Archive for the 'Gesellschaft' Category
March 13, 2008 - 10:09 pm - Posted by Galina
I miss Graz and its streets more than I miss Kyrgyz steppes, and it seems both are lost forever, though first is not far than 200 km from me, and native lands where I used to run being a horse lay in other part of the world
Yesterday I tried to depict some of die sterreichische Opfer des Nationalsozialismus at Heldenplatz (so many candles were lit there) together with 5-6 professional photographers equipped with massive cameras. Though I was eager to make portrait of chancellor Alfred Gusenbauer and he had not appeared (what a disappointment), it saved me and my Nikon D200 with Sigma lens from disgrace, because in very poor light conditions it was shamefully dead.
Know amateur photographers who are absolutely convinced that type of camera plays no role weather you produce masterpiece or shit. But after gaining experience I see it is not true
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March 2, 2008 - 2:20 pm - Posted by Galina
Sunday: Putin and company
I dialed many times before something clicked in enigmatic telecom spaces and voice told: Privet!
It is always miracle to hear sounds of your own tongue as if after morning cup of Sunday coffee over der Standard you make amazing blitz-trip in your past
My Austrian acquaintances demonstrating common competence often talk about countries of former Soviet Union and their politics, economics and history.
Strange is they are deaf for live evidences and try to feed me with superficial knowledge they obtained from TV.
As if sporadic brainwashing can reveal ultimate truth. As if they possess final set of facts about part of the world they never lived in
O, these long distance calls!
I could hear noise in the receiver, as if somebody manipulated with recorder, and told as before during our student times in Moscow: Hey, sergeant, not so loud please! addressing imaginary secret service operator who struggled through spy process with old Soviet equipment.
How it goes with elections, I asked. What is the matter who, they replied me, Putin or Medvedev, or tsar Ivan the Terrible? Such surface political events do not form the flow of life.
Elections everywhere are more of performance, of show. And show must go on.
There is always major piece of reality not reachable for facade interpretations.
It lies in underwater parts of iceberg, tiny tip of which exploited as der Platz for mass media crackle. The genuine material of reality stays unknowable and unreachable for explanation
You cannot perceive it looking through newspaper and drinking beer in Lugner City.
As members of consumer society we can not be sure who originated thoughts we have in our head. Whatever we say is conditioned by chewing gum we consume every day.
You can not be sure you know truth unless you percept it in realm of your own life
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February 27, 2008 - 9:42 am - Posted by Galina
As I already wrote before its always major part of life negativities unavoidable. Oddly enough all my depressing experiences concentrated in sphere of relations. It is like sado-maso games with your own gastronomic perceptiveness. When being invited to occasional restaurant I am hardly appreciative, though never complain, perceiving product freshness and also hygienic conditions it was cooked in. Far from praising Vienna restaurants. It was not rare case to be ill after dinner together with gent who wanted to get in my pants. Felt literally ill eating greasy food and necessity to resist male stupidity.
I percept imnnermost layers of humans when communicate, including those who obtain official power Read the rest of this entry »
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February 23, 2008 - 10:44 am - Posted by Galina
I become more and more dissatisfied with possibilities Nikon D200 provides fo shooting indoors.
Sometimes I feel completely desperate looking through dark and unclear shots I made in cafe. From one side big professional camera can not suit spy and voyeuristic tendencies I have, from the other side small camera compromises quality especially in poor light conditions
After 7 months of my lonely life in Vienna and some disappointing meetings in WAFF, organizations and newspapers I become less optimistic about my professional journalistic future in Austria.
This country has very good social security system, that reduces earning and career possibilities for freelancers
Austrians value stability and security, that often compromises originality, initiation and enterprise
Unless you are not included in social system, you cannot survive
When you are included, you have boring work and one topic that you constantly discuss with your collegues is
how many years you need yet to reach commonly desirable pension age
I had head opinions of Austrians who used to work for American organizations for some time and
being detached from their own national environment
realized that cautiousness, lack of enterprise, tendency to be polite and cover problems,
laziness and deep down despise for foreigners are inborn Austrian qualities
I can not say I prefer Russians, French, British or Swedes
About every of these nationalities I also have opinions based at intimacy
experiences with their male representatives
I only want to say there is always day and night, dark and light,
moon and other side of the moon.
