Milk churn meets mixing desk: new beginnings in Poland’s Podlasie

Few places in Poland are as sparsely populated as Podlasie. While many people leave, some are building something of their own here – out of conviction and family ties.
By Jelko Wronski (text), Pasha Kritchko (photos)

Maria passes freshly baked yeast pastries across the table. It’s Easter Sunday, and the family has gathered for breakfast. At the table sits Pasha Kritchko, a photographer and student in the international class in Hannover. He arrived in their remote village the evening before – late, exhausted, but welcome. Easter breakfast is more than a meal: it’s a ritual, a memory, a quiet sign of belonging.

A few villages away, Dorotheus Fionik and his two sons are preparing a spring ritual. Later there will be music, food and conversation. Elias, the younger son, will be there too – when he isn’t sitting in his makeshift studio in Bielsk, blending traditional dialects with new beats. He can afford to do so thanks to his side job in a kebab shop.

Podlasie stretches across the north-eastern tip of Poland, on the border with Lithuania and Belarus. Around 300,000 people live in its capital, Białystok – a good quarter of the province’s entire population. Beyond the city, large parts of the region are almost deserted. Hardly anywhere else in Poland is so sparsely populated. Unfinished building sites and abandoned car parks tell of a region that is slowly falling silent.

For young people, life here often means choosing between two options: either doing hard work into old age or risking everything to follow their dreams. Pasha Kritchko travelled through Podlasie and reports on encounters with people who get on with their daily lives despite adverse circumstances.

An elderly man stands on the lawn of a farmyard. He wears green cloth trousers, brown leather shoes, a dark blue jacket and a grey cap, and looks out of the left-hand side of the picture. A chicken, a red tractor and a barn with a corrugated-iron roof can be seen in the background. — **Nikalay is one of the many farmers in the region.** Those who live and stay in its rural parts often have to keep working well into old age.

A middle-aged woman with blonde hair and glasses leans in the frame of an open door. The walls of the house are clad in varnished wooden slats. — **Maria** runs a small rural Airbnb.

Various loaves, rolls and cakes in woven baskets stand on two small wooden chests of drawers placed side by side. — **She invited her guest**, camera and all, to a traditional Easter breakfast with her family.

I spent my first night in Podlasie in the village of Puchły. I hesitated for a long time, because the area is hard to reach without a car. When I finally got there and met my host, Maria, I didn’t regret it in the slightest.

Pasha Kritchko

Dusk. A large tree, its trunk wrapped in a string of round light bulbs, stands on the lawn of an inhabited property. Next to it is a bench. Trees and a house with a shelter can be seen in the background. — ‘**I spent my first night in Podlasie in the village of Puchły.** I hesitated for a long time, because the area is hard to reach without a car. But when I finally got there and met the host, Maria, I didn’t regret it in the slightest,’ recalls photographer Pasha Kritchko.

Dorotheus Fionik, a middle-aged man with grey hair, sits at a table covered with a light-coloured cloth. He wears a brown jacket of sturdy fabric and a top embroidered with flowers. An oblong painting hangs behind him, flanked by shelves filled with books and pictures. — **Dorotheus Fionik is well known in this region of Poland.** The farmer often appears on local television, and people know his name. His two sons, Elias and Maxim, support him in his work and preparations. He is particularly committed to preserving traditions. He also keeps a small museum in his house, helping people connect with their roots by preserving pieces of the past for them.

Between languages: the song ‘Oreszki’ is written in a local dialect that mixes Belarusian, Ukrainian, Polish and Russian – in Latin script.

I think for many people, being together is just as important as the tradition itself.

Dorotheus Fionik, a middle-aged man with grey hair, walks with his two sons on either side of him at the head of a small group. They are wearing festive clothes. He carries an embroidered cloth on which a framed picture rests. Trees and houses can be seen in the background. — **Dorotheus Fionik** with his sons Elias (left) and Maxim (right) during a traditional ritual. Afterwards, they share music and a meal with their family

Elias Fionik, a 23-year-old man, sits on a wooden chair with a blue cushion. He wears a leather jacket, a light blue cap, light-coloured trousers and light-coloured shoes, and his hands are clasped. He looks straight into the camera. Various pieces of furniture in the room can be seen in the background. — **Elias Fionik** runs a small music studio in Bielsk. He combines traditional dialects with modern sounds to make folk music more accessible.

**On the way to the studio:** Agatha, a friend of Elias, also wants to make music. The two share not only their hobby but also their workplace, a kebab shop.

The tattooed arm of a middle-aged woman. The tattoo shows three symbols: a hand making a peace sign, a clenched fist and a heart underlined in red. All three motifs are done in a very simple style with little detail. — **Alina’s tattoo** shows three symbols representing the union of the three opposition campaign headquarters in Belarus’s 2020 election. She identifies as Belarusian and teaches, among other things, the Belarusian language.

Alina Wavrenyuk, a middle-aged woman with short black and grey hair, stands in a classroom with yellow walls. Behind her are a bookshelf, various badges and a scarf with a Belarusian inscription fixed to the wall. She wears a dark blue top with white stripes at waist height. — **The region’s traditional language is Alina Wavrenyuk’s speciality.** The teacher gives language lessons at a school in Białystok, the capital and only city of Podlasie.

The town of Bielsk left me with a feeling of emptiness. There are few places here where young people can spend time.

An abandoned car stands against the wall of a house. Cranes and a concrete building can be seen in the background.

Children queue in a school corridor with white and grey walls. — **Alina Wavrenyuk’s Belarusian-language theatre club** brings together children who were mostly born outside Belarus. They, too, will soon have to decide whether to follow traditional expectations – or go their own way.

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