Dear readers, following the unprecedented success of our series on Slavic epic poetry, we are launching a brand new series dedicated to visual art, focusing on both fine art and applied photography. We will explore famous images together, along with their creators, the stories behind their creation, and the era in which they were made. For us, photography is not just an image, but also a testament, an emotion, and a unique way of storytelling. We believe that this series will bring you new perspectives, inspiration, and moments to reflect on images that have transcended the boundaries of time.
Some photographs resonate with me so strongly from the moment I see them. Not because they are technically perfect – that's more or less secondary – but because a particular work of art can open something up inside me, captivate me, perhaps even cause pain, or simply inspire me. It evokes memories, feelings, or questions that I might not even want to ask myself. This is exactly how the photograph "A Walk Through Paradise" by W. Eugene Smith affects me. Just the title itself conveys so much. I see two children holding hands and walking from a dark space in the forest towards the light. It's an ordinary moment that, under different circumstances, might disappear from memory within minutes. But here, it is captured forever. And the longer I look at it, the more I feel that it's not just about the children.
I see innocence that doesn't yet know what life can bring. I see trust, because one child is holding the other's hand. I see the light they are both heading towards. And perhaps that's why this image affects me so deeply. Because we know what lies beyond that light. We know that the person behind the camera wasn't someone experiencing an ordinary, carefree day. It was a man who had brought back from war serious injuries, pain, and memories that are difficult to shake off. A man who almost lost his ability to photograph. And yet, he managed to capture one of the purest images of childhood I have ever seen.
This awareness never ceases to surprise me when I look at the photograph. I imagine Smith struggling with his camera. His hand hurts, it trembles, he has difficulty seeing. Perhaps at that moment, he wasn't even sure if he could press the shutter button. Yet, he didn't give up. And then, he saw his children in front of him. Pat and Juanita are walking ahead of him, completely unaware of what is happening just a few steps behind them. For them, it's just a walk through the forest. For their father, it might be much more. It's a moment when, after a long time, he allowed himself to believe that he could photograph again. And suddenly, I realize that he wasn't just photographing his children. He was also photographing himself. He was photographing his return to life.
That's what makes this photograph so powerful for me. If I didn't know its story, I might perceive it as a beautiful and tender image of two children. But knowing what preceded its creation, the light between the trees takes on a completely different meaning for me.
It is light after darkness.
It is hope after pain.
It is life after war.
And perhaps it's also a reminder that sometimes a person only needs a small moment to realize that it's not over yet. When I look at the children, I am touched by their carefree nature. They hold hands and walk on, as if there is nothing in front of them that they should be afraid of. There is something about this that, as an adult, I perceive differently. Childhood is often taken for granted until we realize how fragile it actually is. These children don't yet know what war means. They don't know what injury, fear, or loss mean. And that's why their journey towards the light is so moving.
photo: William Eugene Smith: Sticks, stones, and human bones. Iwo Jima (1945)
Perhaps each person sees something different in it. I see hope above all else. Not that big, grandiose hope that is written about in books. Rather, a small, quiet hope that keeps a person going when they have little strength left. Hope that after a bad period, something good can come. That after darkness, there can be light. That a person can be injured, broken, and tired, and still get back on their feet. And that's why Smith's photograph touches me so much. I know that pain was behind its creation. Yet, I don't feel the pain as the first thing. The first thing I feel is tenderness. Peace. Closeness. And a special feeling that everything might still be okay.
Perhaps that's why I consider A Walk Through Paradise to be an exceptional photograph. Not because there is anything extraordinary about it. Quite the opposite. There is something completely ordinary in it – two children, a forest, light, and a path. But sometimes, it is precisely these ordinary moments that mean the most. Smith experienced war from the closest proximity. He saw death, injury, and suffering. And yet, or perhaps because of that, he was later able to press the shutter at a moment when he saw something so simple and pure in front of him. Two children walk hand-in-hand from darkness into light. And when I look at them, I feel like we are walking together too. Each of us carries our own pain, our own dark places, and our own memories. But somewhere ahead of us, there is still light.
That's why I often return to this photograph. It reminds me that life is not just about what we have lost or what we have been through. It is also about the ability to move forward again. And sometimes, all it takes is to reach out and hold someone's hand.
Jan Vojtěch, Editor-in-Chief of General News
photo: William Eugene Smith: Three generations of Welsh miners (1950)