Dmitry Markov's Russia Squared

I didn't know about Dmitry Markov until the day he died, one year ago on February 15.

He died a day before Navalny, so the news of his death didn't really register in my head until later. But my friend mentioned him, and said he was a genius of composition. After such words, I looked him up, and immediately his instagram account proved her point. The guy was a genius.

A few days ago, my copy of his second book, Russia Squared (Россия в Квадрате) has arrived in my mailbox. I didn't open it immediately, knowing that I will need time and headspace to process what's inside.

This was the right choice: the book has moved me deeply. The compositions are, indeed, genius — some frames are so incredibly dynamic, they almost dance in front of your eyes. The arrangement of the elements within the frame is incredible, from the most minimalistic shot of a cloud above a small cemetery, to a small group of children jumping on garage roofs, to even larger, more ambitious groups of people — always impeccably placed within the square canvas. The textures, too, are masterfully employed: the brick and the concrete, the newspapers and the clothes sold by street vendors, the water and the sky, the snow and the grass, and of course many, many windows of faceless Russian apartment blocks. The color of the entire book is muted, calm, almost making the scenes seem dusty and dull. And Markov groups the pictures in a very smart way: on some pages the two images talk to each other, other pages are left blank — separating one subject from the other.

But for Markov the compositions, the textures, the colors and the sequencing are but tools. The photographer shows us the simple life of simple people, in a land where the houses are barely holding together and the cars are barely running, where people's clothes are falling apart and children's future is bleak — but he doesn't seem to make a tragedy out of this. He doesn't give us hope, either; instead, I am left with a pensive mood — more a melancholy than a depression.

And if I feel sad, that's only because this genius photographer and volunteer is no longer with us.