Welcome to Vulture Town

A kettle of vulture’s circle high in the sky, with wings wide and necks outstretched to surf the summer thermal draft. In the valley below the Arda river loops and doubles back on its self, a naked man basks on the shingle beach. A kilometre beyond sits the town, sitting dead centre in the crater of a flaccid volcano, the town is empty, its population dwindling since the gold mine closed leaving behind tumbleweed pensioners. This description is beginning to sound bleak but this is the eastern Rhodope Mountains in Bulgaria and nothing is ever as it seems.

Steeped in history and shrouded in mystery the forested peaks of the Rhodope cover around 12,000 km’s of Bulgaria on the Balkan peninsular, the town of Madzharovo a stone’s throw from the border with Greece.

It’s the land of Orpheus and serpents and dancing trees, and where the landscape has been carved by dragons.

With its population now hovering at around 500 its gold rush days are long gone, during the communist times when the mine was open the town was flush with cash, in the now shuttered and somewhat forlorn looking Sky Club Bar they would come from miles around just to rub shoulders with the wealthy miners, their salaries five times that of the locals, in fact they couldn’t get rid of it says Veselina who used to work behind the bar back in the day, with nothing but Rakia and beer to spend it on, they would roll up wads of Leva to prop up wobbly table legs she laughed.  And is there still gold in dem hills? Oh yes she says assuredly and the prospectors still come and sift and silt along the seams, ever hopeful of what the ancient Thracian tribes had thrived on.

Just outside town on a forested bluff beside the river is the Vulture Visitor Centre, bustling with volunteers twitching with anticipation at the imminent arrival of a couple of chicks from Prague, that is to say, a pair of Egyptian vulture fledglings from Prague zoo.

The magnificent Egyptian vulture was once a common sight above the peaks of the Balkan peninsular but is now globally under threat. Needless to say increased urbanization, exploitative agricultural practice and poaching have all contributed their steady decline. But somewhat surprisingly the tables may be turning and it seems the human population in Bulgaria is now in decline and the vultures are having something of a renaissance.

Marrin, the ruddy faced center manager swigs from his cold can of Kamenitza beer and tries to explain the state of the local food chain;

 It’s all to do with the cows he says;

 Cows? I question and pull the ring on my beer.

 Da, they are wild and rare.

Rare wild cows I ponder as Marrin sups on his beer as though he has explained everything.

Marrin detecting I am a bit slow on the up-take goes into further detail;

The Rhodope short horn cow is one of the last remaining indigenous cattle still surviving in Bulgaria, one of the last of the European prehistoric breeds; numbers had fallen to a few hundred. Predatory wolves being the chief culprits so the local farmers would use poison to combat the wolves, not only the cows and wolves would fall victim but the vultures feeding on poisoned carrion set out for the wolves would also get caught up in the rural carnage.

Wild cows, wolves, vultures. I shifted uneasily in my seat and eyed the surrounding forest with suspicion.

With help from the Bulgarian Bird Society and funds from the European Union a truce between the wolves and farmers has been holding long enough to reverse the decline, the successful preservation and protection of raptors such as the Griffin and Egyptian Vulture is just part of the re-wilding of Europe that has also witnessed the re-introduction of Bison to Bulgaria, missing for centuries.

The chicks from Prague have arrived and after having electronic tags attached by the BBS team they will be settled into a hack perched on the side of the mountain in preparation for life in the wild.

A task not for the faint of heart that will involve the scaling of a Rhodope peak with the birds carried in crates strapped to the backs of intrepid Sherpa-esq team members. Scrabbling over scree and hauling along rope pulleys, with the river diminishing in size and the vistas growing grander, it’s a long way down.

The absolute dedication and commitment to the cause could not be more evident as one of the BBS experts laden with a heavy wooden crate abseils from the summit and places the juvenile Vulture in the hack.

As the summer heat subsides and autumn approaches the migration will begin, a not unfamiliar story; from the barbed wire  boundaries of Europe, across Anatolia into the Middle East and Africa, a journey in search of resource, safety and security, a journey fraught with risk, a journey of hope and the struggle to survive.

Madzharovo has turned its back on its industrial past and is rebranding itself; the giant murals painted on the side of communist housing blocks are testament to a proud new vision.

And what of the naked man sunning himself on the banks of the Arda I hear you ask? He, much like the near-by town is returning to nature.

…………………………………………………

If you have enjoyed reading this story and want to help support my work then do please click on the Buy Me A Coffee link below.

