Yoav Horesh - The J. E. B. Stuart Monument

Monuments and memorials are built to last, to remain as prompters of remembrance far beyond the events recalled in living memory. They honor the past, whether that past is shared, contested, or troubled. However, the true significance of a monument often lies not in what it commemorates, but in the emotions, reflections, and actions it inspires. Conveying different messages to different audiences, monuments may encourage, empower, induce fear or empathy, intimidate, consolidate a sense of identity or set of values, and shape attitudes towards authority. Instrumental in cementing historical narratives, they also cast their shadow over social realities and imagined political futures.

Such notions and tensions underlie Yoav Horesh’s exhibition, which captures a decisive moment in the burdened history of Confederate monuments in the United States. These monuments, glorifying the leaders and legacy of the Confederacy — the eleven pro-slavery states that seceded in 1861, igniting the American Civil War — were intended to restore the South’s pride following its battleground defeat. At their ideological core was the promotion of the “Lost Cause” narrative, a revisionist account framing the Confederacy’s cause as a noble defense of states’ rights and Southern heritage, while obscuring slavery’s crucial role in the conflict.

Although initiated during the Reconstruction era (1865-1877) by veteran groups and Confederacy loyalists, most Confederate monuments were not erected immediately after the Civil War. Instead, their construction peaked between the 1890s and 1920s, at the height of the Jim Crow segregation laws, and again in the 1950s and 1960s in the course of the Civil Rights Movement. These periods saw violent efforts to suppress the progress of African American equality by reasserting white supremacy through discriminatory policies, the formal disenfranchisement of Black voters, and the widespread terror of lynching. Strategically placed in prominent public spaces and in front of government buildings, these monuments projected dominance and served to reinforce existing power hierarchies.

In 2020, following the killing of George Floyd by a police officer in Minneapolis, protests erupted across the United States against institutionalized racism targeting people of color. This wave of civic unrest rekindled disputes over Confederate monuments and their contentious symbolism, leading to the defacement, damage, and, ultimately, the official removal of many statues —though still only a small fraction of the numerous ones that dominate the Southern landscape. Amid this societal reckoning, Horesh traveled to Richmond, Virginia — the former capital of the Confederacy — to document this pivotal moment of transition. The timing was critical, as these monuments were in the process of losing their ground amongst heated debates over their content, purpose, locations, and future.

Horesh’s use of a large-format film camera and traditional silver print techniques emphasizes the historical gravity of the events unfolding before his lens. The black-and-white photographs, inevitably evoking the racial dynamics embedded in the landscape, acutely capture the clash between opposing aesthetic and political languages. The grandiosity of the classical statues is confronted with the vibrant creativity of African American culture, as graffiti and hand-crafted commemorative elements — dedicated to victims of police brutality and hate crimes — transform these now counter-monuments into sites of demonstration and collective grief. This grassroots artistic resistance challenges the statues’ imposing presence, offering an alternative narrative to their original intent.

It is said that monuments are for the living, not the dead. Horesh’s images, displayed within the charged setting of the Museum on the Seam — itself a contested monument to a turbulent past and present — embody this profound truth. Through his lens, history is not simply preserved but actively interrogated, inviting viewers to consider their role in shaping collective memory and the stories that give it meaning.