The following interview was conducted by SOVO// Creative Director Farida Amar during a five-hour drive from Las Vegas, Nevada to Los Angeles, California in early 2019.
These days, Viktoria Raykova, a native of Bulgaria, splits her time between Bulgaria and Spain, although her travels take her to all corners of the world. She has worked on a variety of films, but Viktoria’s sweet spot is documentaries, which she has completed for organizations such as the Los Angeles Homeless Housing Association, UNICEF, and Planned Parenthood. Viktoria also continues to be a SOVO// contributor.
Let’s start with your early childhood – where you were born, where you were raised, your family’s situation, and your first few moves.
I was born in Sofia, Bulgaria, the first in my family to be born in the capitol. My father and his family came from Ruse, Bulgaria. My mother was born in a cool town near Sofia called Dupnitsa, which is surrounded by the Balkan mountains.
I was born during Communist rule in Bulgaria on November 28, 1984. At that time, men were not allowed in the maternity wards. However, there was a pub nearby where the fathers-to-be could drink and wait for their wives to give birth. My parents considered several names for me. They were strongly encouraged to give me a Bulgarian name in line with Communist law. But when I popped out of her womb, my mother told the nurses she wanted me to be victorious and name me “Viktoria” instead of some Bulgarian or Communist-sanctioned name. Then they called down to the pub to tell my Dad he had a daughter named Viktoria. Because my Dad had been drinking, he asked the bartender for a pen and wrote my name on his palm so he could tell his buddies what my name was. At least that was the story told to me.
When I was younger, I didn’t really embrace the name Viktoria. During most of my childhood and teenage years, I was Vicki. It wasn’t until I was 17 and I went off to college that I decided I was an adult and more powerful than a Vicki. So I returned to my original name of Viktoria, and asked my friends to call me Viktoria. My childhood friends still call me Vicki every once in a while. In fact, it is strange when people who have met me in my adulthood meet my childhood friends and wonder why they call me Vicki.
So how is Vicki different from Viktoria, personality wise? How is early Vicki different from now Viktoria?
I think current Viktoria still has early Vicki in her. When I was about 15, I was talking to my second cousin. She had just turned 20 and told me there was no time to be a child anymore. “What kind of bullshit is that?” I asked her. “What do you mean you can’t be a child at 20? What do you mean you can’t be a child at 30, 40, 50, or whatever?” It’s important to retain the child at heart. My child self was very innocent, but curious, which is still reflected in a lot of the things I do today. It is why I love to travel. It guides my perspective of things. As my younger self, I had dreams, but I didn’t know I could succeed. The difference is that I’ve grown into adulthood embracing the younger self and knowing that anything is possible.
When is the first time you metaphorically shot an arrow and it worked out or you decided this is where I should be? Maybe you took a chance. Maybe you leapt before your path was fully thought out and then wherever you landed ended up being right. What is the first memory you have of doing that?
I’ve taken a lot of leaps in my childhood, but they were not necessarily the right leaps for me. The first time I took a positive leap of faith was when I moved to San Francisco six years ago. I went to visit my very good friend, Jordane, who had moved to San Francisco. I wanted to go back to school – film school. In April 2011, I made the decision to move to San Francisco. I’m a little shy, so making friends was difficult at first. It took a bit of time to get into my groove. But after the first year, I realized I was where I was meant to be at that moment.
So what were you doing between birth and film school in San Francisco?
We moved to the States in 1990. We were supposed to come for a three-month vacation. That’s what we told our family. That’s what my parents told me. But both my parents knew very well that they wanted to set up a new life in the States. Initially, we lived in the Boston area. I loved mathematics, thanks to my Dad, so I spent a lot of my elementary school days in the Math and Chess Clubs. I hated reading in English. However, I had an autobiography assignment in the seventh grade for which my Mom had to write something. She wrote that despite the hard time I had connecting with American kids because I was from a different culture, I never shied away from meeting strangers. In particular, she recalled an incident from our first summer in the States. I was playing on the beach and approached a young boy who was all alone. I sat down next to him and, despite no ability to communicate through language, I ended up spending the entire day playing with him in the sand. I thought he needed a friend that day. As an only child and a recent immigrant, I empathized with him. Right before middle school, we moved from Quincy, Massachusetts to Belmont because it had the best public school system. There I fell in love with science and math, geometry in particular. I also started diving into a little bit of art on my own.