And how to come through next stripe of complete darkness and preserve
integrity of your own personality?
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February 13, 2008 - 4:45 pm - Posted by Galina
Normally people don’t like their own photos even of high quality. Portrait photography is the special art of flattery. Everybody has own vision of himself that can be broken by cruel frankness of digital camera vision. Image we perceive with our eyes is processed by multiple filters of our brain. People don’t like their own portraits, unless these portraits compensate lack of human filtering with blur and improvement of irregularities. I believe it is close to impossibility to earn something in portrait photography unless photographer invests fortune in his own studio light.
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February 7, 2008 - 10:59 pm - Posted by Galina
If life were ever joyful, it would be very hard to become old and die.
We know that everyday and every hour we become a little more dead than before, we do exactly this - we approach slowly but surely our individual border of physical existence and non-existence.
Good news is that there are many things in life that are simply awful and they are unavoidable. Perhaps especially keen pain reality gives when you are young and extremely perceptive, full of dreams and expectations.
With age you become a little bit more indifferent and realize that literally nothing in the world has so superior importance in journey through eternity. I often think about endless circles of life and other reborns.
You can hardly make all your aspirations true in space of one short life, nature constantly makes new sketches out of human material - more or less successful they are
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January 26, 2008 - 7:39 pm - Posted by Galina
I made a few shots of this blind man accompanied by black dog today in vicinity of Michaelaplatz,
it looked symbolic that he decided to take rest in place where bookshop with big window was situated.
Blue globes and black dog are metaphoric
Picture occurred to be very heavy because of many different colors and I reduced quality a little bit.
Shot was made with Nikon D200 and Sigma 50-150mm f2.8 lens
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December 28, 2007 - 9:50 pm - Posted by Galina
Usually I start my everyday street hunt with great enthusiasm. But gradually becoming tired, struggling forward and finding nothing interesting to shoot, frozen, hungry, I feel misery. Shoulder with camera bag aches. It is not so easy to find original face in the street at all. After so many months of search, perhaps nobody knows that better than me. People tend to hide their peculiarities. But not only. Often they dont hide anything. They have standard appearance that reflects standard attitude, by other words, I dare say, people prefer not to burden themselves to be original. Therefore they look alike. They move from underground station till shop and back and have fewer differences in their looks than ants or autumn leaves. Only sometimes I am lucky to spot somebody standing aside from crowd, even if they have criminal aura like these two young gypsies. Woman is looking at me aggressively. I know that in criminal world women often are more ruthless and bold than men
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December 3, 2007 - 5:19 pm - Posted by Galina
When pink morning light transits to yellow luminosity of midday, and wind blowing from Schmelz stops bringing meditative tunes of kukus bird, I start my everyday journey.
Mirror in my small flat is the gateway. I step behind it and as invisible clot of energy roll outside. Together with gust of wind I move along streets of Vienna
and touch cheeks of passers-by with cool breathing of fog.
I witness street life, its secrets and its drama.
Sometimes I occur to be that small beggar girl sitting at the corner of main street. She has cheap plastic doll in her pocket she wants very much to play with. For a while, I was also that woman in furs gazing at jewelry in window of fashionable shop. She seemed seized with anticipation to purchase precious thing.
I could be that invalid who crawled on his knees along Mariahilfer strasse and roared Bitter! with low hoarse voice. He had only one thought that after reaching the corner of Neubaugasse, he would make a break.
I participate in life of everybody at whom I look.
Observing street life, I contemplate that many live creatures have collective intellect. Behavior of bees and ants, for example, reveals uncommunicative cooperation. Every tiny ant is inseparable fraction of whole commune tired to it by invisible bonds.
Every unit of this world has its own play that perfectly fits in melodies of universal orchestra.
Do we feel ourselves inseparable with all humankind? Do we feel ourselves in literal sense participating in life of every person we meet in the street? Perhaps, not.
We see ourselves as alienated competitors in the life race. Reality is contest of winners and losers, and participate in it means to assert our superiority or inferiority.
Feeling of isolation and loneliness is inevitable consequence of this race. It is common ingredient of any unhappiness.
I would often observe one poor homeless drunkard at the benches of Westbahnhof,
tortured by cold and thirst.
I could enter his dumb world, where he swam alone in dark waters of mental coma. Anybody around would feel himself superior to him.
