Girls like the ones you grew up with, hung out with, shared a meal with. Girls like a friend of mine who, during a birthday party, told me of the abuse she had suffered, abuse that was so traumatic she buried it away for years. I sat next to her as she spoke, listening to her pain and feeling her strength. I realized she was a hero whose story I hadn’t heard before. The experience of telling her story seemed to help my friend and so I decided to help other girls like her by giving them a voice, a platform to tell their stories.
There are a lot of reasons why girls don’t report abuse or speak about it: some fear they will be judged, others want to avoid the pity of strangers. Many also worry they might hurt their families if they speak out about what was done to them.
The goal of this endeavor, this project, is to shine a spotlight on the reality that behind closed doors, at home—where children should feel the safest—some are abused by the very adults who are supposed to protect them. Due to shame and fear, they are often left to deal with the pain alone and the trauma of the abuse stays with them their whole lives. I’m grateful to each one of these girls for their candidness and bravery and I apologize for asking them to remember.
Trigger warning: The following photo essay includes depictions of sexual abuse that may disturb some readers and trigger sexual abuse victims.
Covid19, quarantine, and the funeral takes place in his Homeland. Due to the quarantine restrictions, it was almost impossible to move throughout the city, so I was practically forced to move and stay in Masalli. Entrapped in way, longing, I found peace in the camera. Camera made it easier for me to re-connect with relatives I haven’t seen for ages. I realized I must appreciate this short period of my life and taking it as chance to know my culture better, and maybe also know better myself.
Masalli is a unique place. Only after filming it I was able to understand it to the core. My father was always telling me mystic stories on Masalli, and I had this vivid memory, that became clear with taking a camera to my hands. People who live in Masalli, their traditions, their daily habits is something to explore with a great interest. I continue to travel there and get to know this beautiful place. Now that I go there I feel myself home, and can film it as a native liver.
Novruz Bayram tradition in Yukari Salahli, Azerbaijan, where men wear women’s clothing as part of the celebration. Rooted in local romantic mythology, this custom reveals a symbolic reinterpretation of the feminine image within a predominantly masculine society. Drawing on my long-standing research into the role of women in Azerbaijan, the project reflects on how femininity is reimagined and embodied through male participation in this ritual — offering a complex, poetic, and at times ironic dialogue between gender, tradition, and cultural identity.
Over the course of the year, I worked in various sports halls across Azerbaijan - from Baku to Ganja and Sumgayit. My initial task was simple - to capture an empty hall. Sometimes I had to ask people to give up their spot for a photo, other times I had to wait until they finished their workout. The mirror was always in my focus, as it was in every hall, and over time it turned into a means of self-expression.
At first, I took self-portraits in the dressing room when no one was around, but over time, interacting with the surrounding space became important to me. I absorbed the energy of the hall, becoming a part of it. Against the backdrop of metallic structures and muscular trainers, I discovered new aspects of female strength within myself.
Moreover, I was drawn to the interior of Azerbaijani halls. Initially, it raised many questions, but as I immersed myself in this environment, I began to find it very unique, reflecting cultural values.
Looking back at my 2019 archive, collected almost by accident in Azerbaijan, I encounter these photographs with a shifted perspective through emigration. What once were unnoticed moments now feel like visual "letters" sent across time and space.
In Camera Lucida, Roland Barthes defines photography as a simultaneous condition of presence and absence: it shows life but also carries the mark of time. Originally captured spontaneously, over time this black-and-white archive has transformed through displacement and distance.
Today, I continue to expand this project, searching through my archives and updating it with moments from the new countries I visit.
Girls like the ones you grew up with, hung out with, shared a meal with. Girls like a friend of mine who, during a birthday party, told me of the abuse she had suffered, abuse that was so traumatic she buried it away for years. I sat next to her as she spoke, listening to her pain and feeling her strength. I realized she was a hero whose story I hadn’t heard before. The experience of telling her story seemed to help my friend and so I decided to help other girls like her by giving them a voice, a platform to tell their stories.
There are a lot of reasons why girls don’t report abuse or speak about it: some fear they will be judged, others want to avoid the pity of strangers. Many also worry they might hurt their families if they speak out about what was done to them.
The goal of this endeavor, this project, is to shine a spotlight on the reality that behind closed doors, at home—where children should feel the safest—some are abused by the very adults who are supposed to protect them. Due to shame and fear, they are often left to deal with the pain alone and the trauma of the abuse stays with them their whole lives. I’m grateful to each one of these girls for their candidness and bravery and I apologize for asking them to remember.
Trigger warning: The following photo essay includes depictions of sexual abuse that may disturb some readers and trigger sexual abuse victims.
Covid19, quarantine, and the funeral takes place in his Homeland. Due to the quarantine restrictions, it was almost impossible to move throughout the city, so I was practically forced to move and stay in Masalli. Entrapped in way, longing, I found peace in the camera. Camera made it easier for me to re-connect with relatives I haven’t seen for ages. I realized I must appreciate this short period of my life and taking it as chance to know my culture better, and maybe also know better myself.
Masalli is a unique place. Only after filming it I was able to understand it to the core. My father was always telling me mystic stories on Masalli, and I had this vivid memory, that became clear with taking a camera to my hands. People who live in Masalli, their traditions, their daily habits is something to explore with a great interest. I continue to travel there and get to know this beautiful place. Now that I go there I feel myself home, and can film it as a native liver.
Novruz Bayram tradition in Yukari Salahli, Azerbaijan, where men wear women’s clothing as part of the celebration. Rooted in local romantic mythology, this custom reveals a symbolic reinterpretation of the feminine image within a predominantly masculine society. Drawing on my long-standing research into the role of women in Azerbaijan, the project reflects on how femininity is reimagined and embodied through male participation in this ritual — offering a complex, poetic, and at times ironic dialogue between gender, tradition, and cultural identity.
Over the course of the year, I worked in various sports halls across Azerbaijan - from Baku to Ganja and Sumgayit. My initial task was simple - to capture an empty hall. Sometimes I had to ask people to give up their spot for a photo, other times I had to wait until they finished their workout. The mirror was always in my focus, as it was in every hall, and over time it turned into a means of self-expression.
At first, I took self-portraits in the dressing room when no one was around, but over time, interacting with the surrounding space became important to me. I absorbed the energy of the hall, becoming a part of it. Against the backdrop of metallic structures and muscular trainers, I discovered new aspects of female strength within myself.
Moreover, I was drawn to the interior of Azerbaijani halls. Initially, it raised many questions, but as I immersed myself in this environment, I began to find it very unique, reflecting cultural values.
Looking back at my 2019 archive, collected almost by accident in Azerbaijan, I encounter these photographs with a shifted perspective through emigration. What once were unnoticed moments now feel like visual "letters" sent across time and space.
In Camera Lucida, Roland Barthes defines photography as a simultaneous condition of presence and absence: it shows life but also carries the mark of time. Originally captured spontaneously, over time this black-and-white archive has transformed through displacement and distance.
Today, I continue to expand this project, searching through my archives and updating it with moments from the new countries I visit.