By the time high school rolled around, I was all over the place. My first concert was Korn and then six months later, I went to see Britney Spears. Six months after that, I attended a Busta Rhymes concert. I was clearly trying to find myself in high school, as a lot of teenagers do. My first two years of high school were an absolute failure. Even though chemistry was one of my favorite subjects, I just didn’t want to go to class. I would much rather sit at home watching TV that my parents didn’t let me watch.
Then I pulled it together. I did really well. I started developing photographs in a darkroom. I had a teacher there who really inspired me. And I started realizing how much I loved photography. My first experiences with photography took place when I received a camera as a fifth grade graduation gift. That summer, after graduation, I went home to Bulgaria and I came back with three rolls of film. My Mom was excited to see what I had photographed. Out of three rolls of film, there were two photographs of my grandpa and me and one of my grandma and me. The rest were of landscapes and clouds. My Mom asked me why I did not take pictures of the family or people. I explained that there was something really beautiful about the mountains, the clouds, and the landscapes. I don’t think my Mom understood. I didn’t yet understand why I loved exploring with the camera so much.
What was the first camera you used?
It was Minolta, 35 point and shoot. Plastic. I still have it today. I’ve used it a few times. It’s a little broken and beaten up. Duct tape holds the battery in the back in place. It’s not that good, but it’s kind of cool. It has a fixed lens and a fixed aperture and setting.
Where did you go to high school?
I went to Belmont High School, where I played volleyball during my sophomore and junior years. I was also an avid skier, so I was doing sports all year round – volleyball and skiing. I love skiing. They used to call me the 70s disco queen when I was skiing because I had these spandex clothes with bell bottoms that I skied in. Totally not the American style, but definitely the European style.
I did really well with computers, so my parents wanted me to study IT and management or computer programming, which is what led me to Syracuse University in upstate New York. I was miserable there. It was freezing and cloudy and not fun. If I had wanted to pursue IT and management, it would have been a great experience. But I ended up joining a sorority, which is funny. I joined Kappa Alpha Theta. The colors were black and gold. I had a lot of fun Americanizing myself at Syracuse, but I probably had too much fun because I didn’t do well and ended up having to go back home to Boston and not finish at Syracuse. I spent the next five years really struggling, deciding what I wanted to do.
In the meantime, I started working at hotels and restaurants in Boston, later becoming a front-office manager and supervisor. I used to work with Starwood, where I was on the opening management team, meaning I would seek out new Starwood properties and spend six months “brand-washing” the employees. I became so good at what I did that I knew when I had walked into a Westin with my eyes closed just from the scent or the feel of a sheet or a bed. Then I ended up getting hired by the Liberty Hotel in Boston, where I settled for a couple of years and I started taking night classes, photography, and film at Bunker Hill Community College. That is when I realized I was doing the wrong thing. I didn’t want to proceed further in the hospitality management world, where I had reached my peak. The universe heard me, my attitude changed at work, and I ended up getting laid off.
That’s when I took three months off and I focused on my photography. I didn’t want another hospitality job, so I started bartending and I learned from some of the coolest mixology bartenders in America. I saved money to go back to school, not knowing where the hell I would go to school. I tried Mass Art for a semester, but I didn’t like it. I just felt out different schools. I had never visited the school in San Francisco, but something called me there and that was it. I broke up with my significant other because it wasn’t going well and moved to San Francisco for film school.
What did you study in San Francisco?
I studied cinematography at the Academy of Art University.
Were there certain moments during that experience that you felt really shaped you?
