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Valery Katsuba
CLOSE PEOPLE. PORTRAITS
CLOSE PEOPLE. PORTRAITS
In St. Petersburg, I think in 2010, a Frenchman who had many children, Domain, invited me to dinner at his house. He had, as I remember, six children. They all lived in France, but the eldest was visiting at the time. Domain had raised him, like the other five, without a mother.
Father and son were preparing dinner together while I watched them. They seemed like two friends, or, rather, two parents: as I assumed, the eldest had always been Domain's assistant in raising and caring for the younger ones. When I shared my impressions with Domain, he agreed that despite the differences between him and his son, they often shared gestures, facial expressions, and even behavioral patterns.
In St. Petersburg, I think in 2010, a Frenchman who had many children, Domain, invited me to dinner at his house. He had, as I remember, six children. They all lived in France, but the eldest was visiting at the time. Domain had raised him, like the other five, without a mother.
Father and son were preparing dinner together while I watched them. They seemed like two friends, or, rather, two parents: as I assumed, the eldest had always been Domain's assistant in raising and caring for the younger ones. When I shared my impressions with Domain, he agreed that despite the differences between him and his son, they often shared gestures, facial expressions, and even behavioral patterns.
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We decided to photograph these "similarities and differences." Domain's portrait with his eldest son became the origin of the photo-story "Close People. Portraits."
A few years later, in Budapest, I visited an apartment for sale. A young man dressed in work clothes opened the door and invited me in. I went to the living room and was surprised to see, through the door, another young man identical, like two drops of water, to the first. From the living room windows, sunlight, muffled by the curtains, fell on him. It seemed to me that I was seeing the reflection of the first worker in a mirror of which the door was the frame. Noticing my surprise, the boy who had opened the door smiled and introduced himself:
- I'm Jan, and this is my twin brother Jerzy.
"Ah, that's what it is!" I understood what was happening, and I decided that one day I would make a portrait of two twin brothers. After having moved to Madrid, walking through the Lavapiés neighborhood, I saw two twin musicians and I took a portrait of them, whose idea had arisen in Budapest.
In 2011 I flew to Brazil. In an airport corridor in the country's capital, I realized that a father and his son were walking in front of me. The boy was dragging a large black suitcase while his father hugged him by the shoulders. The two were talking animatedly, like friends.
From the capital of Brazil, I flew to the island of Boi Peba, in the Bay of All Saints. Every day, as evening fell, I watched parents help their children prepare for their lessons on the terraces of the simple fishermen's houses built along the shore. Fathers would sit next to children and put a hand on their shoulders in a friendly way. This gesture caught my attention because in the Soviet Union, where I was born and raised, it was customary to show moderation, even a certain rigor, in relationships between close people. For some reason it was believed, or at least that's how I understood it, that the distance between parents and children, brothers and sisters, even between friends, was a manifestation of independence that helped mature.
I made portraits of parents and children both in Brazil and in the countries of the former Soviet Union: Russia and Belarus.
When I left Brazil, I traveled to England. In London I met my friend I hadn't seen for a long time. She was still as beautiful as ever. She told me that she had wanted a child for a long time. Since her relationship with her boyfriend had failed, she proposed becoming a father to a good friend who lived literally across the street. They had had a wonderful child. After coffee she invited me to her house and introduced me to her family. The three of them, father, mother and son, seemed like friends. The father now spent most of his time at his mother-friend's house, and he only crossed the street to return to his house each night after the boy had fallen asleep. I made a portrait of them.
A few years later, in Morocco, when I was traveling by bus from Essaouira to Agadir, a father and his son sat next to me. It was very hot, the road was not in good condition, and the teenager was not feeling well. His father was taking care of him very delicately, a little worried that excessive attention would anger the boy. The boy, despite needing help, tried to reject it. They both looked alike, and it was impossible to hide their affection and closeness, at least that one of the father. When the bus stopped at one of the roadside cafes, I asked permission to photograph them. And they agreed.
Not long ago, in Madrid, in the summer of 2020, I was going by metro to the South Bus Station loaded with a suitcase and a backpack. In the vagon I saw two brothers of Latin origin. The youngest was about five years old, and the oldest maybe sixteen. They were carrying a scooter, probably to be used in Madrid Río. The little brother was behaving like a prince, and the older one seemed to be glad to take care of him. And, unlike us in the former Soviet Union, they were in no rush to “grow up” for each other. While I was getting off at the Méndez Álvaro stop, I heard the older brother, taking out the tablet, ask the child: "Let me read you a story now!" The little prince agreed.
