Immersive photography exhibitions in Cairo’s artistic quarter

One such creative initiative is Cairo Photo Week. Held biennially, it showcases thousands of photographs and stories, pulling Egyptians, Arabs, and internationals together across a range of venues in Wust El-Balad, including historic theatres and cinemas, palaces and villas.

Many of these architectural gems, blending Western and Oriental designs, stood empty for decades before being reopened exclusively to artistic photographers and now host exhibitions that evoke a quiet magic.

Buzz and passion

Over the past eight years, the event has firmly established itself on Cairo's calendar. Now in its fourth edition, this year it hosts an unprecedented array of lectures, seminars, workshops, live demonstrations, and exhibitions—more than 150 events, all concentrated in one area over a short period.

The breadth of Egypt's history is vividly retold through extensive photojournalistic archives presented in an exhibition titled Her Majesty the Press. Appropriately, it is housed in the building from which communal plumes of smoke rise: El-Khann.

The programme also features retrospectives on the work of prominent Egyptian, Arab, and international photographers who lived and worked in the city, while visitors are also treated to nostalgic revivals of neighbourhoods and aspects of Cairene life now fading under modernisation and redevelopment.

The photos cover themes such as the Palestinian struggle, the harrowing realities of forced displacement, violence against women, the dire conditions endured in conflict zones, the plight of impoverished and homeless children, and the glaring economic disparities that govern access to food and essential resources—issues exacerbated by rationing, hunger, and famine.

Other exhibitions pay tribute to Cairo's rich artistic legacy and the enduring influence of its literature, cinema, music, television drama, and fashion, showcased across more than 14 venues using both visual and auditory technologies in an immersive approach that resonates with a younger audience accustomed to interactive digital media.

Gifts of the maze

Marwa Abou Leila is the founder and director of Photopia, the organisation behind Cairo Photo Week. She highlights three key features of this year's edition. The first is "the cultural dialogue between the spirit of a historic space and the contemporary image that bears people's concerns," she says.

Another is "our ability to host young photographers from across Egypt and place them in proximity to the capital's artistic heritage," and the third is "exporting Egypt's long photographic tradition and accumulated expertise beyond our borders through a series of workshops and training programmes we have started across the Arab region".

Central to the first—photography's conversation with architecture—are two historic buildings: Beit Bab El Louq and a top-floor flat in Imarat El Shorbagi. In a district once known for housing senior Egyptian officials, Mohamed Faizi Pasha (a director-general of the Awqaf Department during the reign of the last Khedive of Egypt) owned a grand villa at the intersection of El-Falaki and El-Mansour Streets.

Appointed head of the Ministry of Religious Endowments in 1883, it took him only ten minutes each morning to walk from home to work. One can imagine him pausing to glance at the metallic rooster mounted atop the tiled tower of the villa, gauging the day's weather by the shifting wind. Over the years, that rooster saw a succession of residents, until the house eventually fell silent, the high-ceilinged halls and spiral staircases becoming storage areas for forgotten possessions.

"I used to pass this building every day during my university years, gazing at the rooster, the tower, the pointed tiles," says Palestinian photographer Randa Shaath, a longtime Cairo resident. "It always felt like something out of a storybook. I was constantly overcome with the urge to enter and wander through it." She had to wait more than four decades. When it finally arrived, she entered not as a curious onlooker, but as an artist.

In the villa's main ground-floor hall, she exhibits 20 photographs from her series Cairo 90, documenting life in the city during the 1990s. Several images highlight the resilience of the city's women. Others capture rare instances of rest—on the banks of the Nile, or amid the hustle of local markets. Drawing from years of journalistic experience and her deep connection to the city's streets, Shaath's work is a rich visual archive.

"My relationship with the people in Cairo's streets is intimate," she says. "It's a city that offers photographers what they seek without resistance. But I never wanted to be the sniper stealing fragments of people's lives to display elsewhere. I wanted to build a relationship with them through photography. Over time, these images became keepsakes—gifts that help me endure, to work, to hope."

Some of the neighbourhoods shown in her photos, like Maspero, have since disappeared, she explains. "The cinemas, markets, and corniche are no longer what they once were. But life never stops. People create spaces and images… Just as when I was 20, I still love to get lost in the city's labyrinths and draw courage from its people."

My grandmother's name

This same courage resonates in the reflections of Maryam Helmy, one of the family members who owns the house hosting Shaath's exhibition. The venue also features Sard 4, a group exhibition of Egyptian and Arab photographers from Palestine, Iraq, Lebanon, Jordan, and Morocco.

"My grandmother lived and grew up in this house," says Helmy. "As a child, I would listen to her tell stories about her family and her memories here, always beginning with the phrase: 'All of that happened in Beit (House) Bab El Louq...' That phrase stayed with me as I grew older, so did the name, which came to symbolise storytelling, joy, and humour." Her favourite spot is the balcony overlooking historic Bab El Louq, she says, where she imagines scenes from a century ago, of bustling markets and trams.