But I knew that his essential human core, that is common in all humans and not definable by social labels, in spite of ideas of decency and prosperity, this human core stayed in him pure and untouched. He was potentially capable of great things he never suspected about.
Humiliated and downtrodden outcasts do not know how powerful and superior they are!
There precious human depths stay forever unrevealed.
For me as for photographer all human being have basic inner equality.
What I value in street life and its spontaneous depiction is sincerity and innocence.
And those who dont care much about their social mask often have these qualities.
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November 25, 2007 - 7:57 pm - Posted by Galina
If you start doing anything seriously, soon you will realize that problems of any contemporary occupation arise mostly at promotion level.
If you cannot market yourself, you can do nothing. In such arts, as cinematography and photography, the more gifted you are the less chances you have to maneuver smoothly
through troublesome process of advertising.
Artistic talent is often about creative originality and helplessness in practical things.
Contemporary society is one absurd limitless marketplace. Wherever you go, you turn to be potential buyer with whom they talk in terms of sale. Internet is paranoia store of advertising spam and initiated purchases, not mentioning already radio and TV.
You cannot reach the end of your own street without being asked for money. Beggars trade you their humiliation; prostitutes trade their body orifices for temporary use. Post box exists exclusively to devour tremendous quantity of commercials and bills.
You are not human; you are consumer water, shelter, cloth, food, entertainment
and even your accidental death all is article of trade and must be paid for.
In this world of sales, the first thing you know about yourself is that you are nonentity in buy-and sell hierarchy.
Your overall human value drops down until mark Mr. Nobody or rises like pole of thermometer measuring potential buy ability of your bank account.
If your sad fate is to be an artist, first thing you better do is dismiss old-fashioned ideas about high value of hard labor and talent over mercantile mediocrity.
Today it is not essential to be genial, even better for your own sake not to be so; you must be moderately industrious-moderately gifted useful member of society with good management skills. In this civilization not creativeness, but management plays most important role.
Establishing photography as profession sorrowfully connected with your potential buy capacity.
One cannot even start in photography without certain professional purchases. Newcomer must compete at the market with those who invest thousands in their photo arsenal. New technologies demand involvement of modern equipment and software, which costs.
What about photo models who are not picture pretty and young, they can market themselves with certain profit in the field of porno. Beauty and youth are not sufficient conditions for success in non-sex-industry either.
A few photographers in Graz, with whom I came in contact searching possibility to earn as model in previous years, confessed they could hardly ever sell anything, and offered me to pose for them nude free of charge.
Before emigration to Austria, I would often visit Moscow Cinema House (Dom Kino) and enjoyed circulation among film producers, actors and camera operators.
Sometimes I was accompanied by film producer Sergey.
He was man over 50 with snow-white beard. Rather well known in documentary cinematography, Sergey came to Moscow from province with hope to market his films. He had two grown-up children and ex-wife, who could not bare life of financial insecurity with him anymore.
He sold all his property in native town to have recourses enough to buy only summerhouse in Moscow district.
It is meaningful point in Russian high society to live within or outside of Moscow city ring highway that signifies level of persons prosperity. Sergeys lodgings occurred to be far beyond ring highway, and to reach Cinema House he was to take suburban and metro trains for overall 4 hours per day.
He was discreet person with traditional gallantries of Russian intelligentsia, which
let him touch my elbow exclusively descending steep staircase.
Only once he told dreamily that he was fond of horses and that my angular movements
reminded him of young, not completely adult horse once he took care of being a boy.
Unfortunately, like anywhere in the world, one needs not only excellent product such as ready documentary to find buyers, most of all one needs to know right people.
Day after day passed, but Sergey could neither sell his work nor find new projects.
It was not rare case among Russian men of art and letters that he started to drink and drank heavily.
According to national tradition, within a few years he descended from champagne to technical alcohol consumption in environment of dark gateway.
I declined his invitations, because he used to fall asleep in the chairs of watch rooms, when possible promoters were invited, and he would slide under the table in restaurants and spread their, which gave pains to transport him out.
I stopped visiting Cinema House. Being deeply frustrated, I existed in state of inner emigration and intended to leave Russia.
Already in Graz, once I got message that Sergey died.
Being drunk as usual, he tried to get back to his lodgings and missed last train. It was frosty night. Instead of waiting in railway station, where he would probably be in hands of police who hunted for tipsy wanderers, he started for a walk.