Buy Me A Coffee

Your help is very much appreciated-thank you

John

Black Sea

Black Sea

At that (Homeric) time, the sea was not navigable and was called Axenos (inhospitable) because of its wintery storms and the tribes that lived around it, and in particularly the Sythians in that they sacrificed strangers…

But later it was called Euxeinos (friendly to strangers) when the Ionians founded cities on the seaboard.

Strabo From his Geographica

WRE_5412
Copyright John Wreford 

One-off print sale

From my Black Sea series, a project in progress

Printed on 30×40 cm Hahnemühle Photo Rag fine art paper with a wonderfully soft feel, boasts a lightly defined felt structure, lending each artwork a three-dimensional appearance and impressive pictorial depth.

A lovely fine art print signed by the artist.

50 Euros Inc. postage Payment via Paypal wrefordimage@gmail.com

My website is being updated so do feel free to pop by and browse:

John Wreford Photographer

Mindfulness & The Art of Slow Photography

Mindfulness and the art of Slow Photography

WRE_2245-Edit-Edit

A Turkish friend had been going into lucid detail of the true meaning of mindfulness, a term of modern trend that can often be treated with flippant discard or so I thought.

One version of the meaning according to Psychology Today is; “Mindfulness is the self-regulation of attention with an attitude of curiosityopenness, and acceptance” There are many definitions of this meditative practice that has its roots in Buddhism but this description in particular appealed to me,  another is “Mindfulness is the basic human ability to be fully present, aware of where we are and what we’re doing, and not overly reactive or overwhelmed by what’s going on around us”

Now  regular followers of my blog may have already determined I am not really a spiritual man,  neither am I one for hanging labels on my beliefs or philosophy, I do poach a little from here and there and no doubt that a thread of anarchism runs through it all but in the end I see things in shades of monochromatic pragmatism. So, it does seem somewhat contradictory of me to delve into the world of Zen. But I am also a contradictory fellow.

As my friend was explaining the concept to me, I realized that this was something I already practice but I know it as the non-philosophical term; Photography. Personally speaking, photography and the concept of Mindfulness are intrinsically intertwined, to be at the very least a competent photographer you must follow the basic principles of Mindfulness.

I have unknowingly touched on this in previous posts and it’s something I now want to explore further; Finding Order In The Chaos

A recent case in point.

The day had not been going well, frustration and anger had been slowing morphing into depression, I had decided a walk would do me good, I shouldered my camera gear with only half an idea of shooting a near by lake at sunset, I am not a landscape photographer but I enjoy the process and of course the walk.

Along a potholed lane out of the village, past a couple of scruffy mutts bleating and into open fields, the sun was still high and the heat induced sweat dribbling wherever it could, past sullen sunflower plants with their heads bowed in despair, the landscape was not spectacular; provincial, pastural, pleasant, the lake was hardly a lake, more a big pond, I’m not sure how you define either. I hiked the ridge above the lake and surveyed the scene from every angle, a gypsy and his cart toddled past and some fishermen were packing their kit and getting ready to leave. Soon I stood alone apart from a hawk of some sort, wings wide above the fields.

I predicted the final movements of the sun, where the shadows would fall, the only problem was that from every angle an electricity pylon spoiled my potential photograph, it was the wrong sort of energy that was blighting my bliss. There would be no pretty picture postcard lake at sunset shot and It didn’t matter, this was not a commission, I had no brief to fulfil.

I scrambled down the bank to the waters edge and startled basking frogs back into the sanctuary of the water, plopping one after the other in perfect time to my footsteps, at the far side of the lake I set my bag down and made myself comfortable in the long grass.

Its here that things began to come into focus, my view was limited to what was in close proximity, the only sound was nature, in the stillness the frogs regained their confidence and reappeared in the algae coated water, a stork settled and turtle edged along his perch, I was completely focused on my surroundings, the pattern of plants and the insects that went about their business without interruption, as the lake fell into shadow I felt inclined to head back to home, I have no idea how long I sat there, in those moments my mind was free, not empty but not cluttered with concern or toxicity. I made a couple of images and strode home as dusk passed into night.Untitled-1

The images were unimportant snapshots consigned to my hard-drive until now, the clarity though was enough to make a difficult decision a simple one.

I think we need to talk about Slow Photography more often and its relationship with Mindfulness and its potential as Art Therapy.

As a full time professional photographer, it is often hard to justify the time and trouble and inevitable expense to engage in non-profitable work, that is, unless you redefine the term profitable.

