Alicja Khatchikian (Saber Zammouri photo)

Alicja Khatchikian: Listening to Echoes

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YEREVAN/BERLIN — Alicja Khatchikian (born in Italy, 1988) is a Berlin-based artist whose work unfolds at the intersection of documentary, fine art and ethnographic approaches. Through images, text, collage and archival materials, she questions borders, memory and the body as a site of lived experience, often moving outward from her biography. She holds a BA in political science from the University of Trieste and an MA in socio-cultural anthropology from the University of Vienna. She later completed her photography studies in Germany. Alongside her artistic practice, she works as a freelance photographer and facilitates image-based workshops focused on artists’ books and collaborative learning.

More about the artist can be found at her website: https://alicjakhatchikian.com/

Dear Alicja, I was very glad to see your images in “What does contemporary Armenia look like?” photo exhibition last April in Yerevan. Why did you choose photography as a means of self-expression?

I think dance and music were my first choice. I started practicing ballet at a very young age, then moved on to modern and contemporary dance. Growing up in the 1990s, cameras were somehow always there: I started using my mom’s camcorder, disposable and other inherited, analog cameras, often with expired films. I wasn’t interested in the results as much as in the process; as a relatively shy person, cameras helped me hold space without being in the spotlight. Only years later, while doing fieldwork for my master’s thesis, I documented the work of performance artists and began shaping my own practice.

What themes attract you the most: people, urban spaces, memory, body, identity, travel?

I’m drawn to stories, and to how context, time and lived experience shape the meaning we make of them. I’m also committed to slow photography as a way of looking and producing. Environments can be as much actual spaces as imaginary landscapes; for instance, Armenian diaspora stories often refer to places we, the grandchildren generation, haven’t seen but only heard of. I think it’s important to listen to those echoes without being anachronistic.

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For you, does photography document reality or create a new reality?

I don’t know what reality is; I think it’s a matter of gaze, intention and selectivity. Someone once defined my photographic work as “documentary fine art,” which I find sits somewhere between observation and interpretation. Photography is for me a relational process rather than straightforward representation; I see images as contested territories: unstable objects that carry partial truths and layered stories beyond their frame.

What has interested you the most while working in Armenia?

I travelled to Armenia in 2025 for the first time. I didn’t know what to expect. Ever since my Heimweg series, I have been drawn to bordering bodies of water, so I travelled south to meet the Arax river. The area is heavily militarized and access to its waters was limited; borders are embedded in the landscape of Kapan and Gyumri too. In Yerevan I met other diaspora Armenians, local artists and intellectuals. We spoke about the diversity of so-called collective memory. Those encounters were vital, as was the visit to Tsitsernakaberd with other activists from AKEBI e.V., a Berlin-based association fostering dialogue across Anatolian communities and beyond.

I studied your family history while working on my research on Armenians in African states. The Khatchikian family gave a number of figures to the Sudanese Armenian community. Please tell us about the odyssey of your family.

Like many diaspora families, our story is marked by repeated displacement and generational ruptures. My father was born and raised in Khartoum before relocating to Gorizia (Italy) in 1967. My grandmother was an odar, a stranger, and struggled to feel accepted within the Armenian community. My grandfather was one of the three sons of Zenop Khatchikian, a child survivor of the Hamidian massacres from Arapgir in eastern Anatolia, who became a prominent figure in the Sudanese Armenian community as a tradesman. I have no information about my Armenian female ancestors, which is telling.

How to build a stone cairn not to get lost, 2011. Gelatin Print © Alicja Khatchikian

How do you define your identity: Italian-Armenian, Armenian-Italian, or simply an artist whose biography is Armenian? Have the Armenian language, memories, and customs been preserved in your family?

I was born and raised by a single mother and our extended family in the province of Gorizia, a bordering and historically contested area in the easternmost corner of Italy. Both my national attributions were questioned since I was born, which often put me in an uncomfortable position but also opened doors to a fluid, transnationalist viewpoint. My grandfather Azad, who was active in the diaspora community, died abruptly in 1990, severing an important connection to our Armenian cultural roots. It took me many years to find my own gateway and I’ve been trying to learn Western Armenian, a work in progress.

If you had to tell about your identity in one photo, what would you portray?

I think of a self-portrait I took some years ago, a gelatin print titled “How to build a stone cairn not to get lost.” It depicts a pile of stones I collected along riverbeds, a stubborn presence that is nonetheless malleable and vulnerable to nature and the passing of time. To me, they speak of identity as layered, migrant, fluid, and diverse.

 

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