Almost dead silence! And I want to sleep, forget about this day, the day of tomorrow, to plunge into my silly phantasies and forget everything.
But I cannot fall asleep. I am neither tired nor do I want to do something in particular.
I like the steady night as it reigns down, bereft of the noise and babel of an insistent impulse of being compelled to act on anything.
In fact, I seek the stillness of the day as well. Of everything that is around. From engines, diesels and feet, to voices, horns and the shouting of ad panels, from the senseless marching in fixed headings, the waiting in stations and the elongation of queues and people alike, all feels loaded, whirling yet numb.
I find no reason for this and only the thought of leaving the squirming gets to me. Even more so! Getting out of this muddy puddle. Somewhere beyond, ashore, from which everything seems in a certain order, or at least surrounded not sprawled chaotically.
I find little of interest, the rest I suspect as forgery or imposture, half done and with a scattered confused mind. I am being reproached that I don’t like anything and it immediately comes to thought that I’m only compensating for the nothingness that you people like.
I often play with others. Moral issues come into light and I have that satisfaction of getting aside of them. Most of all, there is this almost compulsive feeling of disrespecting such limitations, so to speak. Sometimes a misunderstanding arises, I am being called names and tags and I get that fervor to act identically to those tags, at least to give some reason to their judging. I don’t care how this sounds. What they wanted to see is what they will get. I’m not keen on proving my innocence.
I cannot feel others’ suffering in the way it should affect me, or I do feel it and it sustains me, stirring a smile somewhere inside. I feel no guilt or regret, or sometimes it shortly manifests like any other mood during the day. I tell people what runs through my head and they prefer to hear the same things from others. I feel like being in twilight and my attitude resonates with that.
My eyes are getting closed! (Photos and text: Dragos-Radu Dumitrescu)
To me, the end of a fair feels just as important to be a part of as it's more crowded, chirpy colorful middle happening. While many may try to pry into the swirling of sound, taste and visual babel, I was more curious of its glibly looseness that follows after all celebration and spread.
A sense of space seems to reorder itself into episodic encounters with now the more personal environment that governs the few remaining people. Pavilions and machinery disentangle, small objects and leftovers commingle in an almost amusing attempt to keep their livelihood. It’s a small small universe where things tend to rid themselves of the unnecessary, where the essence of forms can become more apparent.
An expanse that keeps the promise of self-preservation, bordering the more vast, chaotic outside worlds.
(Photos and text: Dragos-Radu Dumitrescu) Kodak Tri-x 400, Ilford hp5 400
Turk is a project that was initiated while exploring the various settlements of the southern part of Dobrogea. Some of them are inhabited by Turkish communities and have been preserved so far from the modern world probably due to geographical position and isolation.
More than documenting the daily aspects of their social life, I will try to visually explore and gather fragments of a culture that partly adapted to our standards and people but that also keeps to its ethnical origins, comprising as such a diverse archaic world. And so it comes to Dobromir, Lespezi, Valeni, parts of Cetatea, Fantana Mare, Osmancea, villages that host Turkish ethnicity. My role is merely of a preserver. What little tradition still inhabits and is being transmitted within the community is worth documenting visually.
However, this is not a standard approach to photojournalism as such. Photojournalism will relate to different social issues that permeate both space and present time, in order to facilitate a simplistic narrative surrounding ethnic integration, poverty, local education, religion, mixed marriage (once again pertaining to social integration), also tradition but rather related to Romania’s specifics, of acclimation.
To me a community is an integer of cultural history and a very small-sized group of people amidst a greater continuous mass of surrounding different habits, different history, although shared, is ultimately quite difficult for it to retain its cultural backgrounds. From an assumed subjective personal fascination, the rituals and endeavours of Turkish people have held together for hundreds of years and it is by this archaic societal ceremony that a community is formed, aside from any geopolitical interest.
The main reason is the sense of identity that people seem to uphold. The cohesion, structure, differentiation, organizing, all instillpsychological assuring in the face of anonymity. And this is what a community does, it keeps.Now, photographing their rites in a direct manner is only recognizing their existence. It is onlynoted, rarely experienced. Trying to suggest through aesthetic instruments the personality, the identity of such people within their enclosure, the atmosphere, the sentiment of a tethered ancestral line that still brings forth the spiritual abundance up to this day, can be considered an experience that it is worth imparting.
Even if more or less, people from this timid enclave, who have been living in these parts of Dobrogea since the early 1800s, are gradually forgetting their origins or convening to the actuality of Romanian village life, their collective historical values still linger even without full awarenessand are emanated almost by chance, episodic. Which in any photographer’s decency is to capture and essentialize.
I want to mention that this project is partially shared with two fellow photographers: CorneliuSarion and Rafael Ianos, regarding Lespezi village and has been up to date an immersing experience having together three different visual outlooks, and the complement that is being offered. (by Dragos-Radu Dumitrescu)