Thank you all for your continued support and buying me a coffee goes much further than you can possibly imagine Buy Me A Coffee

Thank you Marcus Marcus Peddle Photography & Poetry

WRE_2273

 

 

 

 

 

Death Is Not The End

Death is not the end.

WRE_3047

Melancholia on a hill, a village given back to nature. The village offers nothing, the young would rather scrawl swastikas on the walls of smoggy cities in a country where only the white are welcome.

WRE_2946

Forlorn and soon to be forgotten, only the earth is fertile.


Words and pictures from a village in Bulgaria, the fastest shrinking country in the world.

Abandoned houses, farms and villages dot the beautiful Bulgarian countryside. Village life no longer offers opportunity it seems except for the fool hardy and forgotten and perhaps those intrepid enough to bring it back to life.


My exhibition Syrians Unknown is still on display at the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford should anyone be passing – previous blog post : Syrians Unknown


In breaking social media news my Instagram page is undergoing something of a renovation, for now it will devoted to street photography from Istanbul where I should also be offering workshops and tours of the seedier backstreets. Just glance to your right hand side to see the link along with my Twitter feed.


Your valued and continued support is much appreciated and should you want to treat me to a much needed cup of coffee just click on this easy to follow page 🙂

Buy ME A Coffee

 

Street Photography Sofia

Street Photography in Sofia, Bulgaria.

Street photography is a passion of mine, as a young whipper snapper the work of the imperial Henri Cartier Bresson’s Paris was as mesmerizing as it was inspiring, William Klein’s grainy edgy New York and the now so familiar images of Istanbul made by Ara Guller, actually it’s a long list but am not getting into a roll call of photographic superstars, occasionally I can’t help thinking that somehow 1950’s New York or Paris of the ’30’s gives any photographer an edge, Istanbul still has some incredible locations but the modern world with its mass of visual pollution in the guise of capitalistic advertising giving the impression of an explosion in a paint factory means that while Ara still sits drinking his coffee in his Istanbul cafe his city has largely disappeared.

My first real attempt at producing a body of work defined as street photography was in Cairo, ( Cairo Time & Tramlines  ) in a teeming city of gazillion people it offered almost overwhelming options, I had to make some rules and limited my project to a set radius of the old Fatimid walls, for a boy who had spent more time in the meadows of the Thames than the city the excitement and exotic was a heady creative cocktail. Much later Istanbul (Istanbul Street Photography ) provided the never-ending urban landscape populated with twenty million potential subjects, some may say it’s like shooting fish in a barrel, perhaps not quite but these cities do provide an engaging backdrop in which to set the characters of endless opportunity and drama limited only by the soles wearing from your shoes.

WRE_BLOG6070

Moving to Sofia in Bulgaria at the start of the year was an exciting new opportunity to discover a new country, a new city, using street photography as a tool to explore, discover and learn, you pay more attention, you take things slower, you pick out the details, I can’t stress the non-photographic benefits enough.

Now I need to choose my words carefully here; for those that know Sofia and those from Sofia we can agree it’s not a screaming mega city, it has the population of a neighborhood of Istanbul, its gentle, its calm, its green, its empty. For a street photographer it’s a challenge.

The challenge this time was to create a body of work that is not simply a street shot image but one that conveys a sense location, with each location a unique history and culture, I do get a little bored of random images that say very little, technology now allows us to snap with stealth but still it’s no excuse for meaningless images, and since you have asked, I have no preference when it comes to technology but a DSLR is my workhorse and despite its clumsy and noisy attributes serves me well enough.

WRE_9486

So here we are then a selection of street shot images of Sofia, a city of undeniable charm, hopefully they will appeal to the more critical Bulgarians amongst us too.

Anyone interested in a personal Street Photography Workshop in Sofia, Cairo or Istanbul drop me an email, I am also preparing on-line mentoring classes for those interested.

WRE_5671

Connect on my personal FACEBOOK page for recent shenanigans

And do please drop by my  Website

And needless to say anyone wanting to buy a print just send me an email-it helps with the rent.

Finding Order in the Chaos

Finding Order in the Chaos

Landscape Photography

Despite having grown up in the countryside I have never really had much of an affinity for it; as a child I learned the names of trees and grass, I learned to swim in the river a couple of miles along the track, I fished it too or at least I sat and stared at the ripples and bobbing float until my thermos of tea went cold.

Ultimately, I was bored and wanted away the first chance I got, village life rarely offers a teenager much and cannot compete with sordid appeal of the city.

