Nazik Armenakyan

MY WAR (Fragmented Experience)

ARMENIA

MY WAR (Fragmented Experience)


I fought my war… as a mother first of all, not as a photographer. September 27 2020 was my eldest son Mikayel’s birthday. The day started with terrible news… Friends, relatives and guests gathered at our place, and the phone calls from the military commissariat began. He was called up for conscription. We reported to the military commissariat the next morning, and Mikayel was taken away. Only when I was back home did I realise what was going on. After that, there was no news from him for 26 days. We had figured out where he could be; we were trying to find out something all that time. I was watching thousands of videos, hoping to spot Miko somewhere. I was calling his phone every day to at least hear the phrase “the subscriber cannot be reached” in response. Then the hardest period came, the moment when you start looking through lists for familiar names and find those names, and go from one list to another… As a photographer, I immediately realised the importance of documenting the events. The war was calling, but I couldn’t shoot. Without being there, I had filled myself with images. I was experiencing the war.

My confrontation with the war was too powerful, and I just couldn’t take photos. Perhaps I could die, but not shoot, no… For the first time I had the feeling that photography was less important than what was going on. Without using the camera, without thinking how to shoot, I was already vulnerable. On the twentieth day, I felt I was nobody, neither a human, nor a photographer. I was losing everything, I was null. I was only a mother… Months after Mikayel’s return, I felt the desire to photograph again. Nothing is the same any more. I acutely feel the need to make it all in time. I am still overwhelmed by contradictory and emotional feelings, but I am glad that I did not lose my ability as a photographer, my ability to see and reproduce… Moreover, they were transformed. I am now more alert and fearless.

Mikayel and I.

Mikayel and I.

Self portrait.

Self portrait.

"Mama" tattoo on Mikayel's arm. He made it whilst serving in the army in 2018.

"Mama" tattoo on Mikayel's arm. He made it whilst serving in the army in 2018.

Me photographing Mikayel.

Me photographing Mikayel.

I would often stand in different corners of rooms, silently pray and try to connect with my son, at least to hear his voice from inside, to understand where he was, and wonder whether my voice could reach him… And one day, a strong light entered the room, casting a long shadow on the wall… Was that a sign? The image was taken during the war.

I would often stand in different corners of rooms, silently pray and try to connect with my son, at least to hear his voice from inside, to understand where he was, and wonder whether my voice could reach him… And one day, a strong light entered the room, casting a long shadow on the wall… Was that a sign? The image was taken during the war.

Mikayel and I.

Mikayel and I.

The bullet in my hand that Mikayel had brought from the war.

The bullet in my hand that Mikayel had brought from the war.

My jacket. I lost something very important, something which I had in the past but which was forever gone…

My jacket. I lost something very important, something which I had in the past but which was forever gone…

Mikayel and I.

Mikayel and I.

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Mikayel and I.

Mikayel and I.

Self portrait.

Self portrait.

"Mama" tattoo on Mikayel's arm. He made it whilst serving in the army in 2018.

"Mama" tattoo on Mikayel's arm. He made it whilst serving in the army in 2018.

Me photographing Mikayel.

Me photographing Mikayel.

I would often stand in different corners of rooms, silently pray and try to connect with my son, at least to hear his voice from inside, to understand where he was, and wonder whether my voice could reach him… And one day, a strong light entered the room, casting a long shadow on the wall… Was that a sign? The image was taken during the war.

I would often stand in different corners of rooms, silently pray and try to connect with my son, at least to hear his voice from inside, to understand where he was, and wonder whether my voice could reach him… And one day, a strong light entered the room, casting a long shadow on the wall… Was that a sign? The image was taken during the war.

Mikayel and I.

Mikayel and I.

The bullet in my hand that Mikayel had brought from the war.

The bullet in my hand that Mikayel had brought from the war.

My jacket. I lost something very important, something which I had in the past but which was forever gone…

My jacket. I lost something very important, something which I had in the past but which was forever gone…

Mikayel and I.

Mikayel and I.

About Nazik Armenakyan

Nazik Armenakyan studied photography at the Caucasus Media Institute, Yerevan, Armenia. She worked as a photojournalist for Armenpress news agency and for Yerevan and Forum magazines, also collaborating with the Reuters agency. She was also a staff photographer for ArmeniaNow.com between 2009 and 2016. In 2009, she won a Grand Prix award and first place in the “People and Faces” category in the Karl Bulla International Photo Contest. 

The other significant achievement that allowed her to grow as a documentary photographer was the “Human Rights and Photography” fellowship from Magnum Foundation at the New York University in 2011. From 2007, she undertook two long-term and in-depth research projects that later developed into books: “Survivors” (2005-2015) and “The Stamp of Loneliness” (2010-2013). Nazik has participated in many local and international group exhibitions in Armenia, the USA, China, Hong Kong, India, Russia. Her photographs have been published in the New York Times Lens blog, Der Spiegel, Le Monde, and Politiken. In 2012, she co-founded the ‘4Plus’ Documentary Photography Centre along with other female photographers.