"Wiele zawdzięczam 
tym, których nie kocham."

 (Podziękowanie, Wisława Szymborska)

 "Looking back at my childhood" 

 By Joanna Kapica.

I have not thought I will be put in the situation, when someone will ask me to write a story about my childhood. And until now I haven't really spent time thinking about it. And about how much my childhood influenced my current me.

At first when I go back in my thoughts to time when I was growing up it seems that this period was uneventful and very steady. Controlled by seasons and changing level of my education I have reached. Back than it seemed like such a quite  and slow paced life. Very often I felt lonely and with not many friends I could hang out with.

I grew up in small town in eastern part of Poland. Town with many farms and a lot of open spaces. This is one of those places, where you could say everyone lives by their own pace and everything happens by its own slow measure. The changes that are affecting the rest of the world sometimes were only heard as unreal news stories broadcasted in the radio, that never come true in our little world. Even the fact, that my childhood fell during the last decade of communism in Poland- I never felt someone considered that part of Polish history as something what would affect freedom and be inconvenient to the citizens in any way. Perhaps these were subjects of political meaning, too serious and not intended for my young ears and hence my perception of the time was a bit different from reality. And even though it seemed to me, that the town I grew up in was so separated from all the problems in the big world shown on TV- when communism fell and first independent government was chosen- I was somehow aware that big changes are coming. Even to the small town far away from the big world where everything seemed so idyllic until now. 

And they did. I just never was too interested in the big political announcements, promises. The changes have affected many people during that period and for the first time we all started hearing very often about current problems, national debt, unemployment, low wages. 

When the new system was unveiling the unpleasant consequences of the past and was at the same time trying to bring the freedom to people of Poland, I was trying to understand it all. But I have not been pulled towards the tv with new flashy programs or wave or extremely colorful and attractive products that started to reach shelves of local store. During that period I was spending a lot of time with just my thoughts and organizing my time around search of some inspiration, something that would let me understand my life and everything around. It was time when I started noticing little details of plants and flowers while growing up intellectually towards adulthood. And it was time when getting closer to the nature allowed me to become more sensitive. 

I liked to gather pieces of foliage and arrange into some new creations. I would hang them in my room and sometimes I would try to use my parents simple point and click film camera to capture some on pictures. I have been spending lots of free time (when I wasn't helping at the farm my parents owned) by just going into nearby forest or finding wildflowers on the side of local roads. I have been discovering the changes seasons are bringing to these natural shapes through out the year. When season was not friendly for outdoor discoveries I have enjoyed planting various indoors flowers that would decorate all rooms in my parents house, as my room was not offering enough space for them all anymore.

Even after I moved from my parents house when attending high school (yes, I had stayed in dormitory for HS students) or college- I always liked to go back to their town and enjoy the close meetings with nature and its beautiful treasures.

Today looking back at my search and appreciation of nature I understand where my sensitivity came from. And where the roots of my interest are reaching back when it comes to nature photography. The never ending longing for preservation of the small details and beauty has been impacting my photography and became the never ending part for all the photos taken so far and those that will be taken by me in the future.

 © Text and Images by Joanna Kapica

About the Author

Who I am

My name is Joanna Kapica. I am self-taught photographer. Currently living and working in Krakow, Poland.

What I do

Photography is my passion and I am using every possible moment to enjoy it!

Big part of my portfolio presents artistic nature photographs with concentration on beautiful details of plants and various landscapes. They are available as prints in many custom sizes via my portfolio website.

I find beauty in people by photographing their portraits or special moments in their life (weddings are among them- but are not the only special moments!) as well as photographing them during their daily activities- like work (corporate photo sessions are just example of this).

Who I have been working for and/or with

I have been working for magazines from art, travel and architecture field, companies and private customers looking for high quality photo services and products, as well as offering photo editing services for businesses and individuals. I have been participating in, enjoying and supporting local art events.

"Es sólo un comedor abandonado, y alrededor hay extensiones,

fábricas sumergidas, maderas que sólo yo conozco,

porque estoy triste y viajo, y conozco la tierra, y estoy triste."

 (Melancolía en las familias, Pablo Neruda)

"Haunted Memories"

by Heber Vega.

© Heber Vega 2012 | Red prison Female Patio - Iraq

It's not that I don’t have fond memories to recall. But I have a haunting memory that I need to get out of me. I’ve been thinking about my childhood; I’ve been trying to reconcile with my past, a past that I try to put together a piece at a time for my children to understand.  But my mind returns again and again to these haunting thoughts.

Even now, after so many years since I left the narrow-shaped country of Chile that I call home, I am still reminded of my past. Although, I’ve been on the other side of the world for nine years, it seems that people, situations and especially places scheme to get these memories off my chest.  So here I am once again, revisiting my childhood. 

Maybe it's because we are in the middle of one of those unique moments in time when people, tired of the meanness of their rulers, have come together to say "No More!". That’s the environment that surrounds me these days in the Middle East.  There is a viral attitude that is spreading to the rest of world; people are aware that future generations are depending on them to stand up for their beliefs today. I guess it's spreading to me too. When I try to think about my childhood, there is one moment in time that stands out like no other. 

I can’t remember the exact year that this event took place, although I’m sure it was between 1989 and 1991, years that were crucial to the future of my country. I was 12 or 13 years old, and I was vacationing with my family.  When I say 'family' I mean more than just my immediate circle; it includes my parents, two sisters, two uncles, two aunts, and four cousins. And this was the minimum number of family members who would vacation together every summer for at least 10 years. Each summer was another adventure, a time to explore new things, to get to know new people, and to basically enjoy life. Among my cousins, there was Andres.  He was only 4 months older than me, so we became like twins for those 10 long years. He was the brother that life neglected to give me; he was my partner during those important years. One of the things that Andres brought to my life was the great gift of music. He had a guitar and a good voice, so it was a frequent thing for us to sit on the beach at night, or under some bushes during the day, and start singing like it was the only way to live. 

