I have been photographing it passionately, even obsessively, since 2001. I first encountered the kibbutzim on a trip to Israel in 2008, and three years later I had come up with the idea of juxtaposing their forms with the architecture of the kolkhozes.

What fascinated me the most, was that these two phenomena – which are both unique and similar due to their common roots – although they developed in completely different contexts, in places spread 5 thousand kilometres apart, led to results that are quite comparable in terms of formal and urban qualities. They both exemplify a kind of public space devoid of any commercial aspect, which I think is far too scarce in the current architectural paradigm. Finally, their character, which is hardly known outside their countries of origin, prompted me to bring their stories to a wider audience.

I developed the project in 2012 and took the photographs between 2014 and 2015. It seems like the world has been turned upside-down since then. In February 2014, Russia annexed the Crimean peninsula without much protest from the international public opinion. Eight years later, its army attacked Ukraine, triggering a full-scale war that continues to this day. In October 2023, Hamas struck Israel, to which the government of Benjamin Netanyahu responded with a retaliatory war in which tens of thousands of people have been killed so far.

I want to make it absolutely and unequivocally clear that I radically and totally condemn these events, which, apart from the horror they wreaked – demonstrate a kind of relationship with the “other” that I consider foreign to my values. Although it may sound naïve, I am interested in kolkhozes and kibbutzim insofar as they embody a vision of a society built on peace. I would never want this project to be associated in any way with the warmongering impulses of Vladimir Putin or Benjamin Netanyahu But then, you may ask, if presenting your project runs the risk of being associated with the policies of these regimes, why do it at all? The answer is simple: to not fall victim to self-censorship and to defend what I believe is right in my work.

Having said that, the fortuitous coincidence of these worldly events and the publication of my works makes this text necessary as a clarification of my intentions. The current geopolitical climate also prompts me to make a few additional comments on the nature of this project and photography at large.

The external events brought to light some aspects of the project, which I was conscious of before, but which had not been explicitly formulated. I strove to view the kibbutzim and the kolkhozes as visions of a society in which architecture is an instrument of social engineering and its role is to create spaces for living, including public spaces. However, I had not emphasised clearly enough other features of these modernist countryside settlements, especially those related to their foundation – the colonial shadows they cast and, more generally, their attitude towards otherness.

In the Baltic countries, the kolkhozes were a result of Soviet domination. Even if the process of collectivisation in the region was not as brutal as at other times or in other places, e.g. in Ukraine in the interwar period, it remains a fact that it was nonetheless imposed by the Soviet regime. Although the circumstances were more nuanced in the case of Israel, it must be said that many kibbutzim were founded on the land of displaced Palestinian villages. This too is a form of colonialism – a particular one, that certainly differs from the colonialism of European empires, as it was based on the belief in the legitimacy of reappropriating land that Jews consider their own, regardless of whether this is rightful or not. Anyhow, in both cases of establishing new settlements in the countryside, there was a lack of neighbourly harmony, consideration for the subjectivity of others, and relationships built on acceptance and respect.

I expect that these sidenotes will enrich the reception of my project and enable a deeper understanding. The events of the last decade acted as a prolonged immersion in the (photographic) developer bath, bringing out the contrasts and highlighting the (sometimes painful) complexity of the architectural phenomena depicted.

Moreover, I am struck by how my book A House for Culture, published in 2022 (before this exhibition), became almost overnight a testament to the partial – and perhaps outdated ? – approach to modernism, where fascination with the form and ideals of a project outweighs its darker aspects. From today’s perspective, the modernist project can appear inextricably linked to colonialism, as an expression of a social projection based on the idea of progress, whether voluntary or coerced.

I find it fascinating how exogenous events can affect photographs that were taken before them and that have remained objectively the same. In 2011, my primary intent was to depict unknown architectural phenomena. At the time, I did not feel the need to emphasise their dark and difficult sides. The photos were taken. They have not changed since then, but the commentary that accompanies them is different – more nuanced, richer, less idealistic. Our gaze must not be naïve, and the image must be accompanied by a text. Otherwise, there is a danger that it becomes a two-dimensional artistic gesture. Wojciech Wilczyk wrote in another context that “there is no such thing as an innocent eye.” Today I feel the depth of these words, which for me the form of a maxim about the essence of photography.

I leave the reception of this work to the viewer. Although neither my intention, nor its form have changed since its creation, it can be understood as a retroactive palimpsest in which the passage of time and external events emphasise layers of meaning that were less clear before. My fascination – or even love – for modernism prevails, my desire to communicate it remains unchanged, but my illusions about the purity of its intention have been shattered.