Learning the fundamentals of any art form is really important. When people ask me about photography, they often ask me what camera they should get. I encourage them to start with a 35mm film camera. Learn the basics of what an aperture setting is and what a shutter speed setting is because it is important to learn the classic rules of anything so you can break them. What shaped me the most in San Francisco wasn’t necessarily the fundamentals of filmmaking, which you can read about, but getting to the point of breaking the rules. After three semesters of experimental filmmaking classes, including avant-garde film theory, I learned how to break the rules.
My time in school in San Francisco also taught me the importance of a network – collaborating with people of your level, but more importantly, collaborating with people at a higher level than you. It is also important to mentor in return when it’s your time to do so, because you learn while teaching. I ended up working as a teaching assistant for a while, and I learned a lot from my students. I was also hired by the school to be one of the cinematographers for the acting student reels and the directing student reels and I learned a lot about how students tell stories. Most of the jobs I have gotten in the film world were through the network that began in San Francisco.
Are there particular filmmakers or cinematographers who have had a distinct impact on you?
There was definitely one cinematographer I learned about in school who really influenced me and that was Mexican Cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. He comes from the clan of Mexican filmmakers who are now in their late 50s/early 60s. Lubezki’s films have included Gravity and The Reverant, and he won the Oscar three years in a row. When I started learning about him, I realized there was a pattern in his films from the 1990s, such as Great Expectations, with Gwyneth Paltrow and Ethan Hawke, and A Little Princess, one of my favorite fantasy films about a little girl who’s raised in India and becomes a British citizen. What I love most about Lubezki’s work is that he uses color to portray emotion, not just to make something look more beautiful. In Closer, with Natalie Portman and Clive Owen, he uses these beautiful magenta reds and luscious violets and blues to make you feel more connected to what the characters are experiencing. In Great Expectations, everything is in a green palette because green represents greed and the film has a lot to do with greed. He was one of the most influential filmmakers during my time in school.
Can you define cinematography in your words?
Sure. Cinematography is the art form of bringing forth the vision of a film through camera and lighting.
By camera, do you mean actual cameraman work?
Yes, cameraman work – lenses, angles, and the type of film. Cinematographers deal a lot with lighting. Some directors know exactly what lens and what depth of field they want to shoot with. But very often it’s the cinematographer who dictates the camera angle, the placement, the type of lens, and the type of film. If it’s going to be shot on film or on digital, it’s basically the cinematographer who’s in charge of the visual aesthetic and the look of a film.
Do cinematographers direct cameramen?
Absolutely. But any good cinematographer will listen to their camerapeople. If there is a problem, it is ultimately the cinematographer’s responsibility.
Give me a definition of photography and how it is different from cinematography.
Cinematography is the moving image. Photography is the power of telling a story in one frame. It’s challenging. Sometimes it’s more challenging to tell a story in a single frame in which you capture the emotion and the vibes of what’s happening.
Do you think photography led you to cinematography because cinematography is like an extension of photography? Was it your way of growing beyond a single frame, but keeping the same interests and skills?
I wouldn’t say it’s growing beyond a single frame. Photography led me to cinematography, but the two are vastly different.
Here’s what happened: When I was in Boston, I wanted to take a photography class, but it was full. The only other available night class was a film one. And I remember sitting in that classroom realizing how much I love images, light, and cameras! I also realized then that I could easily love cinematography as much as photography. I didn’t know then if I’d ever master both, but I would be happy to master at least one.
What would that mean for you to master one?
That’s a very good question because I don’t know if you can ever master anything. You can come close to mastery, but the moment you think you’ve mastered something, you often become bored with it. I am skeptical when someone tells me they’re a master of anything.
I think you’re saying you hope you can be a master, but you also don’t believe being a master is possible.
Yes. This is why it’s an interesting question. I will never recognize myself as a master of anything. However, if one day I have mastered something, it will show through my work. I can’t tell you I am a master at making a beautiful silver gelatin print because there’s always room for improvement. If there’s no room for improvement, there’s no room for creativity. To embrace creativity, you have to be willing to evolve and change.
