The Ancestor Archive

Domů
česko
Praha
The Ancestor Archive

Vernacular photography. Anonymous portraits. 🎞️
Returning faces to their histories.
📍 Prague · Part of The Archive ✦
Know them? Leave a comment. 🔍

29/05/2026

Good evening. 👋

Still me. Different afternoon, same book — or perhaps a different book entirely. I am holding it close, the way you hold something when the light is not quite right or when you need to be sure of what you just read.

Behind me on the wall: an oval painting of the Virgin Mary. I did not choose where to sit. That is just where the chair was. 📖

No name on the back. Still no name.

Do you recognise the face?

29/05/2026

Good afternoon. 👋

We went to the same studio on the same street in Valašské Meziříčí, dressed as opposites, and stood together in front of the camera. 🎭

One of us chose black. A dark dress, dark gloves, dark sleeves you could see through, and on her head — a bird. Wings spread, beak forward. A crow, most likely, or something close to it. She is looking at the camera the way someone looks at it when they have decided that tonight they are the villain and they are comfortable with that. 🦅

The other chose white. A long pale dress with fur trim along the hem, a white hat with dark feathers, the kind of outfit that says winter queen, or snow, or something elegant and slightly untouchable. She is standing straighter. She seems slightly amused. 🤍

We came together as a pair — black and white, dark and light, crow and swan. That kind of coordination does not happen by accident. We planned this. We chose each other.

Somewhere in the same city, around the same years, a younger girl went to the same studio dressed as a rabbit with a drum. She might have been a sister. She might have been a cousin. She might have been someone’s little neighbour who everyone brought along to the merenda at the Beseda because it was early March and the whole town went. 🐰

We do not know. The cards ended up together, which means something. Probably the same household. Probably the same story, told across different evenings and different costumes and different years.

Do you recognise either costume — or either face?

29/05/2026

Good morning. 🌿

I photographed our courtyard this morning.

The geraniums are doing well. 👁️
I moved the large one to the corner last week
and I think it was the right decision.

We live somewhere in Prague —
Vinohrady, perhaps, or Žižkov.
A building like this one, with ironwork like this,
built around 1900 for people like us.
People who grew geraniums on the gallery
and thought that was enough of a garden. 🕯️

The courtyard below is quiet at this hour.
Upstairs, someone left their window open.

I do not know if anyone else thought
this was worth photographing.

I did. ✦

29/05/2026

Good morning. 👋

I do not know my name. There is nothing written on the back of this card.

What I know is this: I am sitting at a table in the studio of František Berger in Vysoké Mýto, and in front of me is an album. 📖

It is open. I am not looking at it anymore. I am looking somewhere past the camera, with my hand against my face, the way you look when you have just seen something in a photograph that sent you somewhere else entirely.

I do not know whose faces are in that album. My wife, perhaps. My children. People who are gone. People I have not thought about in years and then suddenly cannot stop thinking about. That is what albums do. You open them meaning to find one thing and you end up somewhere you did not plan to go. 🤍

I am old in this photograph. My coat is dark and worn at the edges. The light in the studio is dramatic — Berger knew what he was doing with shadows. I look like a man who has accumulated a significant amount of history and is not entirely sure what to do with it.

Behind me: darkness. In front of me: the album, still open, still waiting.

Vysoké Mýto. Sometime around 1910. A man and his memories and a photographer who had the good sense to just let the moment be what it was. 🕯️

Do you have a photograph like this — someone caught between the present and everything that came before it?

28/05/2026

Good evening, my ladies and gentlemen. 👋

My name is W***y Pavliš. I was born in Vienna in 1903. This photograph was taken around 1912, in the studio of F. Zach in Benešov, Bohemia - we were staying at my aunt Aloisie’s house. She had married a man named Kajetán Turek and settled here, while the rest of us lived in Vienna.

Our mothers were all Citovský sisters, from Napajedla on the Morava river. Four sisters, four families, one grandmother holding it together. When she was gone, we held each other instead. Which is why eight children ended up in this studio one afternoon. 🤍

Let me tell you who we are.

Far left: my cousin Heda Vyoral, born 1904, daughter of aunt Petronila. She died in 1946. Next to her: me, W***y — oldest of the three Pavliš boys. Behind us: my brothers Eduard (1905) and Karel (1910), also in sailor suits. 🪡 Back centre: our cousin Anna Terezie Turek (1902), daughter of aunt Aloisie — she lived until 1990, longer than any of us. Front row: little Vilém Turek (1909) and baby Jaroslav Turek (1911), also aunt Aloisie’s boys. And sitting quietly on the right: Jetti Šmelc, daughter of aunt Františka, the eldest sister.

Eight children. Four families. One grandmother who never appears in this photograph but is present in every single face. 🤍

I died on June 3rd 1926, in Admont, in the Austrian Alps. I was twenty-three. The record gives only the place and the date.

Sometimes that is all that remains. 🏔️

Do you recognise any of these faces from your own family’s past?

26/05/2026

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! 👋

I do not know my name. I am the size of a postage stamp.

