and away
By Ed Kashi and Julie Winokur
6/12/01—Danube
Delta, Romania
My love,
I just came back from photographing a
funeral in a little Delta village. The man who
died was 61. He was walking his herd of cows
by the river, collapsed from a heart attack
and fell into the surf. He wasn’t found for
two days. The funeral was very moving for
me. Once again, I was heaving with tears and
emotions. The scene was so beautiful, with
his body in an open casket, candles lit around
the periphery of the box, with his family and
many members of this small fishing village
around. The priest, a Russian Orthodox,
prayed and sang, while the people obeyed
his commands, crossing themselves at the
right moments, approaching the coffin in
waves and indulging in the proper mood.
Everyone was present, from little children to
elders. I broke down in the church, thinking
of how beautifully this man’s death was
being witnessed. The tenderness, ritual and
attention to detail was moving (all the pall
bearers had cellophane wrapped new shirts
pinned to them as an alm from the family). It
all made me think how hard we humans try
to recognize and respect the possibility of a
spiritual world, and even if we are deluding
ourselves and a human death is really no
different than a dead seagull’s unwitnessed
passing in the lonely shores of some far-off
island, we at least try to create a memory
and belief that these acts will make sense
and give meaning to it all. It also made me
think of my mortality and that it feels too
close. In the end, I made some strong images,
which helped lift my spirits that maybe
something meaningful is being created by all
this time away from my family.
To be frank, I’ve had ambivalent feelings about these journals. While they are
intended to be a bridge between our parallel lives, for me they represent a
chasm …
… When Ed asked me to write something for the book, I told him I was afraid
to express my feelings because it might insult him and make me sound bitter.
He insisted …
On the one hand, I admire Ed’s humanity and perception. I am inspired by
his commitment to important work … On the other hand, the journals were gnawing reminders of the rich life he was
living all these years, while I was desperately trying to catch my breath, raising two children while building my own
career, caring for my ailing father while managing our home and our studio. As he waxed poetic about the world, I felt
like I was drowning. There was nothing romantic about my circumstance, and I was afraid I had become some abstract
© JESSEY DEARING 2012
From Julie Winokur’s
Reflections
The follo wing text by Julie Winokur, written in 2011, appears in Witness Number
Eight: Photojournalisms after the last included journal entry by Kashi, which he
wrote in Vietnam on July 13, 2010. The essay has been edited for space.
6/18/06—Nigerian
Prison Journal
Editor’s note: On June 16, 2006, Kashi and
his fixer, Elias Courson, were arrested at gunpoint while photographing an oil flow station on the Niger Delta. Kashi recounted the
ordeal in detail on paper during his detention. At first, he berated himself for taking
© ED KASHI/VII PHOTO