When her family restored parts of the house to host artists' work, she says they "found no name more fitting than the one my grandmother had always used," adding: "Now, here it is, alive once again, full of visitors contemplating the photographs, asking about the building's history, and engaging in its spirit as well as that of the artworks… That moves me deeply."

Buildings are like people, she says. "If they stop communicating, they die. Through art, we witness the most beautiful kind of dialogue between people and the soul of places. One day, we hope to fully restore the house and allow it to fulfil its potential."

In the 2025 edition at Beit Bab El Louq, Lebanon materialises through the evocative lens of photographer Fatima Jumaa in her series Between One Breath and the Next. Jumaa perceptively captures Southern Lebanese women smoking in moments of acute anguish—scenes saturated with death, fear, and displacement, yet marked by defiance, resilience, and the suspended chaos that exists between one breath and the next.

"Here, the cigarette is more than a habit," she says. "It is a space of silence, of waiting, of survival. From the endless lines of exodus to the farewells of martyrs, the cigarette remains alight, burning as the years burn."

From Southern Lebanon to Gaza's Shuja'iyya neighbourhood, where Nidal Rahmi spent nine years documenting the devastation of amputation and the erosion of hope under relentless bombing raids. "I wanted to document the harrowing moments during random attacks," he says.

The 'house rooster' was finally given the chance to crow, through photography, in works that capture the human struggle, when fate intertwines with home, or when an inner voice drives a person into losing battles such as drug addiction. In what was once the kitchen, stark black-and-white portraits of recovering addicts cast a reverent stillness over the exhibition, which its artist Fares Zeitoun titles I Was There.

Zeitoun's title resonates with the searing nostalgia that the building casts upon its visitors: a yearning for an era of rootedness and stability that may now be lost. Nostalgia can also be consumed, and like drugs, it can be toxic. "I don't want to speak of Beit Bab El Louq as a ghost of the past or a place haunted by spirits," Helmy says. "I want it to remain a continuation of reality."

The photos of recovering addicts presented by Zeitoun are part of an eight-year project he describes as one of "research, relapse, and recovery". The resulting archive was quietly assembled across treatment centres and recovery homes. "I lived with them, used with them, relapsed and recovered with them—and buried some of them. These images aren't just about addiction; they are about pain, dignity, loss, and the ongoing effort to begin again."

Bedawi Studio

Just a few kilometres from Beit Bab El Louq, Imarat El Shorbagi still retains its English architectural elegance, first refined in 1910 under the guidance of four trader brothers. The building was later owned by a Syrian family, then nationalised under Nasser, and finally, returned to its owners before being sold to developers.

Spanning more than 2,000 square metres and rising nine storeys high, it resembles an intricate puzzle, its corridors opening enigmatically onto three different entrances from Abdel Khaleq Tharwat, Adly, and Mohamed Farid Streets, inviting visitors to delve into the history and engage in an enduring dialogue with the people who inhabit it.

On the top floor, young Alexandrian photographer Abdelaziz Bedawi stands beside a striking portrait of a well-groomed man wearing a tie with a crisp white blazer and matching shoes. His neatly styled hair frames a dreamy, contented side-on gaze, as if reflecting on a lasting accomplishment, one that he hopes will endure.

"This is Ahmed Bedawi, the photographer of Alexandria for decades," says a proud Abdelaziz, Ahmed's grandson. "He captured its people, sea, beaches, gardens, and squares, the lightness of its residents' spirit, their yearning for space, their connection to an ancient city, and their oscillation between identities." His prolific grandfather left hundreds of thousands of photos of the city from which to choose.

"Now, through Cairo Photo Week, we have the chance to share his work with the capital's audience, a second experience following our exhibition in Alexandria," he adds, as the soft mid-May breeze stirs the oversized printed fabric of the photograph, suspended in the open-air rooftop space of the historic flat, adding a renewed vitality to the image of the late "great Bedawi," and invigorating his grandson, who is here alongside fellow photographers Ahmed Nagi and Hazem Gouda.

Since discovering this artistic treasure in the basement of the renowned Bedawi Studio in the Bab El Raml Station area, the trio has been tirelessly engaged in restoration, preservation, and public exhibition, while building partnerships with institutions to make it accessible to enthusiasts, researchers, and documentarians. "Last year in Alexandria, we exhibited 350 original prints, developed by Bedawi himself," says Nagi. "Here in Cairo, we're showcasing 120 previously unseen photos drawn from negatives."

Cairo's photographer

In 1939, a young Ahmed Bedawi embarked on his journey into photography by immersing himself in the darkrooms of non-Arab photographers scattered across Alexandria, among them Armenians, Greeks, Jews, and Italians. A decade later, he opened his own studio, just as Egyptian nationalism was peaking. In 1952, the monarchy was overthrown in a revolution anchored in Alexandria.

