I was walking around in Ludza, the oldest town in Latvia, in the hottest august in the last 30 years, looking for something to photograph, for something to tell. It didn't take me long to realize that it wasn't going to be easy to find something interesting. I was about to give up when i run into these two teenagers, wondering around in those empty streets, looking for something, just like me.
“What do you do in Ludza to have fun?”
“Not much”
“I need something to shoot, can you show me something 'round here? Where do you go to hang out with your friends?”
“We'll show you”
And just like that i found myself on the top of a burnt oil tank of a dismissed refinery, walking along the railroad to reach the ruins of a soviet textile factory and on the roof of the building assigned to its workmen and other dead places, where teenagers shouldn't belong, but where they fit.
It's home, they say.
These pictures are about some kids showing me their places, about me following them.
It's not a sad story, no drama, it's just the way it is, it's what i found in Ludza.
“What do you do in Ludza to have fun?”
“Not much”
“I need something to shoot, can you show me something 'round here? Where do you go to hang out with your friends?”
“We'll show you”
And just like that i found myself on the top of a burnt oil tank of a dismissed refinery, walking along the railroad to reach the ruins of a soviet textile factory and on the roof of the building assigned to its workmen and other dead places, where teenagers shouldn't belong, but where they fit.
It's home, they say.
These pictures are about some kids showing me their places, about me following them.
It's not a sad story, no drama, it's just the way it is, it's what i found in Ludza.
