With “Central Asia through the lens of…” Novastan presents Central Asian photographers and their work.

Kamila Rustambekova is a photographer and filmmaker based in Tashkent and Amsterdam. In her work, Kamila studies the imagery and untold stories of modern Uzbek society. For several years, she has been exploring her own family history and the communities of Uzbekistan.

Hi Kamila, thank you for taking time and speaking with us. Could you please give us a quick introduction about yourself?

I grew up with my family in Yangiyul, a small industrial city near Tashkent. I studied sciences in a lyceum and later completed a bachelor’s degree in economics in Tashkent. Currently, I live between Amsterdam and Tashkent. I’m doing a two-year master’s program in filmmaking in Amsterdam. My main artistic mediums are photography and film, broadly speaking.

When it comes to creatives, I always think about when they made the choice to pursue it “full-time” instead of placing it as a hobby. What is your relationship with creativity and was there a moment when you knew you wanted to pursue it as a career?

It’s really hard for me to generalise two decades of experience into a few words. I never thought of photography as the main focus of my life or as a career path. Culturally, socially, and at home, I grew up with the idea that I had to pursue a ‘normal job’, something stable that would allow me to make a living. While studying economics, I completed internships and was working, but after some time I felt disappointed and unsure whether I wanted to dedicate my life to that. In Tashkent, I met a lot of creative people and that shifted something in me. It made me realise that maybe I could take seriously what I naturally gravitate toward and do best.

Read more on Novastan: Central Asia through the lens of… Behzod Boltayev

I first saw your photos on Novastan and then again on Nowness Asia. How does it feel to become more internationally recognised?

I don’t really feel internationally recognised, I wouldn’t put it that way. But I do think that representing Uzbekistan, even indirectly, comes with a sense of responsibility, especially because voices from the region are still so underrepresented. The ethics of representation is something I think about a lot, it’s complex and challenging. I don’t claim to speak for Uzbekistan as a whole, what I present is a very specific gaze, by a specific person from a specific place and time.

Of course, I’m always grateful and happy when my work gets published or exhibited, it means a lot to me. To be seen, to matter.

Talk to me about ‘The Home, The Field and The Flux’. You recently combined this collection from another series called ‘Another Paris’. Why did you combine the two and what does ‘The Home, The Field and the Flux’ mean to you?

This idea had been with me for a while — to combine the project on independent farming with the one about cotton picking. Both were photographed in the same visual style, with the same distance, approach, aesthetics, so bringing them together felt natural. They both are about modern agriculture practices and internal migration in Uzbekistan. Cotton pickers often travel from specific areas to the Tashkent region during harvest season, while farmers move to Farish [a mountain village in Jizzakh region] for about eight months to grow crops like melons, watermelons, tomatoes, and sometimes peanuts, peas, or sunflower seeds.

The work is an attempt to document labor practices in Uzbekistan, and to look at how temporary communities form around this movement. It’s also about post-colonial agricultural structures, and how ideas of home shift when people live between places for much of the year.

‘The Home, The Field and The Flux’ documents adapting to land and traditions, whereas, I believe ‘New Uzbekistan’ is the evolution of culture and its intersection with traditions. What do you think of this understanding of ‘New Uzbekistan’

For me, this project is more about pop culture, globalisation, and the broader visual and symbolic landscape of contemporary Uzbekistan. I’m asking: What are the recurring themes, patterns, small details that define this area? What images would I show to a non-human creature from another reality who’s never heard of Uzbekistan? I think showing my collection would be fun, no?

It’s an ironic and playful attempt to portray Uzbekistan and at the same time question the official political narrative of “New Uzbekistan”. I see Uzbekistan as a vast field of untold stories, since they’re not always easy to find naturally. I recreate and collect everything that feels vivid, funny, and meaningful to me. These become cultural symbols for me.

You say how “narratives of diamond paintings [pictures made out of numerous small coloured rhinestones, which can be assembled at home as a hobby] reflect the country”. I was wondering if you could expand on why these mosaics of pop-culture represent Uzbekistan?

Narratives in diamond paintings come from global pop-culture and these paintings themselves are produced in China. But what you actually find in stores across Uzbekistan reflects what people are buying and gravitating toward here, as a mirror of local taste/values.

I collected the most popular narratives – religious iconography, cute animals, fantasies about Paris, portraits of Leo Messi. They tell a lot about a place, not because they originate there, but because they’ve been chosen, distributed, and assembled here.

“Sabrina” is a beautiful collection highlighting the secure bond of family. What is your relationship with this family and what was your motivation for this collection?

I met this family during a spontaneous trip around Uzbekistan with my friends. We were just enjoying ourselves, not really knowing where we’d end up next. I had always wanted to visit Farish, the birthplace of my grandfather. We made it there, and while in a taxi, the driver suggested we visit Sentob, a beautiful mountain village that had become a bit of a tourist destination. That’s where I met Sabrina and her father.

They invited us to their home, introduced us to the rest of the family and we cooked lunch together.

After that, we visited a few more times and stayed overnight. Gradually, my connection with Sabrina, her mother Gulnoza, younger brother Anis, and father Mashrab became deeper. Eventually, they moved to Angren, an industrial town near Tashkent. I visited them, they visited me. They met my family. I tried to be there for meaningful moments: birthdays, new years, the birth of Sabrina’s baby sister.

Now Sabrina is doing her bachelor’s degree in Tumen, Russia, and I’m super proud of her. She feels like a little sister to me, and her mother calls me her daughter. Through my work, I’ve been lucky to find many new homes and families, and this is one of them. The last time I visited them was especially emotional, I cried a lot, I felt so safe and loved.

Finally, do you have any upcoming pieces that people should know about?

I’m currently working on my graduation project for my masters degree. It’s a research-based work exploring girlhood in exile. I try to bring forward girls’ experiences, the search for home, and the attempt to construct a new one. Part of the project takes the form of a ‘zine’ [a small specialised magazine] built from found footage. I use images from rental listings to create an endless house tour — a continuous, imagined living space made up of countless beds, toilets, and washing machines.

I’m also working with 3D animation as a way to build imagined worlds. Compared to my photography practice, my film practice has always been more personal, more introspective. This project is about loneliness, solitude, isolation, lack of enjoyment, apathy, teenagehood, the exploration of sex, and the mother-daughter relationship.

Thank you Kamila Rustambekova. Where can we stay up to date on your work?

You can find updates on my Instagram @kamilarustambekova and website kamilarustambekova.com 🙂

This conversation was edited and condensed for clarity.

Written for Novastan by Lex Durham-Arnold

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