The Griffin Museum’s Sixth annual summer showcase, “Vision(ary),” highlights 33 artists whose works are installed throughout downtown Winchester, Massachusetts in partnership with Photoville. The collection weaves together past cultural influences with inventions of today, creating an international and immersive experience that highlights each artist’s unique perspective and style, free for the public now through September 13.
This series I found to be singularly captivating was Ukrainian-born photographer Michael Dorohovich’s black and white portrait series. With an emphasis on home and heritage, Dorohovich reveals the previously unseen members of an already underrepresented region in “Unique Families of the Roma Community of Keldelari.”
If language is how we understand one another through spoken word, then art is how we understand one another through the lack of it. Language has remained a large point of contention between Russian and Ukrainian cultures, as Russian became a predominant language of Ukraine around the 17th century. Ukrainian was declared the only state language in 1989, and Russian was declared a regional language in 2012.
Photography immortalizes Ukrainian tradition, transcending the need for spoken communication and presenting indigenous, underrepresented and communities of Ukraine through what can only be conveyed by the eyes, and understood by them as well. Born in Uzhgorod, a small village in the Transcarpathian region of Ukraine, photographer Michael Dorohovich presents a series of not just de-Sovietization, but of preservation and visibility as well.
Dorohovich first visited Korelevo, followed by Podvinohradiv, Ukraine, in 2025 to capture images of the Romani Keldelari community. An invitation extended to the artist only after a year and a half of unsuccessful attempts to reach them, a friend of the Keldelari family arranged for a brief photography session.
An ethnic group believed to have descended from Northern India, the Romani are a nomadic, closed-off people. Detachment and freedom are culturally significant for the Romani, and the series carries forth this integrity. Intrigued by the photographer’s execution and subtle release of control that typically comes with a styled photography shoot, I asked Dorohovich how it felt to relinquish artistic direction and allow the Keldelari to represent themselves as they wished to be represented.
Dorohovich told me that, “With the Keldelari community, I felt both hospitality and challenge. Trust did not come instantly; it took a lot of time. But once it was established, the camera stopped being an intrusion and became a bridge of trust between me and their culture.”
As a teacher of audiovisual art at Uzhgorod Academy of Culture and Arts, Dorohovich finds it important to not only preserve, but to inform generations about the existence of persecuted and oppressed Ukrainian groups. When you search ‘Keldelari’ online, it is likely that the only result to populate from the past 20 years is related to Dorohovich’s 2025 project “Unique Families of the Roma Community of Keldelari.”
For a culture with a strict oral history, the Uzhgorod native knew how important it was to have the community’s photographic debut be an honest one. The artist told me of his relationship with his subjects, as well as how photography is a political medium: “Ukraine is often portrayed through the prism of war, tragedy, corruption, injustice, and dirty politics. All of that is true, but the reality is far broader and deeper; it is a country of vivid culture, creativity, and humanity.”
It was important that Dorohovich did not focus on brutal scenes or harmful stereotypes to convey the importance of recognizing this community as individuals, he simply allowed the photos to convey the significance of this removed family and their place on Transcarpathian land.
The Transcarpathian photographer focuses on a 13-year-old subject, a young woman, who is preparing for her wedding. “It’s essential to present them as equal members of society, not as an exotic or marginalized group”; Dorohovich does not cast judgement or contextualize his photos, but rather he uses his art to connect the ‘gadje,’ or ignorant non-Romani, of the Western world with the realities of some underrepresent Eastern traditions.
The bride is adorned in ornate beaded jewelry, a bell-sleeved fur coat, and is holding a young boy in her arms. Despite her apparent youth, it is clear that she has taken on a maternal role and supports her family in caring for their children. The beauty of their traditional attire is almost other-worldly, as described by the photographer. Most importantly, this presentation and dress is not a performance but instead a way of life; honoring the generations that came before them and representing a conscious choice in preserving these rituals.
The extravagant dress is required for women in the Keldelari family, often weighing up to 22 pounds. Sometimes referred to as “gypsies” in Western media, we are most familiar with the othering of this motif, with vulgar stereotypes about their family structures and relationship to sexuality and spirituality.
Even today, the Roma people are viewed as a closed-off community who are dependent upon one another, with restrictive cultural traditions by modern day standards. Dorohovich does not depict his subjects as orant figures of religion, nor is there a sense of distanced judgment. Rather, there’s a subverted innocence about the images; touching on the divisive idea of purity known as ‘marime.’ The photos are plain and honest, with a smiling glint in each subject’s eye as they quietly acknowledge to themselves that they are being historicized as they stand.
Folk music and dance are typical artistic expressions of the Romani that we are familiar with today, with Balkan (Jeride) and Russian (Xaladytka) influences. These art forms are energetic, colorful, and dependent upon other people to execute the layered tapestry of culture reflected in the movements and sounds.
Take, for example, the Ukrainian folk dance ‘hopak’; a balletic yet sharp ensemble piece originating in the 16th century as a celebratory tradition for returned Cossack military men. Or think of Petrykivka painting, notable for its intricate brushstrokes and depictions of nature. Dorohovich’s stripped-down, black and white portraits are untraditional for the bright intentionality of typical Ukrainian art, instead highlighting the Keldelari family as individuals rather than a stereotype. There’s a sense of naturalism and authenticity in the series, having removed obvious motifs and practices that act not only as a cultural identifier but sometimes as a barrier between our ease in understanding others.
One of the more resonant photos in the series is a portrait of Maria, the Mother of Keldelari. Maria is responsible for the lineage and for upholding traditions of the Roma people, having given birth to eight children, 64 grandchildren, and 108 great-grandchildren as of 2025. Dorohovich portrays her in a self-assured light, with her chin lifted slightly, her hands clasped in her lap, and her eyes meeting the lens. What struck me most was the sense that Maria was trusted the photographer to historicize her family with intention.
In presenting the Keldelari as he did, Dorohovich identifies a person, a group of people, instead of an idea. I asked how the artist’s perception of this community had shifted as he grew older, and I wondered if that aligned with the rest of the Transcarpathian region’s perception as well. Dorohovich noted the Keldelari’s resiliency, in continuing to honor their traditions despite the opposition they have faced throughout wars and cultural transformations; “I strive to see and portray them as individuals rather than clichés.” I hope the artist’s work has the same impact for others, and for the Keldelari to become a represented community in our conversations about eastern European history and artistic contributions.
(“Vision(ary)” continues through September 13 throughout downtown Winchester, Massachusetts and accompanying satellite galleries. For more information, visit griffinmuseum.org.)