So, it’s odd how now I am finding myself searching for the sanctuary of nature, as a photographer I had never really shot landscapes as such and yet here I am up to my arse in brambles.

WRE_4x530
Three Birches on Vitosha Mountain

It all started a couple of years ago, I arrived in Istanbul somewhat damaged by the war in Syria, bouts of PTSD interfered with my sleep, bankrupt financially and mentally, I had plenty to keep myself occupied with. trying to repair the mess I had caused myself from making the decision to stay in Syria when the war started but there where times when the city was too much for me, people were too much for me, as a photographer who has always tried to focus on people this became a concern, its easy to hide in a city of near on twenty million but its hard to be alone.

A bus from a stop close to Taksim would trundle along the shore of the Bosphorus and eventually wind its way up through wooded hills to Bahçeköy on the edge of the Belgrad Forest, fat street dogs lounge on the pavement of the sleepy village, with my headphones still plugged into my head I strode through the village and into the forest, like the city boy I had become even my Nikon was still at home.

A few minutes into the woods I stopped; looked up and unplugged my music and suddenly I could hear the peacefulness, bird song and the rustle of leaves fused, the creak of swaying branches and something or other scuttling in the undergrowth.

My next visit would follow very quickly and this time a bag with a camera and supplies enough to explore the wilderness on the edge of the megacity. I hardly shot an image, mostly I sat on tree stumps and pondered the Fungi, this though really did seem the point, it was not an assignment or project it was escape, I let the forest wash over me and from time to time I spotted order in the chaos and made a picture.

WRE_4xx096
A Little Light in the Dark

Rising with the lark has always been a challenge I’d failed miserably at, going to bed with the lark a farm more appealing proposition, somehow I managed to wake and set off in the darkness motivated entirely by caffeine, the dawn ferry would leave the European shore of the Bosphorus and sleepily sail to the Princess Islands, an hour into the sea of Mamara, the early boats usually empty and only those working on the Islands or making deliveries would be sipping tea and smoking on the chilly deck.

Alone with just the horses that roam Kinaliada I switched from sitting on tree stumps for the granite like rocks that tumble into the sea, my face damp from a mixture of rain and spray, somedays the wind would be biting cold and my fingers hardly able move the shutter dial, the colder my skin the more alive I felt, the longer I stand with my tripod the more I feel part of the landscape, I shot precious little on these visits, a couple of printable images exceptional, the time it takes far more valuable.

WRE_51cxcx57
The Adalar

Now living in Sofia, the city is dominated by Vitosha mountain, it sits with patriarchal confidence at the end of every street, snow capped or shrouded in dark mist its alluring and intimidating in equal measure.

At 6am on the 6th June I woke without alarm other than the fact it was my birthday and without hesitation I shouldered my pack and took the bus as far as it would go. The early morning sunshine was warm and I struggled the first steep paths, without map or app I just climbed and occasionally deviating into a shaded glade, bathing in natures forest bath, slowly the weather cooled and changed, rain began hitting the leaves and dripping through the canopy, cool and fresh I felt energized and continued up, somewhere on this mountain was a waterfall and it would make the perfect destination but I had no idea where it was.

Untitled-1xcx
Boyana Diptyque

My legs were beginning to remind me it was my birthday, I had reached something of a summit, a neighboring peak slightly higher, the pine trees were missing branches and many were laying like battle field corpses, the clouds were now on my shoulders, the sky rumbled and flashed and the heavens opened, the Pines offered little shelter, the rain became bullet like hail stones, the sound of the thunder reminiscent of the reasons that drove me to the forest in the first place, But now I was awake not sleeping, the forest so dark now only the lightening illuminating the silhouetted shapes of trees, I gave myself entirely to the storm, soaking not only the rain but the sound and fear.

Storms inevitably pass.

WRE_40xdx81

The Six Set.

To mark this moment I have made a selection of images available as limited editions;

Six Inch image printed on beautiful Hahnemühle  fine art paper signed and limited to editions of Six

Only 66 Euros per print

The images have a lovely tone and texture which seems a little lost on screen.

Payment via PayPal is perfect PayPal Payment Here  Mail me for any further details or use wrefordimage@gmail.com via PayPal whichever seems to work. Thank you.

Connect on my personal FACEBOOK page for recent shenanigans

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

A Cold Night in Samokov

A Cold Night in Samokov

I arrived in Sofia just as the year was ending, my life in luggage I could carry, another blank page ahead of me, I knew only one person, Iva, a host on Couchsurfing who had kindly offered to host me, I rarely surf couches but the offer was timely and genuine.

