A Sportsman’s Sketches
(photographic project, “Fotosnayper” photo-rifle, Zenit 12xps, Tair lens, gelatin silver print, Ilford Multigrade paper, print size 24×30 cm, wooden frames)
2026
Just as the wandering nobleman in Turgenev’s “A Sportsman’s Sketches” would enter the forest with a gun and a notebook to capture the soul of nature, I enter the zoo with a camera—a “photo-gun.” We have lost our primal hunting instinct and our connection to the wild world; to see a wild animal now, we must go to a place where it is condemned to be perpetually watched.
A rather small animal. I had imagined lynxes to be larger and more aggressive. But here was a cat—with tufted ears—pacing yet another circle around a small metal cage. Quiet, calm, graceful. Occasionally, she pauses briefly to gaze into the depths of the neighboring cage. I keep her in my sights. My finger presses against the cold metal. I wait — “click”. Cocking the mechanism. “Click” again. Three kilograms of metal press against my shoulder. I need to catch the moment the lynx stops moving. My gaze shifts to the next cage: a dog—a hound—growling fiercely. A puppy is beside her; the mother shields it with her body, guiding it to the far side of the cage. A strange sight. Who came up with this arrangement? The dog clearly doesn’t belong here—though, come to think of it, neither do the other animals. A loud roar rings out; the lioness can be heard from afar. She lies on a wooden platform, making her easier to frame in the viewfinder. She stares motionless toward the distant woods. A young male lion was recently introduced to her enclosure; he is hiding inside a large wooden den. The shutter clicks. A small monkey has been moved to an outdoor cage; you can toss a piece of carrot to it through a long pipe. I wait—"click”. And “click” again. Llamas gaze out with huge, dark eyes, waiting for a treat. Click. Through the viewfinder, the world becomes flat and safe—just a composition, just light and shadow. I lower the camera; I can hear a hound growling. And the lynx pacing back and forth—there is a trampled circle on the ground along the edge of the cage. Peacocks have fanned out their tails—magnificent creatures—click. Their feathers shimmer in the light, impressing the female. I leave; I’ve had enough impressions for one day. Behind me, the quiet clinking of metal: the bears aren’t growling at all; they are reaching their paws through the bars—they’ve been brought porridge. The keeper deftly places an apple into their paws. As I exit, I hear a lioness roar. The shutter clicks no more. Two rolls of film in my pocket—the shots should be good. My gaze lingers on a small house at the edge; a raccoon sits in the window against the metal grate, with a second one beside it—both watching me through the glass. A pity I ran out of film.
(The project comprises 13 mounted pieces and 50 photographs; the project is ongoing)
