{"id":10646,"date":"2024-11-30T12:04:27","date_gmt":"2024-11-30T11:04:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/?p=10646"},"modified":"2025-02-10T22:41:26","modified_gmt":"2025-02-10T21:41:26","slug":"sheltering-ballad-in-conversation-with-sabine-zoltnere","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/sheltering-ballad-in-conversation-with-sabine-zoltnere\/","title":{"rendered":"SHELTERING BALLAD: IN CONVERSATION WITH SABINE ZOLTNERE"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cIt\u2019s a breaking point when the ideal world of a child shatters, and you start wondering, \u2018Why did this happen to me?\u2019\u201d reflects Sab\u012bne Zoltnere as I flip through <\/span>Sheltering Ballad<\/span><\/i>, her new photobook exploring the loss of her father, who passed away when she was just nine years old. The book features a curated collection of black-and-white photographs, capturing scenes of nature, childhood memories, and moments from Sab\u012bne\u2019s life\u2014sometimes alone, sometimes with her father\u2014all centered around the theme of grief. \u201cThis side of photography is so interesting to me because it\u2019s an artwork, but also a document capturing a specific moment in time,\u201d she explains.<\/span><\/p>\n

The day we meet, the Latvian photographer welcomes me with tea and pastries from a local bakery in her bright new studio, \u201cStudio Soft\u201d, on Gustav-Adolf-Strasse in Wei\u00dfensee. \u201cThere\u2019s still so much to do in here,\u201d she insists as we settle across from each other, a candle flickering between us. The space is largely unfurnished but still feels warm and inviting, which is fitting given the deeply personal conversation we\u2019re about to have.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The book, she reveals, was decades in the making. \u201cI knew my father\u2019s death was the catalyst for why I started searching for meaning, but I never fully acknowledged it until now,\u201d she shares. Sab\u012bne first began seriously considering the project in 2018, hoping to \u201cmake peace\u201d with her loss through art. She experimented with self-portraits and dove into family photo albums and archives, but it quickly became overwhelming. \u201cIt brought up so many unresolved emotions, opened boxes from my subconscious that I wasn\u2019t ready to deal with,\u201d she recalls. \u201cIt was really difficult. I felt paralyzed, unable to move forward.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

It took several attempts to complete the project. \u201cI\u2019m someone who likes to finish what I start, so the fact that I couldn\u2019t was frustrating,\u201d she admits. But gradually, piece by piece\u2014sometimes taking photos, sometimes putting them away in a drawer\u2014Sab\u012bne accumulated enough material. In March of this year, she attended a workshop at the independent bookstore <\/span>Bildband <\/span><\/i>in Prenzlauer Berg, with the idea of creating a zine. However, the concept of a full book quickly took shape\u2014thanks to one of the hosts, Youvalle Levy, who runs Replika Publishing. \u201cIt was serendipity,\u201d Sab\u012bne says. \u201cOnce I had the right platform, everything moved quickly. Having years of distance from when I first took those photos, and then revisiting them during the editing process, really helped me gain perspective on my childhood and this experience.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sab\u012bne Zoltnere was born in 1992 in Riga, just one year after Latvia regained independence from the Soviet Union. \u201cI was part of the first generation of children born into independence,\u201d she reflects. \u201cPolitical movements and mindsets were shifting, and Western influences were pouring in. Products and goods that had been banned or unavailable during the Soviet era suddenly became accessible. People went crazy for them. It was an interesting time,\u201d she recalls.<\/span><\/p>\n

Her words strike a chord with me, as our stories share a common thread\u2014I was born in Belarus, another former Soviet republic, in 1991. I think back to a childhood portrait from her book, where she wears a satin bow tied neatly around her ponytail. \u201cI had the exact same one,\u201d I say, pointing to the photo. Sab\u012bne nods knowingly: \u201cThat\u2019s the Soviet heritage.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She first showed a serious interest in photography in her early teens, hoping to join a workshop led by Latvian documentary photographer Andrejs Grants, but she was too young to participate. Years later, while studying art and printmaking at the Art Academy of Latvia, she finally enrolled. Reflecting on that time, she describes it as \u201cthe foundation and a doorway to creative thinking,\u201d concepts that were entirely new to her: \u201cMy mom is a dentist and my father was a lawyer, so there was no creative background in the family.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