Bedawi's mission became clear: to 'Egyptianise' photography by documenting the lives of Egyptians as they moved to a republic. This commitment earned him a lasting reputation as "the city's photographer" for more than half a century. "In his time, photography wasn't just about aesthetics," says Abdelaziz. "The camera was used to document everything—police reports, document duplication, government development projects. That explains the immense volume of visual material he left behind."

Less than 1% of the vast Bedawi Archive is currently on display in the reopened heritage flat, its contents arranged across elegant wallpapered walls and rare wood panelling. The curated selection is guided by three themes: the rarity of public events, the authenticity of civic life, and the intimacy of personal portraits.

Among the first category are never-before-seen photos of a symbolic, collective funeral procession for President Nasser in Alexandria, images that curators cannot recall having been exhibited elsewhere. Another standout set features 41 black-and-white images developed from a 41mm film reel recently discovered in the studio's basement. They capture a vibrant wedding procession moving through an Alexandrian street, offering a vivid glimpse of a cultural life marked more by openness, not rigidity.

Other works highlight Bedawi's experimental flair, such as the superimposition of two images within a single frame, or hand-coloured photos created through intricate, labour-intensive techniques. Archivists also chose to enlarge and exhibit damaged prints—those affected by time, humidity, and oxidation—as time-worn works of art, bearing fossil-like textures and abstract surfaces.

These pieces, shaped by the years, invite fresh interpretation and imaginative engagement. "Time has inscribed its marks on them," says Abdelaziz. "They now possess a mysterious depth and abstraction that open up new pathways for reinterpretation."

Opening to the world

The drive and enthusiasm of the three young men working to present a renewed visual narrative of Alexandria's modern history is closely aligned with one of the core objectives of Cairo Photo Week.

As organiser Marwa Abou Leila explains: "We aim to strike a balance between the classical artistic concept of photography and the contemporary umbrella of full-spectrum visual content, which encompasses moving images and audio elements—without abandoning our dedication to the original functions and craftsmanship of still photography. That's what resonates with young people."

For the first time this year, participants also came from Aswan, Qena, Sohag, Port Said, North Sinai, the Red Sea, and beyond. "For many of them, it was their first opportunity to engage directly with world-renowned photography experts and leading mentors." The event featured notable contributions from global institutions such as Vogue, National Geographic, the World Press Photo Foundation, and Getty Images.

Foreign cultural influences also came through a range of partnerships and sponsorships from the Dutch, Italian, Spanish, French, Swiss, and Danish embassies, as well as the British Council and the European Union.

Transitioned to modernity

The late Iraqi-born photographer and academic Yasser Alwan remains a profound source of inspiration. Having lived and taught in Cairo for over three decades, Alwan captured authentic local portraits of Egyptians in unconventional settings such as quarries and horse race betting clubs. His non-traditional portraiture—and its role in advancing visual social research—was internationally recognised.

A commemorative retrospective of his work was displayed across two venues on Hussein Pasha El-Maamari Street, just behind the newly restored historic Radio Theatre and Cinema building. The exhibition featured more than 30 photos drawn from Alwan's archive. "He developed a distinctive school of photography, working exclusively with analogue cameras and in black and white," explains curator Nadia Mounir.

Four core themes are horse race betting,  labourers and specialised workers (including those in quarries and tanneries), everyday street life, and portraits of friends and family with whom Alwan shared strong emotional ties. This final group closely aligns with the exhibition's concept of showcasing the lasting bonds of love and appreciation.

The exhibition's title, The Dinosaur, was inspired by a nickname affectionately given to Yasser Alwan by the children of his friends, with whom he often pretended to be a giant dinosaur, chasing the little ones around.

In life, Alwan pursued the soul of Cairo as it transitioned into modernity. He explored hundreds of street markets and second-hand bookstalls, collecting old photographic prints and film reels, some dating back to the 1920s. From these, he assembled a remarkable visual narrative of everyday life in Egypt prior to the 1952 revolution—a collection he titled Akkasa, shortly before his death in 2022.

Elsewhere, a young man with an analogue camera photographs Alwan's portraits of labourers, their faces set into the rock as they work deep within the quarry walls. He passes by El-Khann, the hidden café immersed in its parallel world of creative celebration, and snaps another shot of the wall where patrons lean, its surface adorned with graffiti portraits of iconic Arab music legends such as Mohamed Abdel Wahab, Umm Kulthum, and Abdel Halim Hafez.

He then ascends the stairs of the same building to reach the Her Majesty the Press exhibition, where he captures rare journalistic images of Egyptian presidents, leaders, and cultural figures spanning 100 years. There, a large banner hangs on the wall, listing the names of Palestinian photographers killed in the ongoing war in Gaza.

On a nearby wall, a moving photograph depicts Faten Hamama, the revered 'First Lady of Arabic Cinema,' offering a gentle smile to a wounded war victim as he removes the bandage from his eyes, straining to see her enchanting smile—a fitting final image to an immersive week.