I would argue that people who are considered masters at their crafts are people who have gotten very good at developing a unique style. They are able to say, “This is my thing.” They go through the whole growth and development thing. They experiment. Like Wes Anderson, Quentin Tarantino, or David Kronenberg, they are creators of a very specific aesthetic. They’ve set a standard that other people try to mimic, study in school, or use as a reference. But these people have not really mastered anything other than their own style.
Absolutely, because they are focused on what they’re used to or comfortable with.
In fact, I don’t see a lot of masters challenging themselves toward the end of their careers.
Yes. There comes a point in time when you realize you can do what you are doing in your sleep. Everything becomes second nature. However, I think the beauty of life (and this is my personality) is to continue exploring. My goal is not mastering a certain type of photography or a certain type of cinematography. It is mastering exploration.
I see that more in music than in film. There are musicians, like David Bowie, for whom every single song on an album is in a different genre and they kill it. They reinvent themselves every few years. They also create new pathways and entirely new genres, and that’s incredible. But I don’t really see that happening with visual artists as often. Visual artists often want to develop their own style and their own voice and once they find it, they perfect it until they have a niche they can call their own. What makes you interesting to me is that you are not interested in that at all. You’re almost more like an experimental musician who has a camera than you are like most filmmakers, photographers, painters, or other visual artists. You don’t want to be an expert at only one thing. You want to try a lot of things and mix them together.
True. I hate boxes. I hate labels. I think this stems from how I grew up. I had a really hard time putting myself in a box because I was in a society growing up where everyone was boxed in. Everyone had their own label, but I didn’t feel comfortable with any label. This comes out in my art. I always want to challenge myself, shake it up, and get out of my comfort zone. If that means lying upside down on a rock in the Himalayas or crawling in a sewer in some third world country, so be it. To me, the challenge of that perspective is how can I see this world differently with each new project. Perhaps one day I’ll start seeing patterns in my work. And I do see some already forming. But when I start seeing them, I want to push myself to get out of that comfort zone. I don’t want any one thing to become a habit because I always want to be looking at things differently.
So maybe the goal isn’t to be a master, but a maverick?
I’ve always said that my goal in life is to become a Renaissance woman. I am still growing and contradicting myself at times. I also believe in that 10,000-hour rule, which states that you have to practice something to become sufficiently good at it. So I’m still in a phase where I want to be able to do a lot of things and dedicate the time to do them. Sometimes my plate gets full from learning how to build a platform bed, creating a lighting sculpture, or trying a new form of documentary filmmaking. And that fills my life. I’m still finding myself and searching.
What is the most embarrassing project you’ve ever done, where when you look at it now, you think, oh, my God, if only I knew then what I know now? Or maybe the most painful growing experience.
The other day I re-watched my first-ever attempt at a documentary for a night class when I was still deciding what the hell to do with my life. It’s 10 minutes and was supposed to answer the question: “What is art?” I went to Boston Common and interviewed some people, including some friends. I look at that now and it brings tears of joy to my eyes, knowing how much I have progressed. I almost want to do it again, but without such a cheesy result. This guy is talking about how art is anything, even those duck sculptures. Anyone who’s familiar with Boston Common knows the duck sculptures. So I spent half a day shooting a B roll of these duck sculptures. Three minutes of the film focus on them. But I look at it now and I think good job, great start. What’s really cool is that, that was only 2010. Wow, wouldn’t it be cool if my growth continued on that exponential path? That’s my hope, but sometimes you plateau and other times you skyrocket. I hope that in ten years I can look back at a documentary I just completed and go, whoa, kid. Good job.
That being said, I’ve had some great projects fall into my lap over the past four years. Haiti immediately comes to mind. Getting the call to work for a production company in Haiti for UNICEF happened after I had moved back to Bulgaria and my Dad was visiting me. It was really cool for me to have him see how happy I was because I love telling the stories of women and children around the world. It’s something I focus on. It keeps me and my child self alive. The education of children as well as educating the world on how children are living in certain areas are really important. So getting that call was a milestone for me, a validation that I was good enough to do short documentaries for UNICEF. However, the experience was difficult.
