Epitome by Vic Bakin
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Could I make something today that does not refer to war? I doubt it. Bruised visibly or invisibly, most of the places and people here have somehow been touched by war. V.B
This project emerged from a deep need for personal peace and balance during a period of turmoil. It became both a meditation and a contemplative exploration of beauty and meaning in the face of modern war.
The series consists of images taken over the span of ten years, as well as more recent ones captured in war-torn areas. Although there is no solace to be found in these devastated landscapes, the artist frequently returns to their film archive. The uncertainty, unease, and fragility—along with moments of beauty and tenderness—have become the core elements of this body of work.
Working with analog photography, the artist seeks to create tangible objects, something that can be held and shared. The small prints are reminiscent of their childhood, when the artist’s father would print his vernacular photographs at home in small sizes to conserve paper and chemicals. The process of printing and counting seconds in the darkroom has become a meditative act for the artist, serving as a form of mental therapy.
They are particularly drawn to giving the photographs a warm tone. In contrast to the coldness of white, this warmth imbues the images with life, reflecting the fields, trees, rivers, and human skin—the elements that breathe and evoke a sense of vitality. For the artist, the ambiguity found in poetry holds great power. They are not interested in straightforward statements but rather in something more fluid, where a piece may allude to one meaning yet evoke various emotions in different viewers. The intention is for no one to be told how to interpret the images definitively.
One such image features a weathered pile of discarded chairs under the rain, photographed just days before chaos erupted. The chairs are what they are, but they can also be seen as a fleeting sculpture of the times—a symbol of suspended dreams, plans, and hopes amidst disorder. Though the structure somehow holds itself together, the question lingers: will it eventually disintegrate into ashes or simply fall apart?