Over wine and Banitsa we chatted into the early hours about art, life and travel, you really must meet Rossitza Iva had implored, and, disregarding the late hour our meeting had been arranged for the party the following night ushering in the new year.

Well after the apocalyptical impromptu firework display had finished terrifying me and the neighborhood dogs Rossitza made her fashionably late entrance.

From Andalusia to the Orient is a project with EU funding that Dr. Rossitza Ohridska-Olson had been busy creating in Bulgaria, discussing and celebrating the interaction of the shared cultures of Europe and the East, quickly we found common ground and before dawn had broken on the new year we had discussed the possibility of me taking part in the evolving exhibition.

It may come as something of a surprise to some but things can move pretty quickly in Bulgaria, soon after our initial meeting we traveled to the small town of Samokov an hour or so drive from Sofia, the town  better known for winter sports has a rich history of art and culture,  there we met with Vesselin Hadjiangelov the director of the beautiful museum of history, from Andalusia to the Orient had already arrived in Samokov and was on display in the prettiest of Ottoman mosques, it was soon agreed I would also take part.

A flurry of activity followed, images were selected and edited, printers were harangued and Rossitza worked through several nights on the design, layout of the hanging panels and accompanying text, it all seemed slightly unrealistic to achieve and yet, on a cold night in Samakov the results were hanging and guests sipping wine.

The images were hung as a labyrinth, a confusing journey of contrasts and misconceptions, the hanging panels were cut with hexagonal windows allowing just a glimpse into another world.

The first six weeks of life in Bulgaria have been very inspiring, the warmth and hospitality unrivaled, I feel very blessed to have met such lovely people.

Untitled-1

Am now just about to leave on an exciting road trip so please stay tuned for more images and silly stories,  sign up for email updates in the box to the right and below, social media junkies I  am all over the web so lets connect and if anybody wants to help with next months rent then buying a print will help tremendously.

Personal Facebook Page

 

Dogging At The Russian Church

A grey and grumpy Vitosha mountain stared down at me as I made my way along the wide scruffy boulevards of downtown Sofia, cobbled streets and tram lines glistening with a smattering of winter rain, the commies had gone but their heritage remains, a snub-nosed ageing tram proof of Sofia’s charming Soviet past, eager to explore a new city and a new country I set off with expectant stride, what had the Russians done for us I thought as I set out to discover.

I found myself strolling through a pretty park and through the naked trees I spotted the golden balls of the Russian church, its steeple thrusting into the moist evening sky, officially named after the patron saint of the last ruling Russian Czar, who by all accounts was a complete asshole, not though Saint Nicolas the Miracle Maker who, needless to say was a thoroughly nice chap-as Saints have a habit of being.

I didn’t have a guide book but if I did am sure it would say it was a pretty little church well worth a visit, as I pondered the pious the  quiet evening air was punctuated by a high pitched scream, I glanced in the direction of the pained outburst; and there, just in front of the back entrance of the church, so to speak, were two Dachshunds coitally engaged, their owners, one on her knees and the other stooping to the level of the dogs were seemingly orchestrating a less than romantic union, another couple sat sucking enthusiastically on cigarettes on a park bench, voyeurs to a public display of canine copulation, I, on the other hand tried not to stare but out of the corner my eye watched stooping owner maneuver the horny hound much like a quarterback with a football, another screech and shuffling of paws, the voyeurs puffed in silent boredom. This I thought, was a curious affair.

Another screech, unable to resist one last glance I stumbled over the curb of the pathway and headed towards the Alexandra Nevsky cathedral in search of some neo-Byzantine sanity.

What was happening in the corner of a Bulgarian park is something of a mystery to me, perhaps the proximity of the church was relevant, a blessing from the Miracle Maker perhaps? Could it have just been everyday animal husbandry occurring in a pretty little park in Sofia.

The art and joy of street photography allows me to slowly absorb the environment I am exploring, to pause and observe, to question, often voyeuristic and always fascinating.

Breaking Blog News:

2003-2013 Living in Syria

2013-2018 Living Turkey

2018- I have now relocated to Sofia in Bulgaria for a new chapter and Balkan adventure.

Here are a few of the first street images I have made while exploring my new home-with lots more to follow along with my usual off-beat observations.

Do sign up for Email updates in the box to the bottom right of the page and connect on all the usual channels @JohnWreford

Facebook