Baghdad — FROM his cramped storefront in central Baghdad, Mazin Farouq gets a clear picture every day of what's going on in his country. Actually, he gets dozens.
Farouq, 37, runs a photo lab in the Iraqi capital, and he cherishes printing images of smiling subjects and celebrations. Graduations. Weddings. A baby's first steps. Even the occasional racy shots of a frolicking couple.
But these days most of his orders are daily reminders of Iraq's bloody civil war: memorial portraits of "martyrs" or grisly prints of the latest carnage -- car bombings and torture victims.
The tiny photo shop is an open shutter onto Iraq's woes, and Farouq has reluctantly plunged into a somber new specialty.
"Almost all my work now is focused on martyrs," he said. "This job is my mirror to know what is going on in my country. And things are getting worse."
He held up a picture of a little girl with a stuffed animal at her feet and scanned the image into a 10-foot-long photo processor.
"This one just came in today. She was killed by a car bomb with her parents." He shook his head. "The photo is brand new. It was taken just a couple of days before she died."
He used to dote over each picture, sharpening contrast, adjusting light and finding the perfect tint for green grasses and blue skies. Now he's fixing the reds in a pool of blood.
The change, he said, began last year, with the increase in car bombs, death squads and gun fights. Instead of the usual orders to develop film shot at birthdays, get-togethers and soccer games, distraught family members poured into his shop carrying snapshots of recently killed relatives and requesting Farouq's help in creating memorial portraits.
At first the requests struck him as odd. Before he knew it, they became the mainstay of his business.
Some mourners seek simple enlargements to display at funerals. Others prefer elaborate collages, mixing pictures of the deceased with images of Islamic shrines or scenic landscapes. Some request a black sash draped over the top corner, others prefer colorful backgrounds of flowers, waterfalls or clouds. Most are finished with the victim's name and a short Koranic verse.
After the funeral, the computer-generated portraits usually end up in the family home. "They hang the pictures on the wall to help them remember," Farouq said.
He works closely with Samir Abdul Munim, a Baghdad sculptor who now earns his living restoring damaged photos and, more recently, also creating memorial collages.
"With the increase in people dying, this work has increased, too," he said.
IN a studio above Farouq's shop, Munim scrolled through background options he offers customers. Shiites often request famous shrines, such as the Imam Ali mosque in Najaf, or painted portraits of martyrs, such as Imam Hussein, the 7th century hero who was Ali's son and the prophet Muhammad's grandson. Sunnis lean toward scenes from Mecca.
One recent job started with a snapshot of a 3- or 4-year-old boy wearing an orange basketball tank shirt. He is seated proudly atop a plastic tricycle, his scraped knees hugging the sides.
Using computer clipart, Munim transported the child into a Disney fantasy world far different from the Baghdad he lived in. Mickey Mouse dances by a white picket fence. Donald Duck hangs from the handlebars while Dumbo soars overhead. "The Happy Martyr" reads the caption.
Munim doesn't know the boy's age or the circumstance of his death. It's too painful to delve.
"I don't ask about the details," he said. "I don't want to know."
Portraits may reflect the personalities of the deceased. A sunset might be used for a person who was not particularly religious. A person from Najaf might be pictured in front of one of the city's famous shrines.
Sometimes parents bring in military photos of sons killed in action, but ask that the uniforms be replaced with civilian clothes. If a religious person died before being able to make the pilgrimage to Mecca, the family may use the background collage as a way to symbolically fulfill that wish.
"It's a way of honoring those who have died," Munim said.
Memorial collages began to appear in Iraq in the 1990s, but were relatively rare. At first, they were created by cutting up photographs with scissors, arranging the pieces atop one another, and then taking a new picture. The portraits improved dramatically after the 2003 ouster of Saddam Hussein, when designers got easier access to new computers, digital equipment and software programs.
Farouq fell into the photo-processing business almost by accident. As a young Christian growing up in the southern city of Basra, he was imprisoned for three months by Hussein's regime for refusing to serve in the military. In 1991, during the Persian Gulf War, his family moved to Baghdad when their home was destroyed by cluster bombs.