Then he lay down in the snow to give himself a break.
The white bed was soft and warm.
He fell asleep.
Perhaps he saw vast green fields of his native land. Young red horse with black hair tentatively approached him.
He held out crust of bread with salt and murmured:
- Come here, my silky beauty
It snowed heavily that night.
There was turmoil of wind and snowdrifts. Nobody could disturb Sergeys sleep.
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November 14, 2007 - 5:05 pm - Posted by Galina
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November 10, 2007 - 10:26 pm - Posted by Galina
Coming back home in twilight,
I see street prostitutes in Htteldorferstrasse during their evening shift.
Girls have extremely minimized professional outfit standing there almost nude in cold rain.
Some of them are very young.
Trying to catch glimpse of their faces in quickly growing darkness
I try to imagine what they feel.
I also see men who occasionally stop there in cars.
What do they search?
During first years of my life in Graz I actively dated.
It was vitally important to start understanding people around.
Operating with few German words, I used
to talk with men from Graz, Brck and Linz-
about their lives.
Understanding surpasses language barriers.
But I could never clearly apprehend what men really search for.
If they tend to value physical component of relationship so high,
then every lass standing by the road could instantly gain full
power over their hearts.
We met in dusk smoky
space of Sporgasse caf. W. was one of my correspondents-55-year old
teacher with dark sad eyes.
He gave me impression of being sophisticated, cynical and innocent at the same time.
We talked for two hours and then met again.
He was born in province and after getting education
married to woman from neighborhood.
Union occurred to be unhappy,
and after 25-years of mutual ordeal, couple came through destructive divorce.
At the moment of our meeting, teacher was in relationship with 19-year old girl,
with whom he lived together.
Looking at the roofs of Graz spreading below us he told:
- We sleep in one bed, but we have no intimacy.
Gloomy luminosity of his eyes told me it was truth.
As he confessed, W. always experienced exaggerated sexual needs,
and his former wife used his dependency as weapon.
Eventually she deprived him of sex completely, and it was hard for both: he
suffered from absence of sexual release, and she - from absence of closeness.
During last years he got only occasional console in brothels.
But then something extraordinary happened to W. He fell in love.
He fell in love
with 16-year old girl, his pupil.
He could not resist her being so excitingly youthful and nonchalant,
her provocative bravery made him crazy, after years of depravity,
humiliation and sexual hunger, he felt suddenly free and sensed
that this 16-years old teenager with fully formed breasts and sensual smile-
was ready to do anything he wanted, flattered by very idea of being in love with teacher.
Sometimes when sitting in class, he was afraid to stand up and start lesson, because he was visibly aroused.
Common sense, cautiousness and grip of sudden infatuation struggled in him, and as
he started to meet with her privately in forest,
where nobody could spy after them, his wisdom gave up to obsession.
Young girl can hardly be preoccupied with goal to satisfy needs of aging teacher unless it gives food to her ambitions.
She talked to her girlfriends, and news about forest meetings reached ears of school master and parents.
The only way for W. to go on after that was to start living together with his girl
in officially approved partnership. He moved to the house of girls parents.
His decent income helped to resolve situation.
Every time I met with W., I sensed he used generous quantities of alcohol to inspire himself through day.
-It was mistake, mistake! All my life was mistake!- used W. to say searching with eyes
for waiter who would bring him next cocktail.
The last time I met W. he was smartly dressed and looked even more gloomy than usual.
He was to go to his mothers birthday party. O, mama, here is your beloved boy with huge bouquet!
There was also younger sister and canyon of misunderstanding between relatives.
Every meting of mother and daughter meant quarrels, shrieks and slamming of doors.
Sister was touchy. Having good education, one day she lost her work.
Then her boyfriend escaped and found younger woman.
She started to drink and became mixed in stories with co-drinkers. That infuriated mother.
Only 83-year-old father supported daughter morally and financially with his pension.
Then father suddenly died.
A few weeks after his funeral woman disappeared.
They seek her everywhere. Police, relatives. All private belongings stayed at home, so search dogs were used. There was no trace of her. Only one year later, somebody came against remains of human body in bushes of Schckl and the woman was identified.
She came there one day equipped only with bottle of brandy and handful of sleeping pills finding it was impossible to struggle through hell of her life alone.
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