Armenian Khorovats in the Georgian Mountains

I've felt a little tired lately and wanting a few days to just lay around and do nothing. I'm actually not a huge social person, so the past week of endlessly meeting new people and socialising has started to take its toll on me. My energy feels low, my motivation doesn't extend much beyond laying in bed and watching things. I've tried not to let this take over too much. I've still got a huge interest in running around outside with my cameras, just without the social side that comes with it. But yesterday I was called out of my slumber and told to bring the camera, that we were to go and have food with a group of neighbours. Lately this has been the norm for us, we get out somewhere and have coffee and even more food with people, to the point where I've started to hate food with how much I've been eating.  Though this event was a bit more different; I grabbed the camera, threw on a hoodie, tied up the laces on my boots, and we headed out into the muddy road. It was a short walk, but before I knew it, I was stepping into what felt like a cave.

A small hole sits in the room, this is something Armenians would use to roast and bake things. The hole going deep into the ground, with a stone wall. Fire at the bottom that would push the heat upward. I'm not sure entirely what the purpose of this was in the past, perhaps it was a good method of keeping food warm in the harsh winters. I was urged to sit down on a wooden plank that had some clothing placed over it to make it a little more comfortable. A small orange light served as a key light to the faces of the room's inhabitants, while a hole in the top of the building served as a beautiful white highlight from above. The light in there was truly beautiful, such warm tones and generating a very comfortable atmosphere. Before I knew it, food had appeared. Plates of just about everything; pickled goods made at home, fresh Lavash that too was made from home, with a very nice thickness to it. 

I had never met these people before, but it was interesting how quick they were to welcome us in. The immediate encouragement of eating the potatoes that came from the hole in the ground, hot to the touch, soft in texture. The room felt a little chilly at times, but the food kept us warm. Alongside the homemade vodka that naturally found its way into our shot glasses. A couple of those and the cold no longer exists. The food tasting a little more vibrant  with the addition of some alcohol. Though this was also accompanied by some glasses of cherry kompot, which the others used to wash down the strength of the vodka after each toast. I wanted to get up and move around the room a little more, but with about five of us there, and food constantly being put in my direction, I didn't get much freedom to move. The light was also a little too dim for the required shutter speed of capturing the movements in the space without any blur. 

I would take moments while eating to look around the room instead, scanning the various additions to it that had been placed over the years. I asked them how old this building was, as it showed signs of being at least 100 years old, certainly passed down over generations. From the outside, the building's appearance was of large stones, a mossy rooftop that I assume was encouraged to hold in the heat. Large pieces of wood were coated in years of cobwebs above. A beautiful texture on it all from the light. Chipped away with little shadows in them. Various farmland apparatus was wedged between the wood above, sharp objects and blunt objects hat had me question whether I'd be dead in a few moments if one so happened to fall. Everything had signs of age to it, but no real dates could be noted from them. Clearly unused over the decades.

I ate so much with these people, but I can count the number of shots I had with them: three. But to my surprise, those baked potatoes kept coming from the hole in the ground, pulled up with a large stick that was used to pierce them from above and pull them back up. It felt like a near medieval experience; both witnessing this act and being part of it, in that moment and within that space. It was an interesting feeling of content, that this was what home felt like, that this was what modern life should be more like. The simplistic moments still reigning. The connection of friends and family that had people coming together to eat and drink, sharing snippets of ideas together. My personal communication with these people was thin, I asked a few questions, but it seemed like for the most part I wasn't even really there, more an observer sitting in the idle chair in the corner.

I would pan the camera around the room from my quiet space in the room, looking constantly for composition and ways to capture this moment of life and culture. I started to feel a bit more confident and point he camera at the people as well, to which they responded to it nicely; though I won't be posting their photographs here more as a general courtesy. To avoid just photographing them and making them uncomfortable, I found more interest in the room and its objects, the tools used in this process, the food itself as it came out of the hole in the ground with intense heat coming from it. The whole experience had me in a slight epiphany. That sudden realisation that maybe this is the sort of photography I want to begin to pursue. Where before my preference has been in shooting open urban space, and now it seems that culture and people holds a massive interest in me.

I guess what comes next is more connection. More brief interactions with strangers. More photography to capture the culture and softness of these moments in time. Hopefully with better ways to share them with the world going forward. Though this also means I have to start upgrading my photography gear! New lenses, a new camera, and hopefully with less food going into me to keep the weight down!