That same summer, already in Mallorca, a young family invited my friend Jeroni and me to have coffee at his small house by the sea. Dad, mom, the girls, the dog... everyone looked happy on this sunny Majorcan day. And, in addition to coffee, we took some photographs. The rocky coast where they were spending the summer was of extraordinary beauty.
During my travels I have always enjoyed taking portraits of lovers, such as that of the artist and the actress in Curitiba (Brazil) or that of a gay couple in Santiago, Chile. And in St. Petersburg, where I had my home for many years, I used to photograph my friends. I was doing it for them and for me. My friends (couples, singles, families...) and I were organizing picnics in the countryside to have a pleasant time and to take photographs.
It was a surprise to me that these "family portraits" later aroused great interest among complete strangers. The private atmosphere of our "family", created over the years, was attractive. Our faces, our outfits, and the landscapes we found ourselves in made us interesting to those who saw them. We were very close people.
This is how this project of portraits of close people came to fruition: parents and children, sisters and brothers, dear friends and couples in their homes, gardens, favorite cafes and places for walks, which were taken in Brazil, Mexico, Russia, Belarus, Morocco, Chile, the United States, the United Kingdom and Spain.
Valery Katsuba, Santanyí, Mallorca, 2020.
LIST OF PHOTOGRAPHS
1. Valery Katsuba. Mother and son. Madrid. Spain.
2. Valery Katsuba. Brothers. Madrid. Spain.
3. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Brazil.
4. Valery Katsuba. Husband and Wife. Brazil.
5. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Madrid. Spain.
6. Valery Katsuba. Couple. Mexico City. Mexico.
7. Valery Katsuba. Cuban family. Merida. Mexico.
8. Valery Katsuba. Father and daughter. Paul. Novgorod region. Russia.
9. Valery Katsuba. Brothers. Madrid, Spain.
10. Valery Katsuba. Sisters, Portugal.
11. Valery Katsuba. Family with a friend. Santa Paula. Spain.
12. Valery Katsuba. Family. Madrid, Spain.
13. Valery Katsuba. Father and daughter. California. USA.
14. Valery Katsuba. Couple. Santiago de Chile. Chile.
15. Valery Katsuba. Couple. Madrid. Spain.
16. Valery Katsuba. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. New York. USA.
17. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Morocco.
18. Valery Katsuba. Brothers. Seville. Spain.
19. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Great Britain.
20. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Moscow region. Russia.
21. Valery Katsuba. Family. London. Great Britain.
22. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. St Petersburg. Russia.
23. Valery Katsuba. Father and daughter. Belarus.
24. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. St Petersburg. Russia.
25. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. San Francisco. USA
26. Valery Katsuba. Sisters. Majorca. Spain.
27. Valery Katsuba. Family. Mallorca. Spain
28. Valery Katsuba. Brothers. South of France.
29. Valery Katsuba. Family. South of France.
30. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Puerto Ballarta. Mexico.
31. Valery Katsuba. Couple. Madrid. Spain.
32. Valery Katsuba. Couple. Moscow region. Russia.
A few years later, in Budapest, I visited an apartment for sale. A young man dressed in work clothes opened the door and invited me in. I went to the living room and was surprised to see, through the door, another young man identical, like two drops of water, to the first. From the living room windows, sunlight, muffled by the curtains, fell on him. It seemed to me that I was seeing the reflection of the first worker in a mirror of which the door was the frame. Noticing my surprise, the boy who had opened the door smiled and introduced himself:
- I'm Jan, and this is my twin brother Jerzy.
"Ah, that's what it is!" I understood what was happening, and I decided that one day I would make a portrait of two twin brothers. After having moved to Madrid, walking through the Lavapiés neighborhood, I saw two twin musicians and I took a portrait of them, whose idea had arisen in Budapest.
In 2011 I flew to Brazil. In an airport corridor in the country's capital, I realized that a father and his son were walking in front of me. The boy was dragging a large black suitcase while his father hugged him by the shoulders. The two were talking animatedly, like friends.
From the capital of Brazil, I flew to the island of Boi Peba, in the Bay of All Saints. Every day, as evening fell, I watched parents help their children prepare for their lessons on the terraces of the simple fishermen's houses built along the shore. Fathers would sit next to children and put a hand on their shoulders in a friendly way. This gesture caught my attention because in the Soviet Union, where I was born and raised, it was customary to show moderation, even a certain rigor, in relationships between close people. For some reason it was believed, or at least that's how I understood it, that the distance between parents and children, brothers and sisters, even between friends, was a manifestation of independence that helped mature.
I made portraits of parents and children both in Brazil and in the countries of the former Soviet Union: Russia and Belarus.
