
Tomislav Marcijuš: This project is a profound exploration of memory, loss, and the evolving concept of home. Through photography, I trace my mother’s movements between Baranja, where she raised me, and her native village in Bosnia—a tranquil space frozen in time, yet rich with history. What began as a way to document her daily rituals soon transformed into a layered investigation of family, migration, and the invisible burdens carried across generations.
Using a mix of archival materials, still photographs, and visual fragments from our shared and inherited pasts, I strive to construct a narrative that defies linearity. Instead, it flows like memory itself—fragmented, emotional, and intimate.
This work is not merely about her, or even about us, but about many who inhabit in-between places, whose identities are shaped by departure, return, and the yearning for something just out of reach. I am interested in how photography can serve both as evidence and as myth; how it preserves while also distorting. I perceive the camera as a tool for both witnessing and healing.
This project provided me with a space to grieve, to remember, and ultimately to reconnect. As I near fifteen years of working with photography, this body of work feels like a return to something essential—an embrace between the personal and the intimate. It is, above all, a love letter to my mother and to all the quiet lives that carry entire worlds within them.
Tomislav Marcijuš: This project is a profound exploration of memory, loss, and the evolving concept of home. Through photography, I trace my mother’s movements between Baranja, where she raised me, and her native village in Bosnia—a tranquil space frozen in time, yet rich with history. What began as a way to document her daily rituals soon transformed into a layered investigation of family, migration, and the invisible burdens carried across generations.
Using a mix of archival materials, still photographs, and visual fragments from our shared and inherited pasts, I strive to construct a narrative that defies linearity. Instead, it flows like memory itself—fragmented, emotional, and intimate.
This work is not merely about her, or even about us, but about many who inhabit in-between places, whose identities are shaped by departure, return, and the yearning for something just out of reach. I am interested in how photography can serve both as evidence and as myth; how it preserves while also distorting. I perceive the camera as a tool for both witnessing and healing.
This project provided me with a space to grieve, to remember, and ultimately to reconnect. As I near fifteen years of working with photography, this body of work feels like a return to something essential—an embrace between the personal and the intimate. It is, above all, a love letter to my mother and to all the quiet lives that carry entire worlds within them.
Tomislav Marcijuš: This project is a profound exploration of memory, loss, and the evolving concept of home. Through photography, I trace my mother’s movements between Baranja, where she raised me, and her native village in Bosnia—a tranquil space frozen in time, yet rich with history. What began as a way to document her daily rituals soon transformed into a layered investigation of family, migration, and the invisible burdens carried across generations.
Using a mix of archival materials, still photographs, and visual fragments from our shared and inherited pasts, I strive to construct a narrative that defies linearity. Instead, it flows like memory itself—fragmented, emotional, and intimate.
This work is not merely about her, or even about us, but about many who inhabit in-between places, whose identities are shaped by departure, return, and the yearning for something just out of reach. I am interested in how photography can serve both as evidence and as myth; how it preserves while also distorting. I perceive the camera as a tool for both witnessing and healing.
This project provided me with a space to grieve, to remember, and ultimately to reconnect. As I near fifteen years of working with photography, this body of work feels like a return to something essential—an embrace between the personal and the intimate. It is, above all, a love letter to my mother and to all the quiet lives that carry entire worlds within them.