|Written by Chiara Tocci|
|15 Sep 2011|
Early 90s. South of Italy. I witnessed streams of Albanians docking on the shores of my hometown, after a long and brutal journey. Running away from a future they couldn’t hope for, towards something equally obscure and complex, they spread all over Europe. Their stories, imagined and presumed, occupied my thoughts: whom did they leave behind and what were they longing for?
After many years, the fascination for this enigmatic land and its people became a photographic journey and took me to the remote areas of High Albania. For the people of these lands, time has almost stood still. It’s an enchanted place inhabited by those who share the land with their ancestors’ ghosts. A place with no time. It’s as if time and history have abruptly stopped, without being able to forget the blood feuds that spread melancholic disillusions.