A few years ago, while walking my sons to school, I found myself thinking that, although I held their hands daily, one day they wouldn’t need me alongside them, that we would lose that sense of physical closeness. I decided to photograph my own father and grandfather holding hands – but it was the start of the pandemic, my grandfather was 95 and we wanted to keep him safe. We couldn’t meet for over a year.
In the meantime, while walking around Bulgaria’s capital Sofia, where I live, I stopped to photograph a house that caught my eye and a woman came out pushing a man in a wheelchair. I assumed they were going to chase me away, but instead she showed me a framed picture of a young man, aged about 30. She said he was their only son and he had died eight months before. She asked if I would photograph her husband with the portrait.
I was stunned – it felt like a sign. This was exactly the kind of picture I’d been thinking about. I did as asked and later took the portrait I’d planned – of my father and grandfather holding hands. My grandfather passed away shortly after. It’s the only image my father has of just the two of them.
That became the first in an ongoing series. So far, I have photographed fathers and sons holding hands in Bulgaria, Georgia, Turkey, Armenia and around the western Balkans. Many live far apart. Sometimes, the whole community joins in – someone might suggest a neighbour who has his son around and say maybe we could bring them together. People also call me asking for a portrait.
Other pictures are the result of a chance encounter, which is how I prefer them – when I’m somewhere nobody knows me and I have to approach people as a stranger. That was the case with this image. While travelling around Georgia, I saw these two on the road. I had only a minute or two to explain the idea and convince them to take part. When I took the picture, I had just a few seconds before it got too awkward for them. There’s always the challenge of choosing the right background, one that’s somehow relevant to the participants, and of preserving the authenticity of this very special act.
There are cultural differences between countries, of course, and the gap between generations seems bigger in places that have had recent conflict or a change in political systems.
There are various reasons, too, why fathers and sons might not want to take part. For the older generation, perhaps there’s a feeling that men shouldn’t express emotion. For sons, there can be timidity and awkwardness, related to stereotypes about masculinity and openness. If it’s so hard for a father and son to hold hands, I wonder how difficult it would be for strangers.
I send everyone a copy of their portrait and they sometimes reply with their stories. Some haven’t held hands for decades, or ever. In some cases, relationships have been changed for the better – and even estrangements have been overcome. In others, the father and son already had a close relationship. Even the hardest guys seem to accept that father and son relationships are somehow sacred: there’s something incontestable about them. I’ve been distributing free postcards of my portraits and, even when looking at pictures of strangers, people can recognise themselves.
I see all these images – even the one of my father and grandfather – as icons, representations of something bigger than individual identities. I’m trying to bring in as many countries and cultures as possible. I wouldn’t be surprised if it becomes a lifelong journey.
Valery Poshtarov is winner of the portraiture category of the Sony World Photography awards at Somerset House, London, until 6 May
Valery Poshtarov’s CV
Born: 1986, Dobrich, Bulgaria.
Trained: National High School of Arts in Varna, Bulgaria, and Plastic Arts at the Sorbonne, Paris.
Influences: August Sander and Alec Soth.
High point: “I have evolved from capturing candid shots to more deliberately preserving the lives of those who consciously stand before my camera. The encounters with these individuals – this merging of souls that transcends personal identity to collaboratively build a shared vision of humanity – represent my true reward from photography.”
Low point: “Early in my career, I made a choice to maintain my integrity by rejecting commercial projects. This decision meant years away from photography, during which I supported my family by dealing art, not creating it.”
Top tip: “Artists dedicate their days to creating art, and their nights to doubting it. Ensure that each new day brings experimentation and growth.”
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