Ah Mountain! Weary of Time

When dark comes swirling down across my eyes and the sweet grip of slumber loosens my limbs, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I dream about my mountain. Once the vibrant scenery of the jolly life of my summer pastures has turned into a haze of ever-fading taunting imagery, I only stumble upon it in the dreamland.

I can never truly recreate what I see in my dreams, since time has decayed it, hence the pictures are merely the distorted reflection of the life I once lived as a child on our mountain with my grandparents (I try to look for them on active mountains in Adjara).

When I was a child, I thought like a child: nomads of Adjara would keep my mountain alive. When I became a man, I put away childish things – now I see life in the remaining summer valleys and can’t help but see death in the shadows of that very life. The dreams represent the past of what was, while the pictures in the series simultaneously mirror the past and the future of what ought to be.

In the picture, you can see a view of different abandoned cabins on my mountain, called Natsara. Here, I spent most of my childhood with my grandparents herding cows. The mountain is now empty due to migration. The candle is the reflection from insid

In the picture, you can see a view of different abandoned cabins on my mountain, called Natsara. Here, I spent most of my childhood with my grandparents herding cows. The mountain is now empty due to migration. The candle is the reflection from inside the cabin where I spent a couple of days documenting the disintegration.

A smaller-sized shepherd dog following his owner to herd back the cows. It is important to leave the house with a stick to protect yourself in case one of them attacks you while protecting the cattle.

A smaller-sized shepherd dog following his owner to herd back the cows. It is important to leave the house with a stick to protect yourself in case one of them attacks you while protecting the cattle.

A still-functioning old Soviet car we call Vilis, which is still used to reach difficult terrain in Adjara. This car is older than me, and the driver took my family to my mountain in it back when I was still 7 years old.

A still-functioning old Soviet car we call Vilis, which is still used to reach difficult terrain in Adjara. This car is older than me, and the driver took my family to my mountain in it back when I was still 7 years old.

An old man nicknamed “Reigani” (after Ronald Reagan) is looking for his cows to get them home before sunset. He does this every day when he is up at the summer pastures.

An old man nicknamed “Reigani” (after Ronald Reagan) is looking for his cows to get them home before sunset. He does this every day when he is up at the summer pastures.

A horse getting ready for a race, which happens every year as part of the summer festival. This image is the reason I started this series; I vividly dream about a horse on my mountain, and it is always this close.

A horse getting ready for a race, which happens every year as part of the summer festival. This image is the reason I started this series; I vividly dream about a horse on my mountain, and it is always this close.

A man and a woman looking for cows in misty weather. If cows don’t return on their own, their owners often go out looking for them, but during misty weather it is almost impossible to see them, so people listen for the bells that every cow has dangli

A man and a woman looking for cows in misty weather. If cows don’t return on their own, their owners often go out looking for them, but during misty weather it is almost impossible to see them, so people listen for the bells that every cow has dangling from its neck.

A cow returning home, shot from a car. Some cows choose to go back home when it’s time, so you often see them on the road.

A cow returning home, shot from a car. Some cows choose to go back home when it’s time, so you often see them on the road.

A dead flower held against the sunset. As a child, a spiky flower like this always stung me with its thorns, so I like to collect them if I have a chance.

A dead flower held against the sunset. As a child, a spiky flower like this always stung me with its thorns, so I like to collect them if I have a chance.

Foam on the road.

Foam on the road.

A dead tree that will soon fall. Often, trees like these don’t last long in forests because people cut them to use for wood, as they burn fast. But this time, nobody is going to cut it because the mountain is too empty for anyone to care.

A dead tree that will soon fall. Often, trees like these don’t last long in forests because people cut them to use for wood, as they burn fast. But this time, nobody is going to cut it because the mountain is too empty for anyone to care.

Light coming out of a window in misty weather. This beam is a sign of life—it means the house is active. Once, houses on my mountain were as bright as this, but everything that time touches decays, and so the light ceased to exist on Natsara.

Light coming out of a window in misty weather. This beam is a sign of life—it means the house is active. Once, houses on my mountain were as bright as this, but everything that time touches decays, and so the light ceased to exist on Natsara.

The kitchen where I ate food as a child, where now grass grows. My grandmother stored a lot of dairy in this kitchen, where I’d always sneak in to steal fresh cheese. Of course, everybody knew about it, and nobody told me anything.

The kitchen where I ate food as a child, where now grass grows. My grandmother stored a lot of dairy in this kitchen, where I’d always sneak in to steal fresh cheese. Of course, everybody knew about it, and nobody told me anything.

Tbel Abuseridze

Tbel Abuseridze (born in 1995) is a Georgian multimedia artist based in Tbilisi, primarily working in photography. His artistic journey began with a strong foundation in documentary photography, adhering to the classic traditions of the genre. Recently, however, Abuseridze has expanded his practice to include experimental and conceptual photography, blending these styles to create a distinctive and dynamic body of work. This duality – where documentary meets the experimental – is becoming a defining characteristic of his artistic voice.

His latest works explore the theme of migration in the mountainous region of Adjara, reflecting on the lives of the disappearing villages where he spent his childhood. Through close collaboration with the Muslim community of the Adjarian mountains, Abuseridze sheds light on ongoing social dynamics that often go unnoticed in mainstream media.

In addition to his exploration of rural life, Abuseridze is actively engaged in documenting political movements within Georgia, particularly demonstrations. His work extends beyond national borders; following Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, he traveled twice to Ukraine, capturing the human stories that emerge amidst conflict. Whether he is documenting the quiet solitude of the high mountains of Adjara or the loud protests in front of the Georgian parliament, where the country’s heart beats, Tbel is continuously seeking new forms of expression and innovative approaches to visual storytelling.