Music, as with other kinds of art, came mostly from local artists during those days. Those folk musicians had a message that was too deep to be absorbed by my juvenile soul. When we sang, the lyrics were just words for me during those years. At least that was what I thought. But  after listening to them for years they started to penetrate, and began to do justice to their authors.  They began to raise an awareness of the situation of thousands of other Chileans just like me. Those songs pierced my consciousness and caused pain I had never felt before. I thought my childhood was taking place in a calm environment, but I woke up one day to understand that the innocence of my young years had only blinded me to the pain and horror that hit my nation, my own people. 

So I have these haunting memories of a summer when, besides being awoken by those songs, I got a book in my hands that forever took the innocence I once had. That book was forbidden by the government; was on the black list. There’s something about intellectual work that is so dangerous to these rulers. There isn't a bullet or a gun that can harm them as badly as a book, a song, or an image. The book that changed my life is call “Los Zarpazos del Puma”. It is the story of a general that traveled throughout Chile, along with his “caravana de la muerte” (caravan of death), and put to death all political prisoners that had been held at detention facilities in 1973 and 74, the first years of a long dictatorship in my country. That book finished the work that was started by the folk songs that Andres brought to my life. Everything seemed to be destroyed by the stories in that book. All the idealism about this world, and especially about my own country, fell dead to the floor. It seemed that with every drop of blood in those stories my own existence was coming to an end. That was the turning point in life, when I went from being a child that enjoys life to an adult that breathes hate. There was a song years later that explains perfectly how I felt that day. It says… “I have never wish harm to anyone, but this is my first time”. 

© Heber Vega 2012 | Red prison. Detention facility used by Saddam's regime - Iraq

 © Heber Vega 2012 | Red prison corridor

The emptiness  of that moment will stay with  me forever. That  moment  was so  enormous, so  vast. I’m really thankful  for that  summer.Although  it was hard,  it helped me become  the person I am today. My awareness of this world is due to those moments.

Now, after more than twenty years, and after having moved to Iraq, I feel that that last season of my childhood is coming to life again. The work of those songs, the book, the artists, and the environment, I feel it all coming to life. Especially in the year that just passed.  I wonder about the children today living in the same situations. I wonder about the next one in line; the child not killed by a bullet, but who loses his innocence to the horrors and decisions that some leaders  choose to give as a heritage. I hope that child will encounter an inner voice that will grow, and go out, and speak out to the world about these issues. And hopefully that child will become one of those artists that will awaken the consciousness of other children before is too late.

In the memory of all the artists that have given their lives to bring about justice... to each of them, thank you!

© Heber Vega 2012 | Red prison, torture room

© Heber Vega 2012 | Red prison, interrogation room - Iraq

© Heber Vega 2012 | Red prison, female cell - Iraq

© Heber Vega 2012 | Red prison patio - Iraq

Victor Jara, “El derecho de vivir en Paz” (The human right of living in Peace)

 
“On the morning of September 12, Jara was taken, along with thousands of others, as a prisoner to the Chile Stadium (renamed the Estadio Víctor Jara in September 2003). In the hours and days that followed, many of those detained in the stadium were tortured and killed there by the military forces. Jara was repeatedly beaten and tortured; the bones in his hands were broken as were his ribs. Fellow political prisoners have testified that his captors mockingly suggested that he play guitar for them as he lay on the ground with broken hands. Defiantly, he sang part of “Venceremos” (We Will Win), a song supporting the Popular Unity coalition.“

About Heber Vega

Heber Vega is an Editorial and Humanitarian photographer. Originally from Chile, Heber has been based in northern Iraq since 2003. He specializes in documenting the work of humanitarian organizations and capturing stories through Editorial photography. Heber works primarily as a freelance photographer, working on assignment. He has been commissioned by various organizations, and lately by magazines as well.

“I have blended my passions, photography and assisting others, to try to create images that can inspire people, move them, but overall to bring them closer to the subject.

The word “photography” means “drawing with light.” Ultimately, I believe that photography can also be used to share that light.

I’m a big believer in the power of stories, I think is part of our DNA as human beings, somehow we all need stories to keep us alive, inspired, conscious and aware of our own existence. I’m a visual storyteller that loves to write and portrait people’s lives. "

Heber speaks three different languages, has worked as humanitarian aid worker for many years, and is currently living in Iraq. All these experiences have helped him to develop an ability to work with people from different countries, cultures and religions. The versatility shows in his photography.

Heber is the Founder of The ONE-SHOT Project, an initiative to provide opportunities through vocational training in photography and multimedia to children living in marginal situations.

Usually when I hold long conversations with close friends, it is a theme not left untreated. So in one of my late-night talks with Erin Wilson, I finally asked her to write a story about her childhood. She very kindly accepted, which I appreciate, and reinforces my theory that childhood is the only stage of our life where we create wealth within us, from which we draw for the rest of our existence.

"When shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain?

 When the hurlyburly 's done, When the battle 's lost and won."

(Macbeth, by William Shakespeare)

"When Walls Speak"

by Erin Wilson.

It was already weathered when my grandfather saw it for the first time, a one-room hunting cabin sited on a small point of land marked by an evergreen that rose high above the canopy. When Clarence set out in his small boat from the government dock on MacLean Lake, he didn't need to see the 'for sale' sign to find the cabin. He didn't need the tall fir for navigation. When Clarence made his first visit to the property in the early 1940's; it was the only structure on the lake.