So there it was. A dialogue. Or rather an attempt at a dialogue. What is a dialogue, after all? Can I ever see in the other anything else other than my own reflection? What is a portrait, after all- and what does it reveal about the person behind the camera?
Initially, it seemed to be an easy task: I simply wanted to portrait that stranger in front of me. It was supposed to become a straightforward documentary project, an objective picture of someone else life. That was not what followed. Our communication became very intense straight from the beginning- there were signs and traces of a painful past that I could not fully understand but was eager to decipher. That unknown universe right next to me felt overwhelming - so close and yet out of reach, burdened with an inexplicable melancholia. It did not lend itself to any objective explanation, to any preconceived notions. It occurred to me that in order for this project to work I had to delve deeper, descend into an unknown, probably chthonic territory. At some point the familiar ground under my feet collapsed - there was no more fulcrum. Identities became blurred. I no longer knew who this project was really about. Was it about that person or was it about me? It felt uncanny to recognize my own features in the images I took. It felt frightening to be in the position of the object of my own investigation. But if I wanted to get any answers, I had to descend down the rabbit hole.