Was it your most physically challenging assignment? Well, you did survive a Category 5 hurricane, right?
First of all, let me say that any day on set is a physical challenge, what with all the camera and lighting equipment. I once threw out my back in San Francisco and couldn’t walk for a week. Then there was the time in the Vegas desert doing broadcast camera work when it was 134 degrees at 7:00 PM and at midnight it was still 110. But I love it. There’s something so exhilarating when you get that shot and you hear the Director of Photography or the Director say, “That’s it”! Even if your legs are hurting, you’re all bruised up, and your back is numb because you put on too much tiger balm. I don’t think that Haiti was that physically challenging because they were really short days. That is why I can’t classify it as physically challenging. However, I did have to survive a hurricane and some bad stomach thing. But it wasn’t the most challenging physically by far. I actually can’t tell you what the most physically challenging day on set has ever been for me because every day when I show up, I’m giving it everything I’ve got and I know that I’ll be exhausted. But it doesn’t matter.
When was the moment you decided that out of the entire world of filmmaking, you wanted to specialize in documentaries? And what is it about documentaries that you love? Because you could have made art films, Hollywood films, or music videos. And I know you have done a little bit of all that, but your heart is in documentaries. Is it because documentaries lend themselves to traveling?
Initially that was a consideration. But since I was a little girl, I used to watch the Weather Channel and the storm chasers and even the weather teasers. I particularly paid attention to the camera movement and I wanted to do that one day. I’ve always been intrigued by the world. I can’t say I watched more documentaries than narrative films growing up, but I was always captivated by them.
Then there came a point in time when I was deciding what to do next with my career, when I realized I wanted to tell real stories. I wanted to capture what is happening. Part of the reason I love photography so much is that it captures a real raw moment in time forever. I wanted to bring that to my cinematography as well. I like working in small crews and capturing something that is not staged. It is gratifying when you realize you couldn’t have captured a more beautiful moment. It doesn’t always work that way, but when it does, it’s amazing. Documentaries capture things that will never happen again. And it lives forever. That’s what I love about it.
Is there a feeling of bearing witness to other people’s lives? Or of carrying their story out into the world?
There’s definitely emotional value in wanting to do documentaries. The honest answer is I shy away from telling my life story and being very honest with people. There are some people who will tell you where they were born, at what time, and everything that’s happened to them over the past 20 years. I have never done that. I actually find it admirable and inspiring when someone wants to share their story. It has helped open me up as a person since I was so closed off for so long. I didn’t know what it meant to open up. As soon as I started seeing these people sitting down for interviews and having the courage to share their lives and educate the rest of the world, I got inspired and I wanted to show that to the rest of the world. Perhaps I can touch one other soul with their story.
Your work has made me aware of things happening in the world I had no knowledge of, such as some of the pictures you showed me from India or the story of the guy who was rebuilding his village, Langtang, in Nepal in the Himalayas, after it was destroyed by an earthquake. If you had not documented these things, I would not have known about them.
Yes, I have a thirst for knowledge and I want to share whatever I’ve learned. One of my favorite times with a camera is when I’m crying. I try really hard not to cry when I’m holding the camera, but sometimes I do because something is really beautiful and I can’t believe I’m capturing a story that is so powerful and moving. I’m not just zoned in on it through the lens; I feel it. For me, there’s something magical when I look back at the way I’ve framed something. I do get very, very invested, but I think that’s healthy.
You definitely have a “let’s do it” attitude. You could be exhausted, having just gotten off a 24-hour plane ride, but you still have the energy to go to Kansas to tell the story of a random person. Even if you just finished something, you’re on to the next thing.
Is there anything you want to say that I did not ask about? Things people would want to know about you or an idea you want to share for other people to think about. Advice, maybe?
Be kind. I’m full of cheesy, motivational, positive things to say. It would be cool if one day some kid reads this interview and thinks he should tell his parents that he is serious about photography, so they don’t send him to IT or management school. I think I’ve said enough about myself.
— Written by Erika Çilengir
— Interview & Photography by Farida Amar
