I loved the people who were part of my life and I often traveled with them to their cottages in the country. The countryside was a mix of beautiful untouched land sprinkled with small old villages, and industrial wastelands. These landscapes revealed something to me about the Czech people and their history. The industrial areas represented the harsh Soviet regime that left scars on both the land and the people. The areas that seemed untouched, and in particular a region called Cesky Raj “Czech Paradise”, were covered with spruce trees and ancient sandstone. Cesky Raj emanated a magical feeling, which I imagined had been alive for many centuries. By photographing my friends in these woods I wanted to capture the beauty and spirituality I saw in both of them.
Despite having many close friends and despite my enthusiasm about living in the Czech Republic, I still felt like an outsider. I would be silent for what seemed like days and my spirit became withdrawn. As I observed my friends and my lover, living in a seemingly normal way, speaking in fluent Czech, I began to view them as super figures, and exalted beings. I felt I was becoming smaller and smaller, fading away. During that period I took pictures to document the people, the culture, and the land I admired. I also wanted to document the feeling that I was disappearing.
The city felt very different from the country. A grim and unfriendly mood filled the streets as well as a sense of repression. I photographed anonymous Soviet buildings, the T.V. tower strangely hovering above the city, and the interiors of dingy bars where old men would sit and drink all day and through the night. I tried to show how people were isolated from each other, alcoholic, and lonely. But I also longed to capture my own sense of being cut off from the world around me.
Everywhere I looked I found a melancholy spirit in the Czech Republic. Sometimes it would be romantic, such as a stark landscape of snow and gray sky that seemed timeless. Other times it would be an unpleasant gloom I found in a 24-hour bar, stinking of cigarettes and alcohol. Regardless of the type of melancholy surrounding me, it always seemed to confirm my inner feelings.
Photography expresses well the paradox of being involved and yet removed from one’s own life. It was cold and depressive living in the Czech Republic, but there was also a love affair. I loved a Czech man, and many friends. I loved the bohemian Capital, the poplar trees that lined the country roads, the fields of snow, the bars, and the melancholy spirit it engendered. I believe the tension between love and isolation is rightly illustrated on the first page of the book; a typical Soviet style housing project on the left hand side, anonymous and showing no sign of life, a couple, intertwined and almost unaware of the camera, kissing on the right hand side. This diptych symbolizes the strange combination of living with others intimately, and yet experiencing the sense that one is not there.
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Despite having many close friends and despite my enthusiasm about living in the Czech Republic, I still felt like an outsider. I would be silent for what seemed like days and my spirit became withdrawn. As I observed my friends and my lover, living in a seemingly normal way, speaking in fluent Czech, I began to view them as super figures, and exalted beings. I felt I was becoming smaller and smaller, fading away. During that period I took pictures to document the people, the culture, and the land I admired. I also wanted to document the feeling that I was disappearing.
The city felt very different from the country. A grim and unfriendly mood filled the streets as well as a sense of repression. I photographed anonymous Soviet buildings, the T.V. tower strangely hovering above the city, and the interiors of dingy bars where old men would sit and drink all day and through the night. I tried to show how people were isolated from each other, alcoholic, and lonely. But I also longed to capture my own sense of being cut off from the world around me.
Everywhere I looked I found a melancholy spirit in the Czech Republic. Sometimes it would be romantic, such as a stark landscape of snow and gray sky that seemed timeless. Other times it would be an unpleasant gloom I found in a 24-hour bar, stinking of cigarettes and alcohol. Regardless of the type of melancholy surrounding me, it always seemed to confirm my inner feelings.
Photography expresses well the paradox of being involved and yet removed from one’s own life. It was cold and depressive living in the Czech Republic, but there was also a love affair. I loved a Czech man, and many friends. I loved the bohemian Capital, the poplar trees that lined the country roads, the fields of snow, the bars, and the melancholy spirit it engendered. I believe the tension between love and isolation is rightly illustrated on the first page of the book; a typical Soviet style housing project on the left hand side, anonymous and showing no sign of life, a couple, intertwined and almost unaware of the camera, kissing on the right hand side. This diptych symbolizes the strange combination of living with others intimately, and yet experiencing the sense that one is not there.
back to the gallery