This photograph was not made for a studio album or a parlor shelf. It was made to be carried. Stamp photos — timbres-portrait, they called them — were printed in sheets like postage stamps, perforated at the edges, and cut apart. They went into lockets, into letters, into the small inside pocket of a jacket worn close to the body.

Someone carried me.

I am somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two, I think. My hair is brown, curled and pinned up loosely. My eyes are blue-green. I am wearing a dark blue velvet jacket with slightly puffed shoulders — fashionable around 1890 — and a large white muslin collar folded softly at my throat. There is a small brooch at the collar. I am looking slightly away from the camera, the way you look when you are sitting for a portrait and trying not to look like you are sitting for a portrait.

I do not know who asked me to have this made. I do not know who received it, or how long they kept it, or where they kept it. I know only that the format tells you something the image cannot say directly: this was intimate. This was small enough to fit inside a closed hand. This was not meant for strangers.

It is in a stranger’s hands now.

Do you have a locket photograph in your family — or a face this small that you have been carrying without knowing who it was? 👇

26/05/2026

Good morning. 👋

My name is Olga. On the 4th of March 1905, I went to the merenda at the Beseda in Valašské Meziříčí dressed as a rabbit. 🐰

A merenda was a unique carnival ball - music, dancing, costumes, the whole of the town’s social life compressed into one evening in early March before Lent arrived and made everything serious again.

I wore white. The dress had small round pompoms along the hem. I had rabbit ears on my head and a drum in my hands, because I was not just any rabbit - I was a drumming rabbit, which is a significantly better costume than a regular rabbit. 🥁

After the ball, or perhaps during it, someone decided this needed to be documented. We went to the studio of O. Šrůtek on Vsetínská street and I stood in front of the camera still in full costume, still holding the drum, still entirely committed to the character. 🤍

The Beseda in Valašské Meziříčí was the heart of Czech cultural life in the town - concerts, lectures, balls, theatre. On the 4th of March 1905, it hosted a merenda. Olga came as a rabbit with a drum.

That is all we know. That is also everything. 🌿

Did your family ever go to a merenda?

26/05/2026

Good morning. 👋

I do not know my name. I am the size of a postage stamp.

But the uniform tells you something.

Two gold stars on a black collar. A light grey tunic with gold buttons. This is the Habsburg imperial army and these two stars mean Leutnant. The lowest officer’s rank. I had just earned it perhaps.

The stamp photo format was made for exactly this - something small enough to carry, intimate enough to matter. I gave mine to someone. Perhaps she gave me hers in return. Perhaps she had blue-green eyes and brown hair and a white muslin collar and looked slightly away from the camera the way you do when you are trying not to look like you are sitting for a portrait.

I do not know if that is what happened. I only know that two stamp photos from the same collection, one of a young woman and one of a young officer, suggest a pair. An exchange. Something that fit in a closed hand or a locket or the inside pocket of a grey tunic worn close to the body.

The Habsburg army mobilised in the summer of 1914. Officers went first.

I do not know what happened after the photograph was taken. I know only that someone kept both of them - hers and mine - long enough for them to end up here, together, a hundred and thirty years later.

Do you recognize your face in mine? 👇

25/05/2026

Good evening. 👋

My name is Jeanette Heinová. You have seen me before - sitting at a garden table with my two sisters, Terezie and Marie, in the summer of 1910. 🌿

This photograph was taken two years later, in 1912. I am the one with my back to the camera, in the white dress, on a country road somewhere in Moravia, standing between two men.

The man on the left is Dr. Jan Altmann. I know him well. He was born in Přerov in 1884, graduated in Prague on the 12th of March 1910, and became a gynaecologist and obstetrician. 👶 He was twenty-eight years old when this photograph was taken. So was I, more or less.

The other man - the one with his hands in his pockets - was not well that summer. That is all anyone wrote about him. Just that he was ill. His name did not make it onto the back of the photograph.

We are standing on a dirt road between two fields, in flat Moravian countryside, under a pale summer sky. Someone behind us had a camera. I did not turn around.

I do not know what we were talking about. I do not know what happened to the man who was ill. I do not know what happened to Dr. Altmann, or to me, or to my sisters. 🤍

But for a moment in 1912, we were three people on a country road on a summer afternoon, and someone thought it was worth remembering.

Do you recognise the landscape or any of the three?

24/05/2026

Good evening, dear friends. 👋

We do not know our names. There is nothing written on the back.

What we know is this: we walked into the studio of J. Rublič on Hankovo náměstí in Dvůr Králové, we each picked up a glass, and we told the photographer to take the picture. 🥂

We are toasting something. We do not remember what. A promotion, perhaps. A good harvest. A bet someone won. A Friday.

The one on the left is smiling the widest. The one in the middle has a bow tie and the expression of a man who organised this whole thing. The one on the right has a flower in his buttonhole and is trying to look dignified while also visibly enjoying himself.

We were friends. That much is obvious. The kind of friends who decide that certain moments deserve to be documented — not for posterity, but because it was a good evening and we wanted to remember that it happened. 🤍

Do you know what they were celebrating?

24/05/2026

Good afternoon, book bugs. 👋

Someone photographed me while I was reading.

I did not look up.

I do not know if that was intentional.

What were you reading, the last time someone photographed you without asking?

Adresa

Praha

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