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Fotografija i priroda

Skola fotografije predstavljena na Western Kentucky University

Jos jedna izlozba u sklopu Year of Bosnia na Western Kentucky University realizovana  je 15. februara gdje je moj bivsi profesor u prezentovao fotografije u Spencer’s Coffee lociranu na kampusu. Moj profersor je tokom svog govora predstavio mene i moju Skolu fotografije, a Maja Antonic je predstavila BiH iz svoje perspektive. Moj brat je prisustvovao s Dejom. I Gina hvala na fotkama! 

Idemo dalje ekipa…praviti nove korake za ovaj nas little foto program u Ze! <3

Prisjetimo se da je 31. januara je takodjer otvorena izlozba na fakultetu pod nazivom BiH: sada i nekada i do aprila ce biti u galeriji. 

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Bosnia-Herzegovina: Then and Now

Since the Bosnian war, I became a photojournalist with a new life in the US, yet I still found myself flying back and forth between the two places, wanting to tell a story about my homeland. But what was the story about my motherland?

I was on a balcony with my friend, drinking coffee, enjoying the view of Gorazde, the only Bosnian-Herzegovinian city that managed to defend itself during the aggression in 1992-1995.  Pigeons were flying by, and I waited for the one that would symbolize peace and freedom of this city and the country as a whole. Then, my coffee shook. I jumped to the sound of a siren—sound that resembles a tornado warning in the US, only louder and never-ending. This same siren used to send us off to the nearest basements during the war, to hide from shootings and bombs. Only this day at the balcony, was twenty-four years after the war..

“Don’t worry. Every first of the month, sounds are being tested, for no reason, really. But they sure scare us every time,” my friend Amela said.

Is this Bosnia? A country in peace where even in peace people were disturbed?

When I photographed people digging graves to find their family members, I saw how the pain haunts them two decades later. I leaned of the bureaucracy, or rather, the games played in order to find the already found mass graves, and this taught me the difference between the truth and the truth for the public. I learned of the corruption that brought the country to an economic collapse. I learned of a peace agreement designed to divide us, and of war stories we cannot forget and stories not found on the news. I watched people still trapped in a circle where everything is based on ethnicity, religion and political views. Yet, this was still not Bosnia I knew or wanted to know.

 

Bosnia was my neighborhood and my grandma, Catholic by faith, who, during the war shared food with our Muslim neighbors across the street, and they too, shared food with us. Bosnia is our Orthodox friends, whose basement was my home during the war. Bosnia were my friends labeled by politicians and taken to different schools because of their names, but when we’d see each other, they’d hug me and never wanted to let go. Bosnia was not the pits or mass graves I entered to look for bones, Bosnia was rather the mountains I walked on, and rivers with green colors only found here. Bosnia is the beauty I yet haven’t seen anywhere in the world, and I have travelled it.

Bosnia is the reporters and correspondents who covered the Bosnian war, who give us a gift of friendship every time they revisit or when they speak of the country deeply rooted in their hearts to their family members.

To me, Bosnia is even that annoying moment, when every time you give a bill larger than five, you’re asked if you have the change. Bosnia is when at the store you’re a dollar short, but the cashier says ‘it’s okay’. Bosnia is when you enter the bus and a younger person offers their seat to the elderly, even if there are many other empty seats available. Bosnia is when the flood destroyed towns and villages, but not one person died because everyone reacted instantly. Bosnia is when my people sensed the landslides coming that in a matter of seconds covered their houses twenty feet under the ground, but they managed to escape.

Bosnia is home I could never let go off.

But in the last three years, more than 350,000 people left, calling Germany and other European countries, their home. This is twice the size of my hometown, and that is two whole cities that left!

I, on the other hand, have settled here again. But I no longer dig the past. I remember it, of course. But nowadays, I feel the urge to show the other side of my homeland. So I climb its mountains with a camera on my shoulder, and hundred of other people walk with me. And you know what? This is where tolerance is learned. This is where the land inspires us to keep it clean, and people that stride on its soil, reaching the top, inspire us that those of different faiths or no religion at all, are equally respected, for up on a mountain, shall it suddenly storm, we are all in this journey together. We learn not to divide ourselves or the country because we are all the children of our motherland that we yet have to discover.

And sometimes we stumble upon mine signs, and even if they are far from us, I hate the thought that I am even one step shorter of full freedom. So my friend jokes not to be angry or sad, that those areas will remain untouched by humans, forever.

And that’s Bosnia. Beautiful, yearning its prosperous years. Those who stay, they learn to enjoy the view and watch birds flying by, and they don’t let the turbulence disturb them much. For they are the root of those same people who defended a city under the siege. They are the same people who survived the flood, and they are hope that a positive change will arrive. So they endure, and persist. And it is them who will one day tell a story about the people who believed in this land.

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Razgovor s fotografom Rogerom Richards i glumcem Miroljubom Mijatovicem

U razgovoru s Rogerom, naucili smo da je radoznalost za ljudima uticala je da on postane fotograf, a raspad Yugoslavije, da dodje u Bosnu za vrijeme rata.  Roger M. Richards je dokumentovao ratove i prije rata u Bosni, i upravo ga je to pripremilo da dodje ovdje. Njegove fotke su obisle svijet, a sada radi na realizaciji filma Sarajevo Roses. Nama je sinoc pomogao da se pripremimo za intervju odnosno razgovor, sa Miroljubom Mijatovicem, rukovodiocem dječije, omladinske i lutkarske scene, koji je po nama, oblikovao malu scenu i time postao cijenjen u svom gradu i sire. 

