Ever since I started photographing in Greece, in Turkey, and then a bit later in the other Balkan countries, it was not in order to describe reality. I never believed in the arrogance of the objective truth.
I was carried away by the charm of observing the people of the Balkans, in a way that was heartfelt yet void of reason. My emotions were not always positive, in fact they often infuriated me in an unbearable way. I went back home for a few weeks without even wanting to talk about them. After a while I missed them, and then I returned.
With time, I started demanding rational explanations from myself and attempted to clarify my contradictory emotions. By that time, the balkan paradox had already become a fixation to me. I discerned it everywhere, in the political and military choices, in art and in culture, in history, in people’s everyday lives, in their habits and traditions. I discerned it even in my own choices: in the form as well as the content of my photographs, in my contradictory emotions, in my passionate persistence to collect, without an obvious aim, the fragments of a collective identity.
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