In the Shadow of Tourism

Kihnu is a small island off the coast of Estonia. It is a UNESCO cultural space, and is often touted as being the last matriarchal society in Europe. It has strong Soviet links and was occupied for 50 years. I had spent the best part of a year looking at images of the island. Women dancing in red patterned skirts, headscarves and shirts reminiscent of Amish communities. Of gritty elder women sitting in near abandoned houses surrounded by memories and dust. Of the Soviet motorbikes and sidecars that crisscrossed this small baltic landscape.

I went to the island with the idea of documenting this unique matriarchal cultural space, but instead found a community uncomfortably tied into the stereotypical culture that is the bedrock of their tourist economy. In these images I wanted to explore this tension, and shed light on the real islanders whose lives weave in and out of that space and are often overlooked. The islanders are famed for being resourceful and deeply connected to the natural world. Sheds are full of enough tools and spare parts to fix any machinery, from a Soviet motorbike and sidecar to a tractor. Vegetables are pickled and preserved to last the harsh winters. Fishing nets are mended and carefully packed away at the end of every shift. It is not a culture of consumption, but of survival. And while the culture that is demonstrated through the traditional costumes, dances, songs and crafts is where this resilience began, it is now being packaged and consumed in less authentic ways.

The two sides of the island are presented here in two main visual ways. The traditional images are in colour, suffused with the warm red that reflects the height of the summer, when the population on the island swells and evenings are bathed in warm light. The images of the real side of the community are in black and white, reflecting the harsher reality of a life lived in an island that is sometimes cut off dramatically from the mainland, where the population is whittled to its minimum and supplies are mined to last the winters. They also, however, reflect my own journey as someone who went with one story in mind, to find the colour, and had to pivot to capture the real story of the island, the darkness.