06/08/2026
Mostar, Bosnian War 1994.
After photographing the heavy destruction in the city—from hospital wards filled with mortar victims to newborn babies brought into a world under siege—I headed out into the countryside.
I stopped to take a photograph of a bombed-out house. Five minutes later, I was approached by an intoxicated soldier.
He held me at gunpoint, confiscated my passport, and didn't utter a word. He just stood there staring at me in complete silence.
My translator tried desperately to reason with him, explaining that I wasn't working for the Serbian side, but the soldier wouldn't budge. The tension was unbearable.
What finally de-escalated the situation wasn't logic or credentials—our driver reached out and offered him a cigarette. That single gesture calmed him down enough to return my passport and let us pass.
35 years behind the lens isn't just about the frames you capture. It’s about the quiet, unpredictable moments that allow you to make it home.
