Blackout

Tskaltubo, Georgia. Once celebrated for its therapeutic radon springs and grand Soviet-era sanatoriums, this town was a beacon of luxury and respite. Visitors from across the Soviet Union, including Moscow, frequented its casinos, theaters, and columned verandas; even Stalin had quarters here. However, the early 1990s brought significant change. The dissolution of the USSR led to the closure of these state-run facilities, and the 1992 war in Abkhazia forced hundreds of thousands to flee their homes. Many sought refuge in Tskaltubo’s abandoned sanatoriums, which became temporary shelters for decades. In recent years, however, the Georgian government has relocated most of these displaced families to new residential complexes, and several of the sanatoriums have been sold to private investors for renovation projects, such as transforming them into hotels for tourists. Today, only a small number of displaced families remain in these once-overcrowded structures, while the town begins a new chapter as a destination for redevelopment and tourism.

Years ago, I left my homeland of Iran due to various constraints and began anew in Georgia, where I lived for six years. Photography became an essential part of this journey. Through my lens, I connected deeply with the Georgian people, their struggles, and their resilience, which often mirrored my own experiences.

Blackout is my exploration of the lives of Abkhazian refugees in Tskaltubo. Through environmental portraits and scenes, I aimed to capture not just their circumstances but their strength and spirit. For me, the heart of this project was the time spent talking with them—listening to their stories, sharing moments of empathy and compassion, and understanding the resilience that keeps them going. These conversations, filled with emotion and humanity, shaped every frame I took.

This project isn’t just about documenting the past; it’s about highlighting the enduring human spirit in the face of adversity. The ruins of Tskaltubo serve as both a backdrop and a metaphor—a symbol of history’s turbulence and the resilience of those who continue to live within its shadows.