The Camera Becomes Secondary
MAY 22, 2025
The Reporter’s Notebook is our monthly interview series with Dial contributors. To receive these conversations directly in your inbox, sign up for our newsletter.
✺
A conversation with Natela Grigalashvili, whose photo essay on the traditions of a nomadic community in rural Georgia was published in our Spectacle issue.
PHOTO: NINA BAIDAURI
When Natela Grigalashvili first visited the highland villages of Adjara, a remote region in Georgia’s southwest near the Turkish border and the Black Sea, in 2013, she knew she would return again and again. She was drawn by the community’s nomadic lifestyle, the village-wide celebrations and the resilience in the face of frequent blackouts, harsh winters and lacking public services. As more and more people move to the city to seek out better opportunities, the community’s traditions are fading, says Natela, who is based in Tblisi. “I wanted to document a way of life that is slowly disappearing — not out of nostalgia, but out of a desire to show how a community adapts to changing circumstances and creates new meaning in today’s world,” Natela writes.
THE DIAL: What first drew you to this remote area of Georgia? Did you know you wanted to photograph this community over a long period of time, or did you just find yourself curious to return again and again?
NATELA GRIGALASHVILI: I had known about this community for some time before I first visited. Tucked away in the mountains, it’s one of the most secluded places in Georgia, and I’d long felt drawn to go there. I was interested in photographing the people and their way of life, but of course, just being drawn to a story doesn’t always mean it’s one you can actually tell. I needed to understand first whether it was possible — whether I could build the kind of trust that such a project would require.
When I finally made the trip, it was autumn. The weather was sunny and warm, and people were outside working on the harvest. As I walked through the village — a complete stranger to them — they looked at me with curiosity, but also with kindness. Many offered me fruit from their gardens, and by the end of the day, my backpack was full. That first encounter stayed with me. It made me realize that I wanted to return, not just once, but many times. That this was a place — and a community — I wanted to get to know deeply.
THE DIAL: Do you live among the community when you photograph them? How do you approach the task, so that your subjects don't alter their behavior in front of the camera?
NG: Whenever I can, I try to live within the community while I photograph. This is a self-funded project, so my visits depend a lot on what I can manage financially, but when I go, I stay with local families and spend as much time there as possible.
It always takes time for people to feel comfortable with a stranger — especially one carrying a camera. When I arrive in a new place, I don’t immediately start taking pictures. I focus on getting to know the people first. I sit with them, we talk, we share stories. That process is very important to me. It builds trust, and slowly, the camera becomes secondary.
That’s why I prefer working on long-term projects — it allows time for mutual understanding. Eventually, people stop noticing the camera altogether, even those who are usually quite shy. What matters most to me is that they see me not as a photographer, but as a person.
THE DIAL: Do you stay in touch with the community when you're not there? How do you maintain some authorial distance in your relationship with them — or is that not important?
NG: Yes, I stay in touch with many people from the community even when I’m not there. Over the years, we’ve built strong personal connections, and we talk regularly — sometimes they call just to ask when I’ll be coming back. These relationships mean a lot to me.
As for keeping a distance — I don’t really try to maintain a strict authorial separation. For me, the work grows out of trust and familiarity. I don’t see my role as an outsider documenting something from afar. Of course, I’m still thoughtful about how I photograph and how I tell their stories, but emotional closeness doesn’t get in the way of that — if anything, it deepens my understanding.
THE DIAL: The project is still ongoing. How will you decide when it is finished?
NG: People often ask me when this project will be finished — especially since I’ve been working on it for over 10 years now. But the truth is, I don’t really know. It’s not a story with a clear beginning or end. Life in the community keeps changing, and so does my relationship with it. As long as I feel there’s something more to understand, to witness or to say, I’ll keep going. For now, it still feels alive to me.
THE DIAL: How do you decide on a new project? Are there themes or places that particularly interest or inspire you?
NG: For me, it always begins with the story. Certain themes draw me in, especially those connected to place, identity and ways of life that are at risk of disappearing. But even if a story seems compelling, I always ask myself whether it’s truly meant for me — whether I’m the right person to tell it.
When something captures my attention, I try to visit the place first. I need to get a feel for it, spend time there and understand if I can build a connection with the people and the environment. Only then do I know whether it’s a story I can truly commit to.
THE DIAL: What are some of the challenges of this kind of work that people may not be aware of?
NG: One of the biggest challenges for me — especially coming from Georgia, where there is no financial support at all for photographers — has been finding the resources to work on a long-term project in remote rural areas.
Because this project has been ongoing for many years and involves frequent travel to a distant, hard-to-reach place, people often assume it must have some kind of sponsorship or institutional backing. They are often surprised when I tell them it doesn’t. I have to work on other projects just to be able to afford to go to these places and continue photographing. That’s a side of the work that often remains invisible.
NATELA GRIGALASHVILI is an independent documentary photographer based in Tbilisi, Georgia.
DEVIN CALIBOSO is an aspiring Filipino-American writer. He grew up in Southern California, but is now an English-major undergraduate at UC Berkeley.