These photos were taken in Belgrade over the last two years. Belgrade, or Beograd the “white town”, the capital city of a country I left ten years ago, sickened by the never-ending violence of the nineties. Belgrade where I came back half luckily, half willingly, all wrapped up in hopes and doubts.
I immediately felt the need to walk, walk, meander, observe. As if to confront some fear. I set out in search of something, not sure what; my steps still hesitant, yet determined.
And here, the pictures gorged with black ink.
“The woman is waiting for the night to fall. All day long, at her windows, on the second floor, the curtains kept closed. The man wonders if she really is up there, if he hasn’t just dreamt she was back. Then night falls. Windows light up all over. The woman comes down. She has a look round like she’s checking there’s no one there. For a second her eyes search the dark, peer over the blackness of the porch where the man hides.”
Sylvain Prudhomme, “Gradually laying out blackness” (extract)