I have just returned from a three day trip to Pilica, near Bijeljina in the east part of Bosnia and Herzegovina, right on the border with Serbia. Zeljka, whom I met in London last year spoke to her grandmother about the project who in turn spoke to the women in her village. By the time I got there on Tuesday she told me that 6! women have agreed to take part. Incredible! Firstly we visited her grandmother, Mila, who lives in an old house alone. We chatted for a while with her, looking at the family photo albums which span from early 1940’s onwards (the best photo was of a Santa Claus in a red suit, with the five star on his hat, and a picture of Tito in the background) whilst polishing off a wonderfully delicious Easter cake. Mila guided us from house to house introducing us to the women and looking after us…
Whilst photographing I became more and more aware of the moments of stillness present between myself and the person I am photographing. Before pressing the button I allowed time for the person to ‘forget’ for a moment (or an 8th, 15th of a second) that they are being photographed… There was a process of waiting, not too long otherwise they start fidgeting too much, or wondering if I have finished. Waiting for them to become a bit more accustomed to the odd situation of there being a stranger in their home photographing them and their clothes, their dear and personal belongings…
Their clothing or rather the whole attire for death consisted of a hand made cotton and silk white skirt, a colourful cilim (kilim carpet), one woman had a beautiful black waistcoat which are made by specially trained tailor, hand knitted ‘priglavci’ – long socks, underwear, hand made ‘pokrov’ which is a white cotton sheet that is laid out underneath the body, candles, one woman even had a shirt for a priest, and pieces of textile clothing for the women who will wash and clothe her when she dies… Their pillows were interesting, one woman had a pillow from Germany (and I saw this at another woman’s death attire, I photographed last week in Banja Luka) which was made from velvet and had Oriental motifs on it.
For one of them this was the first time that they have shown the clothes to someone other then their neighbours (as quite often it is amongst the neighbours that the washing and clothing would happen), and some have never shown it to their daughters or closest ones…
There was a case that the daughters saw the clothes for the first time only by seeing the photographs (this happened with two women whose mothers’ I photographed last year). I asked them if they want to see the photographers, as didn’t want to impose such emotional subject on them…I have become a visual messenger, hopefully making it easier for the women I photographed to approach the subject with their dearest ones, and hopefully my intervention in their lives is not further unsettling them…
