolved in the 1990s and 2000s, studio portraits across the region adopted a distinctively kitsch and commercialized aesthetic. With increasing demands for faster photo developments and the rise of ID and passport photos, studios transitioned from artistic endeavors to business-focused operations.
“I still remember the stuffed donkey we’d sit on for Eid photos, or rainbow-colored backgrounds and glittered qubqabs we’d wear,” my friend reminisced. “The musawer even retouched our childlike faces to remove traces of chicken pox!” they added.
I also remember the DIY aspect of it all. Photographers played multiple roles, from guiding clients to choosing poses, objects, and outfits that best represented their age and personality. They were photographers, businessmen, creative directors, and photo editors all at once.
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Portraits were mass-produced using limited backdrops, props, and poses to ensure efficiency as people expected same-day prints. From Cairo and Tunis to Algiers, studios adopted a kitsch aesthetic tailored to the times. Eid-themed crescent backdrops, Mediterranean coastal vistas, and whimsical Spacetoon characters adorned the decors offered by photographers. While some drew inspiration from mainstream ads and blockbusters, most incorporated niche cultural elements. It was quite common for classmates to end up with nearly identical Eid photos, almost made for amusing comparisons at school.
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From the late 2000s onwards, photography studios across the Arab world began closing one after another. As digital cameras became more affordable and offered higher-quality pictures, it became easier, and cheaper, for people to take their own photos with professional-grade results.
Smartphones with editing apps and filters further expanded creative possibilities beyond the musawwir’s limited package. The convenience of online storage and printing services also eliminated the need to visit studios for printouts. Portrait photography transformed into a more self-centered practice, where the ability to self-represent and perform online has overshadowed traditional studio practices and the communal aspects they once embodied.
While not as widely practiced today, studio photography still retains interest, particularly from the archival community. Akram Zaatari, co-founder of the Arab Image Foundation, has proposed many reflections on the art form in Lebanon. His documentary Her + Him Van Leo features the legendary photographer himself, interweaving interviews with encounters of Van Leo’s past subjects. Rather than a conventional biopic, Zaatari opts for a dialogue-driven approach that explores the cultural impact of studio portraits.
On the other hand, many contemporary artists have adopted a playful approach to staging portraits that intentionally exaggerate or challenge previous cultural tropes and stereotypical representations. In recent years, these types of pictures tend to go viral or enjoy new-found levels of popularity for the nostalgic sense they bring to most of us. Yet, as traditional studio practices fade, these contemporary interpretations ensure that their legacy pervades by reinterpreting and reinventing them through a modern lens.
