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July 26th 2022. Temryuk, Krasnodar Krai, Russia. Russian tourists at a mud treatment park in Temryuk, a town located on the Taman Penisula on the right bank of the Kuban River amid a field of mud volcanoes.
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‘Vacation not far from ongoing tragedy’ Photographer Patrick Wack on his journey along the Azov Sea’s Russian coast, where he documented tourists during wartime

Source: Meduza
July 26th 2022. Temryuk, Krasnodar Krai, Russia. Russian tourists at a mud treatment park in Temryuk, a town located on the Taman Penisula on the right bank of the Kuban River amid a field of mud volcanoes.
July 26th 2022. Temryuk, Krasnodar Krai, Russia. Russian tourists at a mud treatment park in Temryuk, a town located on the Taman Penisula on the right bank of the Kuban River amid a field of mud volcanoes.
Patrick Wack

In the summer of 2022, French photographer Patrick Wack embarked on a trip along the coast of the Sea of Azov, traveling from the city of Taganrog to Russian-occupied Crimea, for his photo project Azov Horizons lll. On his journey, he documented Russian propaganda scattered all along the vacation resorts, where militarization met the tranquility of the sea’s shoreline. Wack spoke to Meduza about his experience photographing a country at war and reflected on earlier installments of his project, Azov Horizons l & ll, which saw him travel to the Ukrainian coast of the Sea of Azov, including Mariupol, before the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion.

Inspiration for Azov Horizons

I stumbled [upon] this project rather than actively researching or looking out for ideas in the region. In the summer of 2019, I took a summer trip to the Dolzhanskaya Spit on the Sea of Azov with my wife and her family. It was, first of all, the visual encounter with the area, its topography and colors, that triggered my interest.

The rationale behind most of my personal work is located at the intersection of geopolitics and journalism, and also poetry and travel. My projects, their rationales, and geographies evolve over the course of their production. The shore of the Sea of Azov, not cities, remained the geographical anchor, but I have given myself more freedom over time in terms of going inland. The American tradition of road photography very much influences my creative process. I like to travel freely around a vaguely designed itinerary […], but the rest is improvised. I like to stumble on situations and let my instincts guide me. 

July 2019. Dolzhanskaya spit, Krasnodar Krai, Russia. Mikhail, retired taxi driver from Moscow, is on holiday on the Sea of Azov.
Patrick Wack

The first appeal [of the Sea of Azov] was mostly visual, but [it was] also the nearby presence of occupied Crimea and the conflict in the Donbas. Unconsciously, the contrast between the peaceful beauty of the shore and the tension in the area was what pushed me to come back in 2021 to photograph the Ukrainian coast. I do not work in hot areas. I like to document the behind-the-scenes […] of current events.

Berdiansk, Ukraine. August 2021.
Patrick Wack

After researching the region, I discovered a wealth of historical, geopolitical, and environmental features that would allow for a relevant long-term project addressing very current issues. [But] I did not expect a full-fledged invasion of Ukraine, and just like for my Uyghur project, it seems history caught up [with] how this project is going to pan out. I plan to have a chapter for both Russia and Ukraine, before, during, and after the war. Each chapter also works independently as a mini-project.

For the third chapter of the project, I knew we would drive from Taganrog all the way to Crimea over the course of two to three weeks.

August 2021. Dusk on the sea front in Mariupol, Ukraine.
Patrick Wack

Working as a photographer in Russia

I finally arrived in Russia in December 2021, my arrival having been delayed by more than a year [because of] the pandemic. The war started shortly after that. Therefore, my experience of Russia is that of a country at war.

I have to admit that my knowledge and experience of Russia and Russian society are shallow. […] I was not around to witness the gradual militarization of society over the past ten years, which has increased with the start of the war. My images depict a general climate and attempt to extract a few main ideas [for] the viewer. Among them, […] the obliviousness of the Russian population, the militarization of society, and the peacefulness of a country slowly isolating itself from the world.

July 24th 2022. Azov, Rostov Oblast, Russia. Soviet Lenin Monument at sunrise in the city of Azov.
Patrick Wack
July 23rd 2022. Rostov Oblast, Russia. Pro-war propaganda image on a bus stop by the highway leading to the city of Rostov on the Don delta. The image features a child dressed in military attire, a military truck with a Z and the slogan "For the motherland".
Patrick Wack

It seemed like the conflict was a distant event, and people went about their vacation along the sea as [if] nothing was going on. But everywhere, signs and symbols of an ever-more militarized society were emerging. Watching Russian families having a good time by the sea while warplanes flew by on what were probably bombing missions into Ukraine seemed totally surreal and dystopian.

