In a not very hospitable autumn, I went to distant city of Vorkuta and villages around it that I have not heard of.
My path to Vorkuta passed through places from the stories of my grandmother’s youth: the city of Kotlas and the Northern Dvina river. The grand river looked shallow. The big paddle steamers from my grandmother’s stories are unlikely to sail on this river now. Kotlas looked deserted and gray even on a sunny sunset evening. The further north I went, the more I felt the inevitability of change and the sense of the passage of time.
A panorama of Kotlas from the bottom of a shallow river, river station and people from my train who recalled the large cruise ships that once stood at the concrete pier.
I went to Vorkuta on a photo expedition with a group of photographers and creative people like me. There were 15 of us. And the first thing I thought about was: how could we all avoid shooting identical photos? Looking ahead, I will say that there were almost no identical photos. At least for me vs other.
Once upon a time, this sign glowed with neon light, just like the entire city.
While we were waiting for a taxi to our accommodation, I was looking at the station square. The damp weather was not so nasty because of the snow and subzero temperatures, and I decided to take a couple of shots. Apparently, trees are rare in Vorkuta and in the polar tundra in general. All the trees there were planted by people. I was unable to find any precise information about how the trees were planted and how they took root in the almost permafrost. But it makes sense: the trees arrived already quite large, the soil was prepared, and the city buildings protected the trees from the harsh northern winds. This is one of the most constructive manifestations of man.
In Vorkuta and the surrounding area there are many old slogans “Peace to the World!” in the form of inscriptions or even huge metall letters.
A local driver in an authentic car picked me up along with a few of my comrades. In the future, he will be a model for a training shoot with artificial light. But I didn’t take a picture of him as I don’t like such staged photography.
I looked at the setting sun, the car and my friend warming himself in it, while everyone was taking pictures of the driver.
In addition, Vorkuta greeted me with grey-beige panel apartments and cute kiosks. No new houses were built in the city (since 1991), except for small outbuildings and very small shops. But maybe there’s something I don’t know.
Each numbered kiosk has its own unique name and almost all of them are open. Children, just like when I was a child, often buy candy here after school.
On the very first full day we were supposed to go to the area where Vorkuta began in 1936. But I looked into other places while everyone was waking up.
An abandoned kindergarten, which I even managed to go into. As I understood later, social institutions are the first to close. Especially children’s institutions.
This is an outbuilding of a functioning school. New (or updated) graffiti means life.
This is a relatively well-known and only partially inhabited house with a sign: “Glory to the Conquerors of the Arctic!” (conquering nature not land or people here), which also once glowed in neon. The facade of the house used to overlook that very first district (or even settlement) of the city – Rudnik. Now there is a more “modern” house in front of it.
Vorkuta is known in Russia and beyond as a correctional labor penal colony. The first settlers were actually prisoners. Later, hired workers and their families came to Vorkuta. Here I met ordinary working people, their children and parents. And it seemed to me that they were more welcoming and kind than the people in Moscow.
The first settlement of Vorkuta was Rudnik. Now this district is completely abandoned by people. This is where Vorkuta once began, and this is where it ends. The only inhabitants of the Rudnik are now the trees that people have carefully planted. The main part of the city located on the other side of the river.
Nearby and downstream of the river there is an unusual waterfall-dam. This river is also called Vorkuta (translated from Nenets – “Full of Bears”). And here the only living road is the railway for transporting coal between coalpits.
Inside the lifeless houses there were still traces of human presence. I managed to liven up the space a little.