The Romanian Village Drowned By Toxic Waste, Still Breathing Through My Lens

A Personal Mission That Became a Lifelong Project

I first visited Geamăna in 2019, drawn by the surreal visuals I had seen online. What I found was beyond anything I had imagined: a kaleidoscope of toxic beauty, where nature and tragedy coexist. I took my drone — a Phantom 4 — into the air and captured an image that would later become my entry to the Wellcome Photography Prize 2025, where it was selected among the Top 25 finalists worldwide. The photograph is titled “Beautiful Disaster.”

But I couldn’t stop at just one image. Since then, I’ve returned to Geamăna dozens of times, in every season and in all kinds of weather. I’ve photographed the acid-laced waters as they turned from rust red to neon green. I’ve documented the transformation of the landscape, the chemical crusts forming like scars, the buried houses, and the distant echo of human life.

More Than Landscapes: The People Still Living There

What moved me even more than the landscape were the few remaining residents still living on the edges of the poisoned basin. Forgotten by time and institutions, they carry on — with dignity, resilience, and memories of a life that once was. I’ve photographed them in intimate portrait sessions, sometimes after sharing a coffee or a story about their youth in the village. Over time, they began to recognize me, to trust me. Some even started calling me “our photographer.”

This is no longer just a project. It’s a responsibility.

A Toxic Mirror of Our Modern World

Geamăna is not just a Romanian story — it’s a global metaphor. It speaks of our relationship with nature, industry, and greed. Through my work, I hope to make people feel something deeper than just visual awe: a mixture of discomfort and wonder, empathy and urgency.

Being featured in the Wellcome Photography Prize 2025 validates this mission. The photograph “Beautiful Disaster” is currently on display at the Francis Crick Institute in London, part of a powerful exhibition on health, humanity, and the planet.

Why I Keep Going Back

Geamăna changes every time I visit — sometimes subtly, sometimes dramatically. I keep returning not only to document, but to witness. I want to be there when the steeple finally disappears, when the last house collapses, when the story reaches its final frame.

Until then, I will keep telling it.