Valery Poshtarov’s Intimate Journey with Fathers & Sons

Valery Poshtarov, was Born in Bulgaria in 1986 to an artist father and poet mother. Valery was immersed in a world of creativity from a young age. He studied Plastic Arts at the Sorbonne in Paris and was soon nominated for the Cartier-Bresson Award by the Bulgarian Cultural Institute in France.

He has showcased his work in 55 exhibitions globally and, in 2011, launched Eastern Europe’s first online art gallery, achieving financial independence for personal projects. In 2021, he founded the PhotoAnthology Foundation for socially impactful documentary work.

A notable project, “The Last Man Standing In The Rhodope Mountains,” is a 14-year documentation of one of Europe’s last authentic communities, now part of prestigious collections like MoMA. His latest work, “Father and Son,” examines father-son bonds across cultures, earning multiple international awards and acclaim. Through his art, he aims to spark empathy and connection across diverse human experiences.

www.poshtarov.net

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HM: Valery, I just want to tell you how much I loved your exhibition in Cortona. It was absolutely beautiful. The way your work interacted with the space, the contrast with the building’s architecture—it was remarkable. I’m curious, how did you feel about the way the images connected with the space?

VP: Thank you so much. I was genuinely amazed by how it all came together. I knew the exhibition would be in that room, but I couldn’t anticipate the profound connection between the frescoes and my work. Seeing those connections so clearly was a beautiful surprise. My project is all about connections—between people, cultures, and generations—and I felt that these themes were reflected in the space in a way I hadn’t expected.

HM: Absolutely. It’s not easy to find a setting that truly enhances the photographs, but the space really brought out the best in your work. The layout, the lighting—it all felt right. I’ve seen many exhibitions where the environment detracts from the art, but here, it was just perfect. I’m sure you’ve received a lot of positive feedback.

VP: Yes, absolutely. The response has been overwhelmingly positive. And something I want to emphasize is how grateful I am for the opportunity to share this project in the way I’ve always envisioned. It’s about more than just displaying photos—it’s about sharing energy, connecting through shared experiences. And the team in Cortona really helped bring that vision to life.

HM: You could feel that connection in the photographs, especially in the way the fathers and sons were portrayed. The comfort, the discomfort—it was palpable. I could personally relate, having had a complicated relationship with my own father. There’s so much emotion there.

VP: Thank you, that means a lot to me. Hearing how the work resonates with people on such a personal level is a sign that these stories, though often untold, are universally understood. Everyone sees a piece of their own story in this project, and that’s incredibly meaningful to me. It reminds me of how many stories remain to be told, and how photography can help us recognize their value, even if it’s difficult to express them out loud.

HM: That’s such a powerful observation. On a lighter note, my wife, who was with me at the exhibition, had a suggestion—she said you should do a series on mothers and daughters. She felt that the relationships between mothers and daughters are even more complex than those between fathers and sons.

VP: (Laughs) Yes, I’ve heard that suggestion before! But honestly, I think a woman photographer would be more suited to explore that dynamic. As a man, I’ve been deeply involved in documenting vulnerability between fathers and sons, but mothers and daughters? That’s an intimacy that I believe could be best approached by a woman who understands it from a personal perspective.

HM: That’s a great point. And different cultures have such varying attitudes towards intimacy—whether it’s hugging or holding hands. What was your experience like across different countries?

VP: It’s fascinating to see the cultural differences in something as simple as holding hands. In Italy, for instance, it felt completely natural for fathers and sons to hold hands—there was no hesitation. But in other places, it’s almost a taboo, as if there’s something forbidden about that kind of emotional expression. It’s a powerful reminder of how cultural norms shape our behavior.

HM: Yes, and you can really see it in the photographs—the fathers, some of them almost unsure about holding hands. It’s a simple gesture, but it carries so much weight.

VP: Exactly. At first, I thought the project was strictly about fathers and sons, but it quickly expanded into something much broader—about human connections across cultural, generational, and societal boundaries. It’s not just about family; it’s about how we relate to one another despite all the differences society imposes on us. The father figure, as a symbol of authority, is such a contested idea, especially as we grow older and start seeking our own identity. It’s about questioning these roles and understanding how we form our identities, not just as individuals but as part of a larger cultural narrative.

HM: That resonates with me. Watching people engage with your photographs at the exhibition, I could tell they weren’t just passively observing—they were connecting with the images. There was a deep emotional response from the viewers, which isn’t something you always see in exhibitions. People seemed genuinely immersed in the experience.

VP: That’s such a beautiful observation, and it’s what I hope for. I don’t feel like I did this alone—hundreds of people have been part of this project, holding hands, sharing their stories. It gives me hope that we, as humans, still have the capacity to connect deeply, despite everything. It gives me courage to believe in a world where we can come together for peace and understanding.

HM: If only we could get rid of the politicians…

VP: (Laughs) Yes, but even then, we’re still influenced by the world we live in. Political and social circumstances can make it hard to overcome divisions, but I believe in the power of individuals. Projects like this remind me that real change comes from people, not politics. We have the power to reshape the world through empathy and connection.

HM: I love that idea, even if I’m a bit more cynical in my old age. Human nature is complex—good, bad, and everything in between. It’s a fascinating and sometimes frustrating thing to observe. Maybe that’s a topic for another conversation, preferably in person over a good meal.

VP: I would love that! There’s so much to discuss when it comes to human behavior, and photography offers such a unique lens through which to explore it. Let’s definitely continue this conversation.

HM: Valery, I would love to hear about your journey. Let’s start at the beginning. Where did you grow up? Tell me more about your background and how it influenced your work.

VP: I was born in a relatively small town in Bulgaria, but I grew up in a larger city—Varna, which is on the coast of the Black Sea.

