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“Varanasi, A Journey into the Infinite”
30 November 2024
On December 14, 2024, Farm Cultural Park will inaugurate the exhibition “Varanasi, a Journey into the Infinite” in the evocative setting of Villa Genuardi, Agrigento, within the Valley of the Temples park. The exhibition features three immersive pavilions where visitors can stroll through the streets of Varanasi, meet its pilgrims, and symbolically bathe alongside them on the banks of the Ganges.
It is with great joy that I have shared my photographs and responded to the questions of journalist Alessandro Cacciato.
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Andrea, your exhibition "Varanasi: A Journey into the Infinite" is the result of a very personal and profound experience. Can you tell us how this project came to life and what inspired you to portray this city in such an intimate way?
In my travels, I enjoy visiting remote places, corners of the world that are alien and unfamiliar to me. I know that in those places, I will be challenged to push beyond my limits. My photos and travel narratives reflect the crises I go through and the ways I attempt, if possible, to resolve them within myself. Sometimes the challenge is purely climatic, like in the Danakil Depression, which I visited when daytime temperatures soared to 50°C, and the nights didn’t cool below 35°C.
Varanasi, however, tested me in a different way. Known as the city of the dead, I had heard contrasting stories from friends who had visited before me. I wanted to discover what I would feel when confronted with death in the streets, facing the ultimate loss—the loss of one’s life or that of loved ones. Would I be able to find a place within myself to understand and accept this terrifying aspect of existence?
Never would I have imagined, instead, to find so much life and vitality!
In the text accompanying your exhibition, you mention how Varanasi seems to play hide-and-seek with its visitors, wrapping them in fog and chaos. How did this perception of the city influence your photographic approach? What challenges did you encounter in trying to "capture" its essence?
I spent a week in Varanasi in December, between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. The weather was harsh, with my toes struggling to stay warm inside my shoes. Varanasi was shrouded in fog, with the sun only making brief appearances. This was a stroke of luck, allowing me to play with the banks of the Ganges, where the ghats vanished into the horizon, and the pilgrims appeared and disappeared like fleeting dreams. Photographing them from the boats gliding along the ghats was nothing short of thrilling.
From a photographic perspective, the challenge was not only capturing the right moment but also managing focus in such low-contrast conditions. Yet these are difficulties that can be overcome with a bit of technique, dedication, and a touch of luck.
How do your vision of travel and photography intertwine in this project? What is your philosophy as a photographer when immersing yourself in a place so rich in history, spirituality, and contradictions?
I travel in search of an intimate connection, a bond. My motto is “Every place is home.” Even the most hostile places are inhabited, and the indigenous people know them, breathe them, and consider them “home.” Home is where the heart is, as the famous saying goes. And I go hunting for images that reflect this aspect. I aim to combine the land with the people who inhabit it, and to glimpse the emotional bond that forms between them. My eye seeks emotions, and the camera only clicks when I identify one.
One of the images that emerges from your description of Varanasi is that of a place where the sacred and the profane constantly intermingle. How did you try to convey this duality in your photographs? Are there any images that, for you, best represent this balance?
I don’t try to convey anything. I open my senses and capture what I see. It’s not my job to impose a narrative while shooting. However, I am convinced that we can only see outside of ourselves what we have within. So, in a way, the Varanasi I’ve shown is my Varanasi, the one that resonated with me. I have a Catholic upbringing that has left me with a somewhat dualistic view of the world. I tend to divide things into a dual system, even without wanting to, unconsciously. But Varanasi doesn’t work that way!
There’s one shot in which two pilgrims are performing ablutions in the Ganges. The first is lost in contemplation, his image speaks of spirituality and ascension. Next to him, another young man is praying, his hands pressed to his chest, his expression serious, but his hair is covered in shampoo foam. Instinctively, I’m inclined to think that the pilgrim without shampoo is more devoted than the other. But is it really so?
This is the kind of reflection that Varanasi gave me, because it constantly shuffles the cards. Maybe that’s why some people find it unbearable. It strips away all intellectual certainty. India, you have to live it from the gut, or rejection kicks in automatically.
During your stay in Varanasi, you experienced moments that deeply impacted you, such as the contrast between the chaos of the city and the solemnity of the religious rituals. Is there a specific moment or scene that particularly struck you and that you believe shaped your perception of the city?
When I arrived at the hotel, there was no internet connection. I called the reception, and a polite voice told me that the monkeys walk on the telephone wires and break them constantly. She also advised me to keep the windows closed if I didn’t want a macaque to come in and steal my things. Later, I photographed many of these creatures jumping from one electric wire to another. No one chases them away; they simply repair the damage. There is a profound acceptance of nature in this, and it was the first moment when I felt that Varanasi would be a journey into another dimension.
Varanasi is famous for its spirituality, and the Ganges is a central element in this. How did you interpret the relationship between the sacred river and its inhabitants through photography? How did the river become a symbol in your visual narrative?
