Unquiet Days, Algerian Chronicle of a Return (1993–2003) by Bruno Boudjelal balances between documentary and autobiography. Described as a logbook of his impressions, feelings and thoughts, these images explore the artist’s search for identity. Initially tracing the footsteps of his father, who left Algeria more than forty years before his son’s arrival, Boudjelal’s photographs reflect an odyssey which influenced him for over a decade.

The early nineties was a period of enormous political upheaval in Algeria as the tide of fundamentalism swept through the Muslim world. When the artist arrived in Algeria for the first time the Islamic Salvation Front (Front Islamique du Salut) had joined forces with the most violent Islamic organization in the country. By January 1993, both groups were involved in the slaughter of over 80,000 Algerian civilians. One of FIS’s leaders, Ali Belhadj, called for a campaign against non-Muslim infidels living in Algeria, making all foreign nationals targets of violence. Thousands of fundamentalists, including Belhadj, were arrested by the government and charged with conspiracy against the state.

How in the midst of such heightened insecurity, suspicion and chaos does one begin a tour to discover one’s origins? Boudjelal began simply: “The only thing I knew was my father’s birthplace, picked up from the family record book, but that was enough: I managed to meet the family in May 1993 in a little village in the Sétif area. There, a row of weeping women welcomed me with their ‘youyous’!”

As he went deeper into his culture, Bruno uncovered a completely different Algeria from that reflected by the media. His resulting images move from crisp, monochromatic family portraits (including one of his father, who accompanied him on his second visit), to blurred, impressionistic compositions in colour, photographed through windshields of speeding cars and in late night cafes.

These are, at times, anxious, stolen moments. There is an immediate awareness that photography is not acceptable or easy here and there is an ensuing sense of speed, interrupted only when the artist seems to take a breath: then the image is carefully focused. One senses finally that there is time. For the moment, it’s safe; but then, again, the movement, fleeting glimpses of the city — its buildings, public squares and community — and then, again, the breath, this time a long, settled inhalation, and one can explore faces beaming with familial reconciliation.

Within these photographs is an inexpressible sense of cell memory. A deeply physical experience that occurs when one stands on a geographical place of family history. Is it the conscious understanding that this land holds the echoes of past generations and the energy of present relatives, or is it something more metaphysical? When one looks through the windows and windshields of Bruno Boudjelal’s photographs and attempts to focus one’s vision on images clearly out of focus, then finally the deeper, emotional part of his journey is revealed. It’s the pull and push of clarity that gives his images their power and poetry, communicating a very private journey of belonging.