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Selected photographs of Armenia by Anthony Pizzoferrato
Armenia & KarabakhArts & CultureInternational

Anthony Pizzoferrato: Responsibility of Preserving Armenian Memories

by
Artsvi Bakhchinyan
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YEREVAN — Anthony Pizzoferrato is an Italian-American documentary photographer and photojournalist born in Columbus, Ohio. His work delves into conflict, history, politics, and social and environmental issues, with particular attention to post-Soviet countries and the Middle East. Anthony’s photography often highlights underreported stories and vulnerable communities, approached with sensitivity and respect. His images have appeared in major outlets such as Time, BBC, CNN, Politico, Bloomberg, Die Zeit, and Le Figaro, among others. Notably, his photo from the 2024 Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day was shortlisted for the Siena Awards, while he continues to pursue long-term documentary projects. Since 2017, he has been based in Yerevan, Armenia, where he focuses on current events and long-term projects.

Anthony, photojournalists are vigilant observers of current events. You have documented Ukraine, Russia, and Poland, while several of your photo series — When the Streets Spoke: The Spirit Behind Armenia’s Political Awakening, A Candle in the Storm, Fleeing the Flames, Wounds That Have Not Healed, and Political Crossroads — capture recent, mostly tragic, developments in Armenia and Artsakh. They are deeply moving, stirring painful memories of what Armenians have endured over the past eight years and beyond, for which we are very grateful to you.

Thank you, I appreciate this very much. It means a great deal. As a photojournalist and documentary photographer, I see my role not only as an observer and a visual historian but also as someone who carries and communicates stories that might otherwise be overlooked or forgotten. Covering Armenia and the broader region has never felt like just an assignment, it’s become more like a responsibility. These moments are heavy, often painful, but they’re also full of resilience and truth the deeper the viewer dives into the images. If my work can help preserve history, memory, spark reflection and dialogue or deepen understanding, then I feel I’ve done something worthwhile and on the right path of purpose.

Selected photographs of Armenia by Anthony Pizzoferrato

In your photographs, Armenia often appears in monochrome tones — perhaps a reflection of the heavy and difficult subjects you choose to portray. Might it happen one day you will depict colorful Armenia?

It’s true that many of my photographs of Armenia lean toward monochrome, both in tone and emotion. For me, this desaturated and realistic approach to colors is a way of stripping things down to their essence, it mirrors the stark realities, the resilience, and the silence that often surrounds the themes I explore and I want to keep the viewers engaged in the subject matter and not get lost in the colors. Personally, speaking I do not believe bright and colorful photos work well with subject matter that revolves around conflict, and heavy topics. Armenia has color, absolutely, but I try not to impose it unless it feels authentic to the subject. Authenticity is extremely important for me and the work I create or the photos I seek to capture and cultivate. Color exists, of course and Armenia is incredibly rich in it but when I’m photographing, it’s not always what I see first, I have to feel what I see before I take the photo. If I do not feel any kind of connection I move on, I consider myself a visual historian for this reason, I’m an observationist first and foremost.

Generally speaking, I think every photographer has phases, and right now mine reflects a certain emotional truth I see and feel in Armenia, it’s not so much how I see the country as a whole, but about certain realities that demand attention. Of course, Armenia is also filled with resilience, joy, and vivid life and depending on the subject matter I’m sure in the future I will begin to dive more into full color. Perhaps one day I’ll be drawn to the vibrancy, to the laughter and light that are also very real here. But for now, I’m still listening to the quiet parts of the story.

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You frequently photograph scenes of mourning, cemeteries and graves. Do you ever worry that such documentation risks becoming overly depressive, overshadowing the core message you seek to convey?

I don’t see mourning as the opposite of meaning, actually I see it as part of it. The cemeteries, graves and certain rituals I often tend to photograph are not just about death, but about memory, presence, and the continuation of identity. These images may be heavy, but they’re not meant to make the viewer depressed, they’re meant to hold space for reflection, and perhaps even healing. I try not to sanitize reality for the sake of comfort, instead I approach these moments with care and honesty, trusting that viewers will find the meaning and even beauty in such vulnerability. If we turn away from sadness, we risk forgetting, and to me that’s far more dangerous than facing grief directly.

Your work often addresses highly sensitive topics. How have these stories been received by international audiences, and how have they resonated in Armenia’s eastern and western neighboring countries?

My work often engages with histories and emotions that are deeply rooted, and responses I have received usually vary. International audiences for example tend to approach the work with curiosity and empathy, often connecting it to broader themes of loss, identity, and resilience. In Armenia’s neighboring countries, the reception can be a bit more complex, sometimes cautious or even controversial, and sometimes silent, but that in itself says something about the weight of shared histories. I don’t expect agreement from every viewer; however, I do hope the work creates space for reflection, and perhaps even dialogue, across borders. Sensitivity doesn’t mean avoidance, to me it means listening more carefully.

One of your projects, Guardians of Faith, explores the Yazidi community of Armenia — a subject both exotic and little known internationally. What aspects of this national minority did you find most compelling?

Guardians of Faith is a story I am continuing to build on each year and is an ongoing project. What initially drew me to the Yazidi community in Armenia wasn’t a sense of exoticism, but a feeling of quiet absence, the sense that their story was present, yet underrepresented, even within the national narrative. As I continue to spend time with them, what stood out was their deep spiritual rhythm and how faith is embedded not just in places of worship, but in daily life, in gestures, in the way elders pass knowledge to the young. Visually, I was drawn to the contrast between the fragility of their circumstances and the solidity of their beliefs. Photographing them became less about documentation over time and more about trying to understand a worldview that’s circular, ancestral, and deeply tied to the land. It challenged me to slow down compared to other work I often produce which is related to breaking news type events.

Anthony Pizzoferrato

The Armenian Mirror-Spectator

Many are curious: how did Armenia become your home for the past eight years?

This is a question I get often, and my answer is always the same: my connection to Armenia goes back more than 15 years even though I never stepped foot inside the country. I first became curious about the country when I read about the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia in relation to the Crusades. That led me to dive deeper into Armenia’s ancient history, its early Christian identity, and later, its Soviet past, all of which resonated with my broader interest in post-Soviet countries, ancient history, and culture.

I first visited Armenia in May 2017 as a tourist, just for a week, but it left such a strong impression and there was so much I did not get to see I was already planning the second trip right after the first. I ended up returning just a few months later in September and never took my return flight. I found an apartment and decided to stay. Between then and now, I’ve spent a little over five years living here, first from 2017 to 2019, then returning permanently for the second time in January 2022 after living in the U.S. during the pandemic.

What drew me in then still holds true now, Armenia is a place where history feels tangible in the architecture, the landscapes, the people. It’s a country that continually reveals itself, and that’s what keeps me here for the time being.

Finally, how would you describe daily life in Armenia, living not as a tourist but as a photographer embedded in the realities of this society?

Living in Armenia as a documentary photographer and not as a tourist means being immersed in both the visible and invisible layers of daily life. It’s a place of many striking contrasts which only become more visible the longer you stay and the more time you spend here. For me the daily rhythm can feel slow and intimate, yet at the same time history and emotion are always just beneath the surface. I’ve learned to pay attention to small things like gestures, silences, landscapes that hold memory. While daily life can be tough at times and not always easy, it’s filled with complexity and depth, which is what continues to inspire my work. Being embedded means accepting the quiet pace, building trust, and letting the work grow organically from within the society rather than observing it from the outside…

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