This is a story about a man whose background knows no shame. Over time, his actions, ticks and reactions transformed into a wake up call which now marks the beginning of just about every day in the life of this extraordinary young fellow.
Practically inhibited by the need to start a better life, he could not resist but to share those beginnings with You. After all, every man leaves a trace somewhere, yet most only leave a cloud of dust. Igor managed to do both. Why doesn’t that surprise us?
What is there to say about Igor Sitar that hasn’t been carved in stone already? One thing we are sure of: he was born in 1972. The exact date, as well as expulsion moment, has not been known to this day. This will remain a mystery mainly because of Igor’s eccentric nature, which ultimately made him dive into photography. Igor’s first flash encounter occurred in 1995. Those were tough times, war was abating, and Igor was desperating.
What should I do? What should I fuckin’ do?! Shouted Igor while walking through the downtown of Zagreb, presumably imitating Lupino’s identity crisis.
Torn between a skiing career and the one of a professional photographer, he was desperately trying to get away from it all, when all of a sudden, he took notice of a job advert in the window of a certain Photo Studio in Čengič Street.
”Cruiser photographer WANTED. Dream job. One year experience necessary.”
Dreams, gosh, do people still have…dreams? – He pondered when his gaze caught his own reflection in the window, accompanied by a spark in his left eye. One glance was enough. Once he step foot into the Photo Studio, he never looked back. Well, except when he went on a cruise, and around the world, and by doing so made his first collection of shots on an overseas cruise liner. The amount of sheer excitement rushing through his body when receiving his first fee could be compared to Eskimo’s striking oil in the middle of Iceland. While on this mission, of which he sometimes had the opinion that he was sent on by God himself, he matured gradually and no later than 2003 did he come back to his hometown – Zagreb.
With a portfolio that would make old Leibowitz give up photography altogether, he confidently walked in the Blue Studio, again responding to a job advert, only this time – for a stationary photographer. Even though Sitar had no lack of wind in his back, a young and creative crew of that Studio gave him full support, privately and professionally. His work takes a different shape and he soon finds himself collaborating with agencies, actual clients and magazines, frequently snatching jobs away from the competition, not only because of his fantastic photographs, but also because of a very pleasant sense of humor, which only served as a weapon when recruiting the lead players of that specific market match. They fancied his easygoing attitude combined with an unusually professional approach.
In 2004 he specializes in food photography, even though his slenderness indicates affection for pretzels. However, that was only one in a series of contradictions frequently attributed to what he essentially is – an authentic photographer with a proud focus through his lens.
Evildoers and mean spirited critics jealously tout his persona, loudly criticizing his unkempt hair, while some silently compare him to John Lennon, with only the latter being a true recognition to a splendid young man such as Igor Sitar.
In the second half of 2009, he crumbles under the pressure of, now, a gargantuan Blue Studio, an institution that he mainly built himself, and fled to Asia, looking for answers. Asia was no news for Igor, but an old companion since 1994, but it wasn’t until 2009 that it became his sanctuary. While landing in New Delhi, Igor throws up for the first time, grabbing hold of his camera like his life depended on it. His first step on the grounds of the airport in New Delhi is the equivalent of mans first step on the Moon, since Igor became fascinated with India long before he actually experienced it. He always had a feeling he was supposed to be there but never knew why.
After the reunion with the people, Sitar disguised himself as an Indian and with nothing but some money and a bag of objectives to keep him going, he heads into his next adventure – photographing Indians. Wondering through Calcutta, he can practically sense the smell of Bangladesh, but decides to take a turn and head towards Bangalore, situated at the very south of India. The feeling of being in his own backyard rushes through him in Vishakhapatnam, but Bangalore fully lives up to his expectations. With his flip-flops barely resembling the original design, he wonders through the streets of Bangalore when all of a sudden he turns around, shocked, or better yet – convinced he saw Himself at the other side of the street. He stops at the very middle of Kasturb Road and starts sobbing. God damn it, he thought – I should’ve taken a photo of mySelf. Maybe it is still not too late, mumbles Sitar in actual Hindi language and starts running towards Himself.
He ran like hell. He ran until there was nothing but a clue that he used to own a pair of flip-flops. With the camera still around his neck, the shooter bouncing of his chest, he involuntarily documented the entire event. He ran as fast as he could until he finally caught up with Himself. That moment in which Igor grabs Himself by the shoulder, turns around and comes objective to face with his own reality – that was a moment unlikely to be forgotten anytime soon. The only person that went through his head in that precise moment was not Steve Jobs.
It was IGOR SITAR.
So remember this name well because the French Media Institute has been raving about his latest series of photographs, entirely shot in black and white, which tell the story of a Guatemalan immigrant in Cambodia. If you ask him what he is up to at the moment, he’ll tell you that he’s finishing his life’s work – a collection of photographs from India, probably the most natural actualization ever recorded on cellulose.
Big “M” chronicler of the time