HM: I was in Bulgaria two years ago! My wife and I went on a trip to Romania and Bulgaria, exploring the coastline from the Danube Delta in Romania down to Bulgaria. We’re birdwatchers, and we loved the natural beauty of the area.

VP: Wow, that’s amazing! So you’ve seen the very region where I grew up. It’s a beautiful area, for sure.

HM: It is. And I have to say, I preferred the food in Bulgaria!

VP: (Laughs) You must have had a good guide who knew the right places to take you! It can be a bit hit or miss, but yes, Bulgarian food has its charm.

HM: Absolutely! So growing up in Varna, how did you become interested in photography?

VP: I was lucky to grow up in a creative environment. My mother was a poet, and my father was an artist—a painter. So from an early age, I was surrounded by art and creativity. It was an integral part of my life, and I always knew that art was something important to me. However, even with that upbringing, I found it difficult to figure out where I belonged within the world of art. I was, and still am, searching for my place.

HM: That’s fascinating. What was the turning point for you? Was there a specific moment that sparked your interest in photography?

VP: Yes, there was. When I was a child, I found an old box of photographs belonging to my grandmother. In that box, I came across a portrait of a woman. I asked my grandmother who the woman was, but she couldn’t remember. When I turned the photo over, I saw a handwritten inscription that said, “I give you my face as a gift because time passes by and erases the memories of us.” That line struck me deeply. Here was this woman, forgotten by time, yet her image remained, staring back at me as if she were still alive. It was my first realization of how photography can encapsulate time, like a time machine that preserves moments forever.

HM: That’s incredibly powerful. It’s amazing how a single image can carry so much meaning. Did that experience shape the way you approach your work now?

VP: Absolutely. From that moment, I became obsessed with capturing what I call the ‘inconsistency of life.’ Life is ever-changing, yet through photography, we can capture moments and preserve them, even if everything else around them changes. This has been a guiding principle in my work, and even in my project on fathers and sons, it’s there—you can see two generations brought together in a single image. It’s like freezing time, uniting the past and present in one frame.

HM: That’s a beautiful way to think about it. You’ve mentioned your project on fathers and sons before. How did that project come about? And what has been the impact of those images on the people you’ve photographed?

VP: It’s been a very emotional project for me. I’ve had sons write to me after their fathers have passed away, telling me how much the photograph of them holding hands means to them now. It becomes a cherished memory—a moment of connection frozen in time. The feedback I’ve received has made me realize just how significant these small moments can be. The project isn’t just about fathers and sons anymore—it’s about human connection, about how we relate to one another across generations and across cultures.

HM: That resonates with me. I have one photograph of my grandparents and my young aunt, and it’s the only picture I have of them. They were killed during World War II in Poland. That photograph is my only connection to them. It’s incredible how a single image can hold so much history and meaning.

VP: That’s exactly what I mean. Photography opens the door to something beyond just the visual—it allows us to connect with the past, to imagine what life was like, to interpret stories that we were never part of but feel deeply connected to. It gives us the freedom to fill in the gaps with our own imagination.

HM: So how did you transition from that moment of finding your grandmother’s photograph to becoming a photographer? What was that journey like for you?

VP: At first, I was trying to discover the world through photography. When I moved to Paris, I was deeply inspired by the French tradition of humanistic photography. I admired the work of photographers who captured everyday life with authenticity and intimacy. But in the beginning, I was more of an observer—I wanted to capture life from a distance. I felt that if I intervened in any way, I would lose the authenticity of the moment.

HM: What changed for you? How did you move from being a distant observer to a more engaged photographer?

VP: Over time, I realized that I could still preserve authenticity while being present and engaged with my subjects. I learned that if I could create an environment of trust, people would allow me to document their true selves. It wasn’t just about being invisible anymore; it became about building connections. I started to see that I could be part of the scene without disturbing it. In fact, my presence could enhance the authenticity if I approached it the right way.

HM: That sounds like a significant shift in your approach. How do you create that trust with your subjects?

VP: It’s a delicate process. I have to be transparent with people—I let them know that I’m there to take their photograph, but I also assure them that I’m not there to judge them. It’s about creating a safe space where they can be themselves. I think of it as a participatory process, even though I’m the one behind the camera. I’m asking them to do something—like hold hands—but I’m also letting them be who they are. It takes time and patience, but it allows for a deeper connection to emerge.

HM: That’s fascinating, especially with your fathers and sons project. Holding hands can be such an intimate act, and in some cultures, it’s not something men do easily. How do you navigate those cultural expectations?

VP: You’re right—holding hands can be a huge deal, especially in cultures where emotional expression between men is more restrained. What I find interesting is that when I ask fathers and sons to hold hands, I’m creating a new set of social expectations. Suddenly, in that moment, it becomes acceptable for them to do something that might otherwise feel awkward or uncomfortable. I’m essentially overriding the cultural norms, and it’s fascinating to see how people respond to that.

HM: That’s such an insightful way to look at it. You’re not just documenting these moments—you’re facilitating them, creating a space for emotional expression that might not have happened otherwise. It’s like you’re opening a door for them to connect in a new way.

VP: Exactly. And it’s a powerful reminder of how much potential we have to break free from societal expectations, if only given the chance. The act of holding hands in these photographs is symbolic of something much larger—it’s about connection, vulnerability, and the willingness to defy norms for the sake of meaningful relationships.

HM: I love that. It’s such a universal theme, and yet deeply personal at the same time. Your work clearly resonates with people on so many levels.

VP: Thank you. It’s a journey that continues to evolve, and I’m always learning from the people I photograph. They teach me as much as I hope to capture through the lens.