In Varanasi, life flows on the ghats. One cannot ignore the presence of the Ganges, not even if one tried. It’s to the Ganges that you must turn your gaze, whether you’re capturing a landscape or focusing on a portrait. The most important sacred ceremonies, the cremations, the practice of yoga, even the restaurants—everything takes place in the presence of the river. It is a real presence before being symbolic. It imposes itself on the traveler, absorbs them; I could almost say it chews them up and digests them with its enzymes.
I don’t think I had any special merit in interpreting Varanasi. Just as I’m happy to be part of an exhibition that isn’t focused on photographs of Andrea Marchegiani. At Villa Genuardi, people will find themselves immersed in the city; they’ll be able to walk through it and breathe it in, bridging the geographical distance in an ideal way. My photos, my work, are just a tool.
In one of the passages of your text, you describe the scene of a pilgrim immersing himself in the Ganges, displaying a mixture of joy and fear. How do you manage to capture these contrasting emotional states in a photograph, where the moment is so fleeting and subjective?
Sixth sense, bursts of continuous shots, and a bit of luck. I’m drawn to emotions, I have a kind of radar, so my eye instinctively turns wherever something happens that opens my heart. In the case of the photo you’re describing, an adult man, shivering from the cold and immersed in the Ganges up to his waist, noticed my presence on a small boat and gave me a look of complicity. It was as if he was saying, “I’m freezing, but what can I do?”
The intimacy that forms with strangers is one of the driving forces behind my work. It gives me unlimited trust in humanity. Experiencing a moment like this balances months of bad news in the newspapers.
Your experience in Varanasi also led you to reflect on poverty, street cleanliness, and social conditions, including the caste system. How have these social contradictions been an integral part of your photographic work, and how did you approach them in your images?
With the utmost respect. When I judge a reality, I don’t take the shot. Only if I align with what I see, if I engage and question, can I capture it. When I found myself in front of a pariah who responded with a fearful look, I didn’t shoot. I don’t like using the camera as a weapon to exercise violence. I photograph only if the person I’m capturing allows me a glimpse into their life. Poverty, inequalities—they are realities that must certainly be denounced. But I’m not a war correspondent. With my work, I aim to bring people closer to cultures different from their own. I’m interested in establishing a bond of brotherhood.
Regarding Varanasi, therefore, poverty and the caste division are for me bridges to cross, not walls to tear down.
Is there a particular photograph that you feel represents the beating heart of your experience in Varanasi? If so, which one and why?
A portrait of a sadhu with blue eyes. He was on the sacred bank of the city, where no buildings can be constructed. We spoke a little, smiled at each other, then I asked if I could take a photo, and he struck a serious and distant pose, but kept laughing between each shot.
It was one of the moments when I felt most accepted and welcomed by Varanasi.
Varanasi is a place that seems to slip away from those who observe it, to the point where you yourself wrote that you’re never quite sure whether you truly visited it or merely dreamed it. Do you think that photography, despite its attempt to capture a moment, can ever truly capture the essence of a place like this?
True photographers know better than anyone how ineffable reality is. An image only captures the shadow of a moment. When I miss Varanasi, I don’t rush to look at my photos. I close my eyes and recall the moments I lived there. Then I long to return physically. I hope that the images of Varanasi can invite viewers to go there in person. Today, we are so overwhelmed by videos and photographs that we deceive ourselves into thinking we know everything, forgetting the formative value of experience.
Talking about the future, how do you see your evolution as a photographer after this experience? What are the future projects that excite you the most, and how do you think this journey to Varanasi will influence your photography?
Varanasi changed me as a human being. It gave me the opportunity to watch the cremations on the banks of the Ganges for hours. I thought I would feel discomfort and horror. On the contrary, I felt filled with acceptance. Perhaps a trip to Varanasi is a great way to burn our ego. From this perspective, my work as a photographer has changed. I no longer experience it as a springboard to personal visibility. If a million people visited Villa Genuardi, finding the photos of Varanasi interesting and emotional, and left the exhibition changed by the experience without having paid any attention to my name even for a moment, I wouldn’t feel an ounce of disappointment. Quite the opposite.
A final question about your relationship with Farm Cultural Park: your exhibition will open on December 14th at Villa Genuardi in Agrigento, a place rich in history and beauty. What was your impression the first time you visited Favara and Farm Cultural Park? What do you think could emerge from the encounter between your exhibition and Farm's project for Agrigento Capital of Culture 2025?
When Andrea Bartoli invited me to visit Farm Cultural Park, I was truly fascinated. His project has something unique and deeply special. The way in which culture is reclaiming “marginal” spaces in Favara is incredibly inspiring to me. Returning to my motto, “Every place is home,” I can say that, thanks to Andrea Bartoli, I felt Favara a little like home. I’m grateful to have met him and more than honored that my photographs were chosen to take a step forward in this wonderful journey of his.
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