Photography as a Guest in Bulgaria’s Cultural Landscape

Photo snapshot from the exhibition "Garden of Bees" of Krasimir Kostov in Gallery Synthesis, Sofia

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Last month, a storm was brewing around the photography exhibition (MORE THAN ONE PHOTO THE HISTORY OF BULGARIAN PHOTOGRAPHY 20TH CENTURY,  December 9, 2025 – March 9, 2026) at the Sofia City Art Gallery (SCAG), echoing—at least in tone—the controversy surrounding Valentin Kalínov’s widely discussed text on the Lorca exhibition at the National Gallery (the Palace). The two cases are, of course, unrelated; the overlap feels more like a coincidence than a connection. Still, it prompted me to reflect—admittedly from a non-expert perspective—on the place of photography in our local cultural landscape.
There has long been a noticeable gap between photography and other visual arts in Bulgaria. My personal impression is that photography has often been regarded as secondary—like a distant relative who is present but rarely the focus of attention. When photography does appear in major galleries, it is often to fill a programmatic gap or as part of a competition or biennial format. Truly independent, conceptually driven, large-scale photography exhibitions in prominent spaces remain the exception rather than the norm. In fact, over the past decade, such instances have been surprisingly few.
Among larger institutions, SCAG has made a notable step forward by presenting at least one significant photography exhibition each year in recent years, often featuring internationally recognised artists. One might question whether this is enough to be considered progress. While it may not be sufficient on its own, it is certainly an improvement compared to the silence that preceded it. Small institutional gestures like this can sometimes begin to shift broader attitudes. Additionally, it is worth noting that SCAG's exhibitions tend to remain on view longer than usual, allowing them to reach a wider audience.
In contrast, the National Gallery (both the Palace and Square 500) appears more cautious, at times to the point of being overly restrained. Photography remains an occasional guest there, rather than an integral part of the program. Fortunately, other spaces approach things differently. The Sofia Arsenal – Museum of Contemporary Art (even if only sporadically), Credo Bonum (increasingly so), and especially Synthesis Gallery show that photography can function as a central pillar of a program, not merely as an accent.
Synthesis is, of course, a specialised photography gallery, so it is not a fully comparable case—but that is precisely what makes the difference so visible. Its program is consistent, clearly curated, and supported by discussions, screenings, and events that feel like a natural extension of each exhibition. Since Nadezhda Pavlova and Nikola Mihov took over, the gallery has leaned toward more ambitious and conceptually grounded projects. Not every exhibition resonates equally—and that is perfectly fine. What matters is the presence of a professional, engaged approach to both curating and presenting photographic work.
Looking back, the current situation is not entirely surprising. For years, Bulgarian photography operated within a relatively closed circuit—centred around biennials, competitions, and more conventional formats, often shaped by a somewhat kitschy, FIAP-style aesthetic. The result was work that felt predictable, safe, and at times disconnected from broader developments in contemporary art. This model remained dominant well into the early 2010s, while many of the more compelling photographic voices stayed largely under the radar, appearing mainly in isolated, low-profile exhibitions with limited media visibility and promotion.
​It is perhaps no wonder, then, that photography still struggles to be fully embraced by wider audiences. The issue is not a lack of sympathy for the photography, but a lack of clear criteria and positioning. Photography does not need to be defended—it needs to be articulated. It needs curatorial direction, visibility in central galleries, and a stronger presence within the context of contemporary art. It also needs authors who are willing to experiment, to take risks, and to develop distinct voices.
Even if one does not always appreciate all the mechanisms through which contemporary art is promoted, they often play a necessary role in bringing visibility to artists and practices. What is needed are projects built on strong concepts—not loosely framed themes that invite broad participation and selective curation afterwards. While the latter approach is convenient and widely used, it rarely leads to genuinely memorable exhibitions.
In many ways, photography is not lacking in potential. There are compelling authors, diverse themes, and still-unexplored directions. What seems to be missing are spaces with the confidence to take risks—and the willingness to present work that goes beyond what is comfortably familiar.
Perhaps if we begin to think more seriously about this, the recurring question—whether photography truly belongs within the core of visual culture—will eventually become irrelevant. Photography is already a language. The real question is whether we are prepared to engage with it as such.
I find it fitting to end on a more optimistic note, with a quote by Kristian Takov:
“Bulgaria wakes up terribly slowly, but the sun has already risen… Getting up is inevitable.”
It may not have been said with photography in mind, but it feels just as relevant here. And if we are already talking about awakening, there is no reason not to include Bulgarian photography in the process.
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March, 2026