Mobile or temporary shrines—are they a desire to bridge the gap between the sacred and the everyday? Is it love for God or fear of God? Is it an attempt to remember—or to forget? Is it a form of communication with the departed, a way of keeping them present at all times, or an effort to connect with them? Is it some kind of portal to another world? Or is it a way to appease the self, to soothe the soul? Why do we carry shrines with us—in our cars, our pockets, our wallets—from one place to another?

Svaneti, a remote mountainous region in northwest Georgia, is a land of ancient traditions, and Lamproba is one of its oldest. Practiced for centuries, this annual ritual takes place on February 14th, when people place flaming birch branches in the snow beside their ancestors' graves. The burning torches are believed to warm the souls of the departed. Families gather to share food, drinks, toasts, and prayers, staying together until the last flame dies out.

This sequence of photographs captures Rustaveli Avenue, a battleground shaped by historical struggles & the current wave of protests. When the ruling party (GD) suspended EU accession negotiations until 2028 on November 28, it ignited widespread public outrage. In response, hundreds of thousands took to the streets. Within weeks, GD revealed its true nature: wicked & repressive. Ordinary citizens, at the forefront of this struggle, are challenging oppression, police brutality & systemic corruption. We are using creative forms of protest—visual, performative, & vocal—to make our voices heard. But the illegitimate government refuses to see or hear us. It silences dissent, erases history & spreads propaganda. The blacked-out facades scream of destruction, terror, and unrest. The regime’s negligence is killing us—literally & figuratively. ‘To reach Freedom [Square], one must go through Rustaveli’.The regime punishes Innocent people for refusing to conform.

My friend and I went took a spontaneous journey into forgotten and forsaken places in Kazbegi (Stepantsminda), a small town in the Caucasus. What we discovered was a dusty and solitary village, with an old abandoned school and a church next to it that has been reduced to a state of decay. Curiosity and thirst for a little adventure begged for a closer look. As we got closer we realized that the place was not as abandoned as it seemed. We started examining with scientific interest the inside of the school in ruins. Everything was corroded and rusty, floors full of gigantic holes, broken glasses and garbage scattered all over. We tried to reconstruct in our imagination the annihilated ‘splendour’ of the old school. After roaming around we discovered that some of the rooms were inhabited. People actually lived there. Shortly, an old lady, who’s expression clearly conveyed solitude and sadness confusedly approached us. She seemed a little frightened and suspicious, but within few minutes realized that we had no bad intentions. She told us in despair that the school had been dysfunctional for decades and was deteriorating day by day. She had nowhere else to go though. It was her shelter. She did not say much, but those few sentences she uttered were dense and heavy.