Roger nas je posavjetovao da pazljivo slusamo odgovore Miroljuba, da ne postavljamo pitanja koja moze odgovoriti sa ‘da’ ili ‘ne’ i jednostavno nam je rekao da ‘vodimo konverzaciju’. Ovo je bio jako uspjesan razgovor sa jednim od najcjenjenijih fotografa koji je bio ovdje i koji nikada nakon rata nije zaboravio Bosnu.

Mislim da se mnogi u Bosni mogu sloziti koliko nam je ovaj covjek ne samo doprinjeo, vec i drag kao osoba. Miroljuba je Neven pitao, koje su najbitnije kvalifikacije da se postane glumac. Miroljub je rekao, “Biti dobar covjek.” Isto je i u svijetu fotozurnalizma. Roger nije samo fotograf, vec i dobar covjek. Kao i Miroljub.

Miroljub nam je ispricao jos mnogo toga o njegovom poslu, a naravno i neke podatke o njemu, a njegovu pricu i niz ostalih prica koje radimo cemo vam dostaviti uskoro!

Hvala ekipa, hvala svima. Idemo dalje.

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PODRŠKA OD TAJČI

Moja prva objavljena fotografija u novinama je izasla prije 7-8 godina u novinama u Kentakiju kada je Tajci, nekadasnja popularna zvijezda iz Hrvatske dosla da pjeva u jednoj katolickoj crkvi u Franklinu.

Istrcala sam iz dzamije gdje sam fotkala neki dogadjaj. Takav je moj zivot fotozurnalistkinje koji me odvede na sva vjerska mjesta i jos mnogo toga! Zaustavila sam se na prvu benzinsku pumpu, presvukla i zatim vozila 30 minuta do crkve. Za Tajci mi je rekla kolegica Maria, ali nisam odmah povezala ko je Tatiana ‘iz mojih krajeva’..No, moj brat koji radi u Franklinu mi je rekao da se radi o Tajci.

Kasnim i otvaram vrata od crkve. Ispred mene zena, plave duge kose sa glasom od kojeg nisam mogla da se pomjerim sa mjesta. Nisam je ni uslikala da nebi zvuk okidaca uznemirio note…Muzika je bila sasvim drugacija od one uz koju sam odrasla. I na kraju, kaze, ‘da otpjevam nesto za ekipu iz bivse Juge’, mog brata, Roberta i mene.

“S neba padaju dvije zvjezdice….”

U stilu i glasu koji je mnogo bolje zvucao nego verzija koje se sjecam. Plakala sam kao da sam cula najvecu sevdalinku..

Njeni sincici istrcase na binu sa majicama na kojima je pisalo Tajci.

Poslije koncerta je dosla u restoran kod mog brata i Roberta. Nisam od tog dana vise nikako vidjela Tajci, ali sam znala da ce to opet nekad da se desi. I neki dan bas citam clanak o njenoj majci koju sam takodjer te noci upoznala, koja mi je ostavila dojam tako divne zene. O njoj Tajci pise: “Ne, moja majka nije oštećena ili prikraćena. Njoj ništa ne nedostaje. Ona nema ništa manje od drugih i nitko nije „savršeniji” od nje. Jer ona u sebi nosi neiscrpan izvor Ljubavi koji sve životne pukotine i slomove zacjeljuje zlatom.”

Kad sutradan zateknem iznenadjenje u inboxu: “Cestitam na inicijativi Skole fotografije, tu sam ako ikako mogu biti od koristi, Tajci!”

Tajci i njen muz trenutno bore bitku, on je dijagnosticiran rakom, ali njih dvoje svaki dan pokazuju hrabrost vjeru u ljubav, zivot, trenutke…odgajaju svoju djecu. Tajci takodjer ima i svoj profesionalni zivot i pored svega toga, uspjela je da mene licno obraduje.

To ja nazivam ples sa zivotom: kada nam zivot nudi ljepotu, a i oluju kroz koju osoba ne posustaje, vec pronalazi snagu, hrabrost i vjeru, sto za sebe, tako i za druge, ne odnosi je tako lako ni vjetar, ni oluja..Ide, koraca, odnosno plese uz sve sto zivot daje i uspjeva pored svega pronaci prostor jer ima zelju da podrzi nekoga drugog.

Hvala ti Tajci!

Osjecam da sam vec korak naprijed uz tebe i sve koji nas podrzavaju. <3

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Uvod u fotografiju: svjetlost

“Ugasili smo svjetlo i tako je nastala ova fotka. Najvise mi se dopalo vecerasnje druzenje i ovaj dio kada smo pricali da bez svjetlosti nema fotografije.” Dino Mesanovic, gimnazija.

Prvi cas “Uvod u fotografiju” se odrzao u Muzeju i bilo nas je dvadeset. Upoznali smo se i ekipa je za 10! Radujem se iducem sastanku i nemojte zaboraviti: kesten, sisarka, jaje ili paprika. 🙂

 

 

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