Isla de Perros
Isla de Perros is a story photographed by Pau Poveda with a narrative created by Ivan. Pau documented the land and people of Turkey during his nine-month travel in the country. The project was translated into a photobook and published in a limited edition designed by Vento Visuals. We speak with Pau about the project and the feeling beyond loneliness bordering with the rediscovered concept of ‘home’ that comes from learning about the unknown land and its inhabitants, creating closer connections, and eventually embracing the new surroundings.
The shift from the perspective of an outsider to the view of the country as someone who ‘belongs’ and is part of the lives of the characters presented is emotional and reveals the possibilities of building meaningful relationships through photography. As Pau suggests, “It's an attempt to govern the ungovernable and the innate familiarity that territory can make you feel, which lifts you above the sensation of 'home' and welcomes you into a state you were unaware of before.” Pau emphasizes the personal layer of getting to know his subjects to portray them truthfully and authentically, breaking the barrier with the viewer who might never have been to this land or met these people. The trip was also eye-opening for Pau in discovering the technical side of what makes the image unique and the story worth telling.
Photography by Pau Poveda Book Designed by Vento Visuals Narrative created in collaboration with Ivan
‘In Turkey, I found myself facing something bigger than me, something more than loneliness. The project was born from an attempt to control this feeling.’
In Turkey, I found myself facing something bigger than me, something more than loneliness. The project was born from an attempt to control this feeling. I wanted to convey the two most common peculiarities about this country: the primal consciousness and ability to feel through your gaze. It may be difficult to achieve, but the great current absorbs you and pulls you into its lap to help you become part of it. Isla de Perros is that search for understanding. Spending too much time with dogs makes you become one of them. Wandering through that prehistoric land, a land with unknown air, unable to understand what surrounds you, you can only glide by like a ghost and let amazement take over. You feel the connection to the origins of time.
It's an attempt to govern the ungovernable and the innate familiarity that territory can make you feel, which lifts you above the sensation of 'home' and welcomes you into a state you were unaware of before. I wanted to open the doors to a world unknown, inaccessible to many, to enter into a fantastic reality that consists of landscapes and characters. As a castle in the sky, Isla de Perros, is a window to that world, a journey of watching and being watched. This way, the viewer can get closer to it by feeling its touch with just their eyes, traveling through this magical land.
‘Being able to communicate to them how amazing and pure they looked, helped me establish the necessary trust that made the photographic process possible.’
I rarely considered taking pictures a challenge; it's how I interact with people, it's my way of living. In Turkey, people are not afraid of being 'captured,' the camera does not scare them, it's the opposite — it attracts them. They know and respect themselves and others, and they like to show their authenticity; it is not a selfish display, it's a way to highlight their purity. Being able to communicate to them how amazing and pure they looked, helped me establish the necessary trust that made the photographic process possible. As I shot digitally, I could always show them the photograph taken. This always brought even more trust between us and put a smile on their faces.
‘I came closer to him, said "Good morning," and asked if I could take his portrait. I liked his motorcycle, the red paint, and the way it stood against the white nature.’
I remember one photograph that was quite decisive when it came to the technical and poetical presentation of the visual aspect of almost every portrait taken. The scene took place in Cappadocia. One sunny morning, we were walking through the fields around Goreme. The landscape was melted in snow and the light mirrored everywhere, becoming blinding. I remember seeing a man in the distance, approaching us at a slow speed on his red motorcycle, the road was still half-frozen. I came closer to him, said "Good morning," and asked if I could take his portrait. I liked his motorcycle, the red paint, and the way it stood against the white nature. This portrait remains one of my favorites because it established a technical standard that affected the rest, not just in terms of the color and the position of the camera, but also the perspective and the pyroxenic distance created with the subject. I can remember the scene as if I had experienced it yesterday. From that moment on, with this one image, I established the type of portraits that I wanted to keep on making, which affected the final result of the photographs taken in color.
