DELTA

The Danube Delta is the largest among European river deltas. Located in Romania’s easternmost region bordering Ukraine, its territory is the last frontier of Europe.

Located at the easternmost point of the European Union, between Romania and Ukraine, the Delta is the continent's last frontier: an isolated, wild and almost unpopulated territory. Surrounded by ice in winter and water in summer, the inhabited areas are accessible only by boat, poorly connected to each other and often lacking basic services. The few inhabitants live in solitude, far from everything, in symbiosis with the sense of emptiness that marks their daily life.

To a foreign eye, the Delta seems only a strip of wet, mobile earth, devoid of real consistency, neither explorable nor livable. Never before passing through it for the first time had I experienced such a sense of bewilderment. Nothing was familiar to me. The solitude of Delta’s landscape amplified my deepest fears and fantasies.

This is why I decided to return, obsessively, for four years.

I wanted to face, live and dominate the Delta to inhabit as if it were my home.

Delta is the story of a conquest process, the testimony of my need to tell the story of two parallel labyrinths, one real, geographical, the other interior, emotional.

Photography was my tool to understand the reality I had before me and the engine that helped me overcome the loneliness and fear that limited my movements. Driven by the need to observe, more and more closely, ever more deeply, I faced the landscape, its inhabitants, and their inner world.

Intentionally oscillating between anthropological observation and symbolic transfiguration, I explored the landscape like a real labyrinth. Going deeply into it I came to perceive it as a familiar place is what directed my research, what helped me move towards new questions that explore the meaning of the act of Inhabiting. Inhabiting a territory, inhabiting a labyrinth, inhabiting oneself.

© Camilla de Maffei - Image from the DELTA photography project
i

The intricate framework of the Danube’s Delta reminds me of a labyrinth, because just as a labyrinth, it is continuously identical to itself. All its parts repeat, and every place could be another place. All channels look like each other. One lake like the other. Trees with roots sinking in the water. And miles upon miles of canes, yellow in the winter and green in the summer.

© Camilla de Maffei - Image from the DELTA photography project
i

To know the labyrinth’s guts by heart is the only way to master the Delta, to experience it fully. For those who instead dismiss its internal workings, this is nothing but a soaking stretch of land, shifting, lacking any real consistency, neither to be explored nor to be dwelled upon. An immense landscape which imposes itself like a monumental void, featureless, present but absent, because it cannot be owned in any way.

© Camilla de Maffei - Image from the DELTA photography project
i

Asking a man if he ever got lost in the channels is being rather inappropriate. For a man should never get lost, nor is it manly to admit to being unaware of the right route to take. To find one’s whereabouts or to steer a boat across this maze of marshes and to easily find your way home is a matter of honour. As if you were asking how to find the way home on your way back from a business trip. You just know it. One learns it by taking it, by going the wrong way, by following your father when you are a kid and getting lost.

© Camilla de Maffei - Image from the DELTA photography project
i

There is emptiness and you’ll often perceive it as another presence. Like a finger pointing to an absence. I’m not used to this and it bothers me terribly. I often have the feeling that the whole Delta is immersed in a state of deep hibernation. My daily walks are more like a drifting among houses and gardens in search for an encounter, in search for someone. I can see people walking in the distance. Nobody actually speaks to me but knowing they are here keeps me company. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such profound sense of bewilderment. I tell myself I shouldn’t, but I still feel lonely.

© Camilla de Maffei - Image from the DELTA photography project
i

In Sfitofka everybody has left and there’s no hope of seeing anyone come back. Next to each house there are just as many other houses that were abandoned and are now in ruins. The roof has collapsed, the windows are missing the glass panes, the fences bent and the lawns putrefied. These are the houses of those who died and left nothing behind, or those who went away, never to come back.. Those who remain here are often alone. They grow old, get sick and die. Nobody blames anyone. This is how things go here and everyone knows it. One must accept the emptiness.

© Camilla de Maffei - Image from the DELTA photography project
i

Many of the men from the Delta have been left by their wives. They drink too much and often the fishing trade doesn’t go well. They end up alone and manage as best they can, eating what they fish, and drinking what they can afford. Their hands corroded by the freezing nets, their faces cut through by the weather and the booze. They seem rough and unpleasant, but this is just how they appear. Spending time with them, I’ve found that they are fragile, frustrated and tired. Some of them think back to their married life with a sense of remote longing.

© Camilla de Maffei - Image from the DELTA photography project
i

I understood that to find my way, first of all I have to observe and understand Time. Inside a labyrinth time doesn’t run in a familiar way. It doesn’t go forward, it goes in circles. It exists, but in a spiral. It’s heavy, it dilates and it finds its rhythm in repeated actions. In the heat turning into cold, in the light turning into darkness and then light again, in the white ice that melts and turns into dark water and then ice again. Life here follows the constant, inevitable pace of natural cycles. Changes in the landscape have an effect on moods and habits, and they set physical as well as mental barriers. After winter there’ll be summer. After the freeze, the thaw. Seasons influence longings, desires and fears. After the pain, the end of the pain. With sun comes life, with cold comes death. This is the one certainty.

© Camilla de Maffei - Image from the DELTA photography project
i

It’s a simple time, natural and not social. A closed circle. A refrain, held within the small things, that infinitely expands. One could say that here there is still the privilege of seeing time as it passes. Early in the morning you go fishing, in the dark almost, and then in daytime fishing nets get fixed, boats get emptied and cleaned. At dusk, the faces, the lawns and the houses are swamped by a burning orange wave that shines off windows, the water and breaks up among the rushes. Night falls like blackness, lightless. Windows heat up, dogs bark, some distant silhouettes stagger in the darkness, and then everything goes quiet. Time passes and the smell in the air changes. Even its colour changes. The fog, that every winter morning absorbs the light of dawn, evaporates with the beginning of spring and turns into something clear and blue that smells brackish.

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