Daria Lavrinienko

The shepherd's trade is practiced in a state of presence, especially in the mountains. This transhumance toward remote mountain pastures, driven by the seasonal rhythms of flock and shepherd, is birthed from a perspective whose vanishing points are, on one hand, a return to more primitive ways of life, and on the other, an almost secession into the vast, enduring landscapes of Europe.

Isolation suggests presence. Like an echo resonating through steep walls of limestone rocks so too the mountains call out, “Be present. Retreat. Come and see what the terrain has to offer.”

As a family, we follow this call every year as we venture up into the mountains of the Provençal Alps to spend the summer season caring for a flock of 1,500 sheep. In doing so, we embrace the realities of presence and shepherd hood, fully aware that we become completely detached from the world left behind in the valley below. The setting is magnificent. As are the ever-changing stars which transit the night sky over the course of our four-month escape, encompassing in their movement the full succession of seasons in the lands and flowery pastures where the sheep graze. 

For hours, days, weeks, and months we guide them through treacherous landscape as they manoeuvre with ever unexpected agility like a white, fluffy current weaving through the expressive, mineral contours of the beloved mountains. Every moment is worthy of being captured. Black and white film is predominant in my archive. It's expressive and timeless nature is calling me every time I charge my camera.

This year we are a family of four (humans), 9 dogs, 1 donkey and countless other forms of life, sometimes seen other times heard, and always felt, always present.