July 23rd 2022. Rostov Oblast, Russia. Visitors at the Sambek Heights National Military and Historical Museum Complex of the Great Patriotic War located at the entrance to Taganrog. Inaugurated in 1980 the park now also features a brand new museum complex opened in 2020.
Patrick Wack
July 26th 2022. Yeysk, Krasnodar Krai, Russia. Watermelons decorated with the pro-war Z symbol for sale at a grocery store in Yeysk, a resort town and port situated on the shore of the Taganrog Gulf of the Sea of Azov.
Patrick Wack

The situation [for] foreign journalists in Russia is vastly different from that of Russian ones. Even though quite a few foreign publications decided to relocate their correspondents outside of the country for safety reasons and to make sure they would be able to report freely, […] many others decided to stay, even though the window of what was possible had narrowed. I think most of us believed it was even more important to stay and report so that the country doesn’t become a “blind spot.”

Of course, the main difference [between international and Russian journalists] is that we believed we didn’t risk being thrown in jail. That illusion disappeared with the arrest of our colleague Evan Gershkovich, with whom I was working just before his arrest. [It was] at that point that I decided to leave the country.

Reception from locals

I was worried about the reactions I would encounter in areas such as Crimea, so close to the war, as a Westerner photographing and asking questions about […] current events. But there were no incidents in that regard. On the contrary, people were warm and welcoming, as always in Russia. The main challenge for me was narrative, that is to say, finding the symbols and situations that would create meaningful photographs to describe my feelings while being there.

July 29th 2022. Shcholkine, Russian-occupied Crimea. View from the abandoned Crimean Atomic Energy Station (nuclear power plant) in the outskirts of Shcholkine. The station was inspected following the Chernobyl disaster of 1986, and was found to be located on a geologically volatile site. Construction of the facility was summarily abandoned.
Patrick Wack
Summer 2022. Krasnodar Krai, Russia. The pro-war Z symbol has even taken over the fruit stands.
Patrick Wack
July 28th and 29th 2022. Kerch peninsula, Russian-occupied Crimea. Evgeniy, Stanislav and their fellow fishermen fish from a camp sitting at the southern tip of the Kerch peninsula in Russian-occupied Crimea right next to the Crimean bridge. The 18km-bridge, partly destroyed on October 8th 2022 by a truck bomb, links Crimea to the Russian mainland and is a symbol of Putin’s determination to anchor Crimea into the Russian Federation since its annexation in 2014. The bridge is also considered an environmental disaster for destroying the ecological balance in the Sea of Azov, disrupting the flow of water between the Black and Azov Sea and impeding fish migration. The fishermen mentioned the fish population had dropped massively since the building of the bridge.
Patrick Wack
July 25th 2022. Dolzhanskaya, Krasnodar Krai, Russia. Wooden cabins by the beach on the Dolgaya sand spit, a popular summer holiday destination for Russians, showcase militaristic flags.
Patrick Wack
July 26th 2022. Yeysk, Krasnodar Krai, Russia. Wreaths of flowers rest by the graves of recently killed Russian soldiers in a cemetery by the Yeysk Naval Aviation base. Yeysk is mainly a resort town and port situated on the shore of the Taganrog Gulf of the Sea of Azov.
Patrick Wack

While I always keep in the back of my mind the main topics behind my project, serendipity mainly drives it. I drive or walk around, and suddenly, a person, the light, or place triggers my attention. Then, encounters and conversations happen naturally. There were no issues talking to people, and even if some truly believed that Russia was only preemptively defending itself from […] NATO or American aggression, they were mostly happy to engage in a conversation with me.

July 26th 2022. Temryuk, Krasnodar Krai, Russia. Russian tourists at a mud treatment park in Temryuk, a town located on the Taman Peninsula on the right bank of the Kuban River amid a field of mud volcanoes.
Patrick Wack

Reflecting on Azov Horizons I and II

The main difference this time [compared to Azov Horizons I and II] was that I was working in a country that had unleashed an unprovoked and criminal aggression [against] its neighbor. The previous year, I had spent time documenting the city of Mariupol, which by now lay in ruins, and other places which were now occupied. Therefore, the project took a whole other meaning.

For Chapter II of the project, a lot of people are photographed looking at the horizon in a contemplative manner, like […] two girls in Mariupol or Anatoli [one of the people photographed for the project], with his eagle in Berdiansk. For me, this was a way to symbolize hope, as well as nostalgia, the longing for the other side, for a lost brother or a missed lover.

Berdiansk, Ukraine. August 2021. Anatoli from Kharkov with his bird on the Berdiansk sea front.
Patrick Wack

It’s indeed hard for me to mentally coincide the images of Mariupol in ruins with the ones I had made just a few months prior. The people from the city I know personally are all safe and displaced, either in the west of Ukraine or in Europe. [But] I had […] met people in Ukraine that now might be dead or most certainly displaced and traumatized.

August 2021. Mariupol, Ukraine. The beach front right next to the Azovstal steelworks.
Patrick Wack

I was now again on the Azov shore, documenting places and people going about their daily lives and [on] vacation not far from the tragedy [that] was ongoing, but [who were] mostly in denial of it.

Photography and words by Patrick Wack

Edited by Katya Balaban and Sasha Slobodov

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