Maria
TUR ABDIN, TURKEY
ܛܘܪ ܐܒܕܝܢ
A journey into the lost land of the Arameans.
Between the fading echoes of Christian-Oriental tradition and the shifting tides of a new world, Maria senses the longing for a place called home.
Forty years after her family fled religious persecution, I accompany singer Maria Kaplan on a journey back to her birthplace, Tur Abdin, the "Mountain of the Servants of God," in the remote highlands of Eastern Turkey.
In this ancient land between the Euphrates and Tigris, we come face to face with the fragility of all that is earthly and the vanishing traces of our cultural heritage. As the river is being flooded, swallowing the world’s oldest settlements, a brotherhood of monks remain, keepers of the sacred spaces where early Christianity once took root.
A heavy silence hangs over the steppes near the Syrian border, until Maria’s voice breaks through, singing in Aramaic. Her song within these crumbling walls stirs something long forgotten: a memory of harmony lost to time.
Called by Monk Shimun, she embraces the mystical power of sound, using the resonance of this ancient language to breathe new life into the forgotten art of sound healing.
Standing among the ruins of her ancestors, she comes to a quiet realization, her search for a home in this world will never be fulfilled. And yet deep within, the sense of a true home reverberates.
In her words
I met Anna in the south of France, at the wedding of a mutual friend. It was one of those rare encounters that carry a quiet magic from the very first moment. She had been hired as the photographer, and I had the honor of officiating the ceremony. Even in that first meeting, I sensed how special she was, and spontaneously asked whether she would come with me as a photographer on a journey back to my homeland — a journey that would take me back more than forty years after I had fled. Her equally spontaneous yes moved me deeply.
What came out of that journey still means a great deal to me today, both personally and professionally. Anna accompanied it with such sensitivity that it became far more than a photographic document. Her images carry memory within them, holding on to something that words can rarely capture.
Anna Rieke is, to me, an extraordinary artist whose work goes far beyond beautiful photography. There is something real in her images, something moving, a quiet power you feel immediately. She has the rare gift of capturing special moments in a way that lets them go on living in the heart.
What I value most about Anna is her ability to make a person's authenticity visible. Nothing ever feels posed or artificial. Her images carry dignity, warmth, and a depth that has moved me deeply, again and again. They preserve what was truly felt in a moment — and that is exactly what makes her work so special.
Her images reach a person directly. You look at them, and you feel the moment. There's a closeness and a vividness in them that stays with you long afterward. That, to me, is where her art truly shows itself.
What impresses me just as much is the sensitivity with which Anna opens herself to people, places, and different cultures. She never pushes herself into the foreground, and yet her presence is felt in a very particular way. She folds herself into what's happening almost imperceptibly — with great respect, with warmth, and with a fine understanding of what makes a place and a moment truly its own. It's precisely this that gives her images such truthfulness and beauty.
Anyone who works with Anna quickly feels how much heart, attention, and sensitivity she brings to people and situations. She builds trust without ever drawing attention to herself. And it's exactly this that creates a space where truthful images become possible — images full of closeness, full of life, full of stories. To me, Anna Rieke is an extraordinary artist and a precious human being.
If I could, I would want her by my side for every special occasion in my life — because with her way of being, her eye, and her heart, she captures exactly what truly matters: memories that touch our hearts.
- Maria