Chiara Dazi: Moldova
© Chiara Dazi
Exhibition: Moldova
The Republic of Moldova is a small country in Europe; it is unknown to most and primarily mentioned in newspapers for its extreme poverty and corruption problems.
Moldova was part of the Soviet Union. Today, it is an independent country with the pro-Russia self-declared Transnistria region in the East, the autonomous Turkish-speaking Gagauzia province in the South, a border to Ukraine to the North, one to Romania (and the EU) to the West.
The upcoming Parliamentary elections planned for the end of February 2019 are another chapter in a complicated book about the unsteady political situation of Moldova and fluctuating its geopolitical placement. Literally located on the fracture of the EU border and the post-Soviet territory, Moldova is often read through the lens of the "pro-Russianor pro-European" contend. Reality, as I know, is more complicated than that.
I went looking for other features characterizing its society and followed traditions, beliefs and daily life, creating a different portrait of the place and its people.
By photographing village life and various leisure activities I aimed to offer another perception of Moldova by humanizing its image, showing people in various shades of their everydays rather than in black and white.
The Moldovan Derby | The Shepherd's Lift | Skački (Horse Races) | Stained
The Moldovan Derby
Photographing the Moldovan national football is about showing daily life in a nation looking for normality, while building new identities on its controversial past and present.
The stadium is a space where identities are outed, reflecting the outside society; football mirrors the many inner contrasts that the country is rich on. . While the football arena provides a centre around which fragmented local communities are reinforced, at the same time this sport works as unique common ground for communication: clubs from the different regions of the country cross borders in order to play every Sunday on a shared field, sitting side by side on the bench andbuilding dialogue for the future while running for the goal to win.
As I am passionate about football; years ago I noticed the F C Sheriff football team playing in international tournaments and got curious about it. In fact, the team representing Tiraspol, the "Capital" of Transnistria - a self-declared independent region, was playing (and winning all the time) in the main national league of the Moldovan Republic, competing against the clubs of the official state which Transnistria had separated from.
Following the 2015/2016 championship I started traveling around the country, encountering an even more complicated landscape. For example: players and supporters have to undergo a passport control for traveling to Tiraspol, but there is no barrier when entering the autonomous Southern region of Gagauzia where though a completely different language is spoken. Aslo, fanclubs of one same team split according to their preference in supporting in Romanian or Russian. Heterogeneities of languages andcultures together with the contrasting conditions of the football fields and the intricated stories of the clubs build the paradoxes of Moldova. . Yet the international language of football and sport has its unifying power.
The Shepherd's Lift
The Moldovan national wrestling style called trînta is mostly practiced in villages on occasion of local celebrations as the "village day". Members of the community gather around a (often improvised and sometimes highly professional) mattress, where men's naked muscles are on display and the stronger and faster wins.
Affected by a tremendous emigration rate, depopulation and poverty, Moldovan’s disappearing villages remain rich in traditions and rituals.
Many members of the diaspora though keep coming back yearly to attend these feasts, like the "village day": every commune has its own and it is almost always accompanied by a wrestling tournament among the local men, boys and children in front of their gathered community.
I see the trînta as an allegory of the modern struggle for survival in the Moldovan countryside and connect this outlasting tradition to a regional and national identity and survival of the place.
Within the family of the Greco-Roman's wrestling, the Moldovan style developped its specific rules, uniform and symbols based on the location and frame of beliefs where it originated. In fact, Moldova is mostly an agricultural country, its fertile ground offering a delicious abundance for it's citizens survival. Correspondignly, the traditional trînta game awards more points when a competitor manages to lift his adversary before throwing him down: similarly, Antæus, a giant of the Greek mythology, lost his power and had no chance to survive when lifted from the ground. Also, the combat occurs on a yellow rounded mat were problems and differences are discussed and solved in the Greek tradition.
Participants, although mostly of short stature, showcase during the fights an extreme strength, built during the hard work in the Moldovan countryside. Boys from the villages learned from their fathers that the trînta fight is their chance to empower in the community and for the winners, living animals are allocated: the prize for children is a rooster, for teenagers a hare and for adults a ram.
Skački (Horse Races)
Horse races are organized around the country mainly in the summer and autumn. I joined the convivial together of those passionate horse owners and documented their connection to the landscape and their beautiful animals.
Stained
In a quite conservative country as Moldova, religion and conformism play an important role in the society; village life accentuates even more those rules. In "Stained" I show images about expressions of style and personality in this context to underlie the strength of Moldovan women and primarily the Gagauzian ones, although embedded in a decidedly patriarchal community.
As an Italian, I don't follow the Christian Orthodox religion and I usually do not
wear skirts, but when traveling I respect the local customs. Thus in Joltai, in Gagauzia, I improvised a flowery skirt and a tartan scarf to wear in the church of the village during a special holiday. Still, I was feeling quite uncomfortable in that attire, because the colors and patterns I had chosen were not matching together at all and the result didn't look like the festive best dress.
Whenstanding in the church looking for images of the gathered community I was actually enchanted by the different and colorful kerchieves worn by the women. An anarchy of design was created by the combination of the scarves that embraced their hair, ornaments and colorful tops I could finally feel closer to their communion, while photographing the subversive and variegated result of their conformity efforts.