When I left Brazil, I traveled to England. In London I met my friend I hadn't seen for a long time. She was still as beautiful as ever. She told me that she had wanted a child for a long time. Since her relationship with her boyfriend had failed, she proposed becoming a father to a good friend who lived literally across the street. They had had a wonderful child. After coffee she invited me to her house and introduced me to her family. The three of them, father, mother and son, seemed like friends. The father now spent most of his time at his mother-friend's house, and he only crossed the street to return to his house each night after the boy had fallen asleep. I made a portrait of them.
A few years later, in Morocco, when I was traveling by bus from Essaouira to Agadir, a father and his son sat next to me. It was very hot, the road was not in good condition, and the teenager was not feeling well. His father was taking care of him very delicately, a little worried that excessive attention would anger the boy. The boy, despite needing help, tried to reject it. They both looked alike, and it was impossible to hide their affection and closeness, at least that one of the father. When the bus stopped at one of the roadside cafes, I asked permission to photograph them. And they agreed.
Not long ago, in Madrid, in the summer of 2020, I was going by metro to the South Bus Station loaded with a suitcase and a backpack. In the vagon I saw two brothers of Latin origin. The youngest was about five years old, and the oldest maybe sixteen. They were carrying a scooter, probably to be used in Madrid Río. The little brother was behaving like a prince, and the older one seemed to be glad to take care of him. And, unlike us in the former Soviet Union, they were in no rush to “grow up” for each other. While I was getting off at the Méndez Álvaro stop, I heard the older brother, taking out the tablet, ask the child: "Let me read you a story now!" The little prince agreed.
That same summer, already in Mallorca, a young family invited my friend Jeroni and me to have coffee at his small house by the sea. Dad, mom, the girls, the dog... everyone looked happy on this sunny Majorcan day. And, in addition to coffee, we took some photographs. The rocky coast where they were spending the summer was of extraordinary beauty.
During my travels I have always enjoyed taking portraits of lovers, such as that of the artist and the actress in Curitiba (Brazil) or that of a gay couple in Santiago, Chile. And in St. Petersburg, where I had my home for many years, I used to photograph my friends. I was doing it for them and for me. My friends (couples, singles, families...) and I were organizing picnics in the countryside to have a pleasant time and to take photographs.
It was a surprise to me that these "family portraits" later aroused great interest among complete strangers. The private atmosphere of our "family", created over the years, was attractive. Our faces, our outfits, and the landscapes we found ourselves in made us interesting to those who saw them. We were very close people.
This is how this project of portraits of close people came to fruition: parents and children, sisters and brothers, dear friends and couples in their homes, gardens, favorite cafes and places for walks, which were taken in Brazil, Mexico, Russia, Belarus, Morocco, Chile, the United States, the United Kingdom and Spain.
Valery Katsuba, Santanyí, Mallorca, 2020.
LIST OF PHOTOGRAPHS
1. Valery Katsuba. Mother and son. Madrid. Spain.
2. Valery Katsuba. Brothers. Madrid. Spain.
3. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Brazil.
4. Valery Katsuba. Husband and Wife. Brazil.
5. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Madrid. Spain.
6. Valery Katsuba. Couple. Mexico City. Mexico.
7. Valery Katsuba. Cuban family. Merida. Mexico.
8. Valery Katsuba. Father and daughter. Paul. Novgorod region. Russia.
9. Valery Katsuba. Brothers. Madrid, Spain.
10. Valery Katsuba. Sisters, Portugal.
11. Valery Katsuba. Family with a friend. Santa Paula. Spain.
12. Valery Katsuba. Family. Madrid, Spain.
13. Valery Katsuba. Father and daughter. California. USA.
14. Valery Katsuba. Couple. Santiago de Chile. Chile.
15. Valery Katsuba. Couple. Madrid. Spain.
16. Valery Katsuba. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. New York. USA.
17. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Morocco.
18. Valery Katsuba. Brothers. Seville. Spain.
19. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Great Britain.
20. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Moscow region. Russia.
21. Valery Katsuba. Family. London. Great Britain.
22. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. St Petersburg. Russia.
23. Valery Katsuba. Father and daughter. Belarus.
24. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. St Petersburg. Russia.
25. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. San Francisco. USA
26. Valery Katsuba. Sisters. Majorca. Spain.
27. Valery Katsuba. Family. Mallorca. Spain
28. Valery Katsuba. Brothers. South of France.
29. Valery Katsuba. Family. South of France.
30. Valery Katsuba. Father and son. Puerto Ballarta. Mexico.
31. Valery Katsuba. Couple. Madrid. Spain.
32. Valery Katsuba. Couple. Moscow region. Russia.
© 2025 V. Katsuba