like last year’s snow
photographer oded wagenstein explores ageing, exclusion and memories.
In the remote village of Yar-sale in Northern Siberia lives a group of elderly women. They were once part of a nomadic community of reindeer herders. However, in their old age, they spend most of their days in seclusion, away from nature and their community. While men are usually encouraged to remain within the migrating community and maintain their social roles, the women often face the struggles of old age alone.
It took a flight, a 60-hour train ride from Moscow, and a bonebreaking seven-hour drive across a frozen river for me to meet them. I immersed myself in their closed community and for days – over many cups of tea – they shared their stories, lullabies and longings with me. Longing for nature, long-gone parents and friends.
Over the past six years, I have been travelling the world, using my camera to explore the relationship between ageing, exclusion, memory and longing. It all started in 2014, when I met a group of senior citizens living in a quiet town in Central Cuba. I returned to visit them a few times a year, and we created an excellent bond. Each visit, I returned to find empty apartments. It struck me that this person I was talking with or having a good laugh with just a month ago was no longer there. And I was lucky enough to have taken his or her picture – without knowing that this would be the last time we would ever meet each other. I feel that the camera, with its unique ability to ‘freeze’ the moment, can help me win a small triumph over the devastating effect of time, and preserve the memory of the people I meet before they are gone forever.
Since I embarked on this journey, I have met and photographed dozens of elders from different communities around the world: from Georgia to Israel, from Japan to Thailand. The decision to travel to northern Siberia was mainly because I wanted to leave my comfort zone after years of working under the Caribbean sun in Cuba. I knew it would probably change the way I work – both in terms of content and aesthetics.
This project was probably one of the most difficult physical challenges I have ever experienced. When I think about it, I suppose the physical challenge, the remoteness, and even the fact that I had very little to eat during the time I spent there (being a vegetarian in Siberia – not recommended) contributed to the feelings these images evoke.
But once we reached the community, I was surprised by the welcome. The women received us (the interpreter and myself) with such warmth and excitement. Always with a smile, cookies and warm tea. We had so much tea! As if they were just waiting for someone to knock on that door and ask to hear their stories. In this series, memories of the past are represented by images of the outside world, while the portraits show current reality.
It is important to understand that photography only took a fraction of the time we spent together, though. We talked, looked through family albums, heard their stories and memories of the past. That is why I like photography so much – it’s my excuse, my passport to meet wonderful people and learn wonderful lessons from them. The project is called “Like Last Year’s Snow”, which is a Yiddish expression, and also very common in my native language (Hebrew). It’s used when discussing something or someone that is not interesting or relevant anymore. Like the snow of last year – it's already melted and has no value. I felt that this expression fit the spirit of the story and, of course, the word ‘snow’ only made it more apt.
During this journey I have learnt a vital lesson: that ageing is not only related to our age, but also to the sense of purpose and necessity we feel in our community. While my series takes place in remote territory, I think this lesson is relevant everywhere: with our ageing parents, grandparents and neighbours. We all should feel that someone cares about us. That we have a place and importance in our family and community.