Author: Mikael Silkeberg, photographer, cinematographer

O, Balkans…

I feel at home here…

I've always wanted a definition of a home…

When I grew up in Denmark as a Swede…

Or when I moved to Sweden as a Danish…

My grandfather whom I never met was from Greece, Lefkas…

Lived in a Greek colony in Odessa and felt like a Russian…

After the Bolsheviks on March 1, 1918 took Odessa and killed the 9 brothers of my great grandfather…

He fled to Stockholm as a merchant and met Grandma Helga.

They had three sons where dad was the youngest.

Grandfather Oreste became dubious anklet for arson when the family's House in Bromma burned down.

As a foreigner against the doubtful evidence of an insurance company, and the bad advice of his lawyer, he fled to Istanbul. The loss of his family became too great, and upon his return he was arrested..

I would feel warm when my father proudly told me about grandfather's KUŞAK dance even though he was Greek…

I never got to see him when he died of a heart attack in a taxi released after 6 years on Långholmen…

Wondered why I was so touched by Andrei Tarkovsky films about living in exile…

Or in Emir Kusturica films warm desolate depictions of the Balkans…

I am now walking among the debris in Shusha... Moving among wildly growing Safran Crocus, among the autumn leaves… And the strange thing is, it feels like I am back home…

Do I see the opera star BulBul's shattered bust on the mountain landscape, under the beautiful autumn sky…

Martyrs and victims from the war…

Their conviction of their right to birthplace and land…

In Vagif's poem:

“In this world we own nothing that's ours

Nor does happiness grace our homes”

I feel weak…

Feels as if I have no right…

A day, to me is nothing…

In the beautiful but ruined land

In the beautiful or torn…

The snakes in the garden of heaven…

The inhuman politics of war…

Or in Natavan's poem to her son Abbas…

“Parted with you, I burned night and day

Like a thoughtless moth in a candle flame

Like a rose you were destined to fade and die…”

In Shusha everything dead is about to wake up from sleep…

As are the broken hopes…

About author: Mikael Silkeberg - was born in Copenhagen, Denmark, came to Sweden at age 11 and is currently living in Stockholm. He has been working as a professional photographer since 1984. He holds a degree from Biskops Arnö, The Nordic School of Photography and has been a student of the well-known photographer Christer Strömholm. His work as an established photographer covers a wide spectrum – stills from movie pictures and theatre, artist portraits, landscapes, commercial assignments a.s.o. Have also had several exhibitions in Stockholm and Paris. His many journeys to Arizona, East and South Africa, Nepal, India and Paris, New York, Berlin has resulted in some spectacular pictures, many of them shown in exhibitions. İn October 2021 hi was in Shusha (Azerbaijan).