With this newfound passion, exciting times followed. During her studies, Sab\u012bne spent a year in Italy, interning at the Venice Art Biennale and living in Florence. It was also in Italy that she met her now-husband, a musician and designer. After Sab\u012bne\u2019s graduation, the couple moved to Berlin and quickly fell in love with the city\u2019s vibrant cultural scene. \u201cThere are so many events happening every week, and we love it\u2014it\u2019s great,\u201d she says. \u201cWe both have that disease,\u201d she adds, referring to their mutual creative drive. \u201cI\u2019m very thankful for it because we can support each other and understand each other\u2019s struggles. It\u2019s nice that we share a piece of each other\u2019s soul, you know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Her longing to connect is at the heart of the book, as she hopes that sharing her own grief will inspire others to seek support too. \u201cIn Western culture, we tend to avoid talking about death, but acknowledging our limited time on this planet can actually motivate us to focus on what truly matters,\u201d Sab\u012bne asserts. \u201cThe book is about missing someone, but it\u2019s also about offering support, which I wish I\u2019d had more of as a child. I didn\u2019t have a psychotherapist to talk to about my grief\u2014it was the 90s. And my mother was busy working, providing for my sister and me on her own.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

While creating <\/span>Sheltering Ballad<\/span><\/i>\u2014a title that nods to Paul Bowles\u2019 1949 novel <\/span>The Sheltering Sky<\/span><\/i>, which explores similar themes\u2014Sab\u012bne reconnected with her friend, poet Bogdan Licar, who shares her interest in death and life\u2019s impermanence. She invited him to contribute poems that serve as carefully placed pauses in the narrative.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to keep the book quite abstract\u2014more like an emotional diary of what I went through, rather than a chronological story,\u201d Sab\u012bne explains. Showcasing the unpredictable nature of grief and how it comes in waves was essential to her. \u201cThere\u2019s a dynamic curve of intensity in the book\u2014you start quite intensely, and then slowly, the story resolves with some bitter or angry backtracks on the way. That\u2019s where the poems come in, adding a rhythm to the experience.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The sense of floating in the book is remarkably tangible. As I leaf through the photos, I\u2019m struck by the feeling of being in a transitional, dreamlike state\u2014somewhere between waking and sleeping, where the ego dissolves, and everything feels porous and vulnerable.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, there\u2019s a lot of water, a lot of shifting things,\u201d she agrees. \u201cI think part of my way of dealing with grief\u2014especially as a child, facing those overwhelming waves of emotion\u2014was to disassociate and numb out. It\u2019s a paralyzing feeling.\u201d In the self-portraits, you can sense that duality: being there, but not fully present. \u201cIt\u2019s like you\u2019re participating in events, but you\u2019re also just an observer, watching as things unfold without truly engaging,\u201d she explains.<\/span><\/p>\n

In addition to symbolizing change and melancholy, water is also deeply tied to Sab\u012bne\u2019s childhood, evoking memories of countless hours sailing with her dad. \u201cWe spent so much time at sea, and those are my best childhood memories,\u201d she muses. \u201cJust being at the beach, for example\u2014there are these photographs of pieces of wood from the shore, shaped and transformed by the water. When I was a child, we used to collect those bits of driftwood and other elements, wondering what shapes they reminded us of. So, this is like a beach photograph, but at the same time, it\u2019s not.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow that the project is complete,\u201d I ask, \u201cdo you feel you\u2019ve found a sense of surrender?\u201d I\u2019m referring to the book\u2019s description, which calls it a journal of her \u201cjourney through suffering in search of peace and acceptance.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, very much so,\u201d she says. \u201cI was able to let it go in a way,\u201d she says, referring to her father\u2019s passing. \u201cI mean, it\u2019s difficult to choose the right term because grief is always going to be part of me, but I\u2019ve made peace with it.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After its release in<\/span> mid-October 2024, the book has also taken on a life of its own, traveling to places where Sab\u012bne herself isn\u2019t\u2014like the Paris Photo Fair or the Recreo Valencia Art Book Fair. Speaking with others who share similar stories has also been profoundly healing. \u201cPeople I\u2019ve never met are reaching out to tell me how a specific photograph or part of the story has touched them,\u201d she shares. \u201cSuddenly, I\u2019m having these deep, meaningful conversations with complete strangers about something so personal.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She grows thoughtful. \u201cI feel very happy about this because it represents the higher purpose of art\u2014taking the time to discuss fundamental topics that are part of our being. We wouldn\u2019t be able to imagine our identity without them.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cIt\u2019s a breaking point when the ideal world of a child shatters, and you start wondering, \u2018Why did this happen to me?\u2019\u201d reflects Sab\u012bne Zoltnere as I flip through Sheltering Ballad, her new photobook exploring the loss of her father, who passed away when she was just nine years old. The book features a curated […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":23,"featured_media":10668,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,97,108],"tags":[109,110],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10646"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/23"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=10646"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10646\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10688,"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10646\/revisions\/10688"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/10668"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=10646"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=10646"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/yun-berlin.com\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=10646"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}