(ongoing, sin­ce 2022) — Docu­men­ting the resi­lien­ce of migrant wor­ker com­mu­ni­ties 

An odd­ly pla­ced Eif­fel Tower in an unas­su­ming vil­la­ge in Uzbe­ki­stan hin­ts at a uni­que inter­sec­tion of dreams and labor. Throu­gh both text and docu­men­ta­ry pho­to­gra­phy, I track this con­fluen­ce, as sea­so­nal far­mers craft homes and com­mu­ni­ties during their eight mon­ths wor­king amid­st the agri­cul­tu­ral fields.

Farish in the Jiz­zak region of Uzbe­ki­stan is a somewhat magi­cal pla­ce, whe­re the Eif­fel Tower («Farish» sounds almo­st like «Paris» in Uzbek and Rus­sian) gree­ts you at the entran­ce and whe­re peo­ple build their own world that is not seen from outsi­de. My pro­ject is a sto­ry of a lar­ge com­mu­ni­ty of sea­so­nal agri­cul­tu­ral wor­kers. For 8 mon­ths of the year, they live on the land of others with their who­le fami­lies, build hou­ses, work with their hands, grow toma­toes, melons and water­me­lons, rai­se their chil­dren, and watch Tur­kish TV series in the eve­nings. And then, for the win­ter, they go to their home in the east, to the Fer­ga­na Val­ley.

It’s a por­trait of the spi­rit of sea­so­nal far­mers, who, in the face of chal­len­ging labor con­di­tions, build lives mar­ked by resi­lien­ce and an uny­iel­ding sen­se of com­mu­ni­ty. This pro­ject, at its core, is a tri­bu­te to the­se fami­lies who embo­dy the heart and soul of Uzbe­ki­sta­n’s sea­so­nal agri­cul­tu­re, their sto­ries offe­ring a poi­gnant reflec­tion of the coun­try’s socio-cul­tu­ral land­sca­pe and resi­sting the ima­ge of Uzbe­ki­stan por­trayed on natio­nal tele­vi­sion and Western orien­ta­li­st miscon­cep­tions.

My far uncle’s (from grandma’s side) fields ser­ved as a sta­ge for this pro­ject. In addi­tion to my grandmother’s rela­ti­ves, my gran­d­fa­ther was born the­re and lived the­re until he was 6 years old, until the war began. As a child, he often told us about this beau­ti­ful, bloo­ming pla­ce, and I thought that my gran­d­fa­ther was so cool that he so often goes to Paris.

Farish is like Paris, Texas, only Paris, Jiz­za­kh. The Uzbek dream is Paris. The­re are many repli­cas of the Eif­fel Towers in various parts of Uzbe­ki­stan, it’s an obses­sion with Paris in some way.

In September/October the sea­son is over and far­mers go home. The­se tran­si­tio­nal momen­ts make me think a lot about what home means. How does it feel like when you’­re not home all the time, or when your hou­se fits in a truck? When you always live in a big com­mu­ni­ty and they are your home? This sto­ry is just one of the many untold sto­ries that, for me, con­sti­tu­te the real Uzbe­ki­stan. The­re is no pla­ce for the gloss and emp­ty pro­mi­ses of the Yan­gi Uzbe­ki­ston from TV, but the­re is life in its great varie­ty, warmth and con­nec­tions.