The Last Pig Of Them All - Ignatius In Romania

It all starts just before the sun sets up. You need to wake up at 7 am in order to be up an running at 8am…

In the village of Bogati, Arges county, where my family spends their weekends and their seniority, it is Ignatius day, traditionally called the “pig sticking day”. It is December, and the temperatures hit below 0 degrees, so you need to dress wisely, by wearing thick, worn out clothes - it gets messy.

My worn out clothes aren’t something unusual. It is all happening at the country side and it is Ignatius day, which by default, involves lots of blood. So, you have to bring out the trashed wardrobe.

My uncanny pleasure for grotesque gathered with my passion for photography doesn’t actually serve as an advantage for the current situation, as I am, however, feeling bad, or better said, guilty, kind of bitter for the the life of an innocent animal that’s going to be killed, without any chance to fight back. Since I was a little boy I can remember the screams, which are so loud that you could hear a mile away. You need to be fully functional while at countryside, or else, your actions might be viewed with maximum suspicion.

However, cutting down from all the statements above, I admit I'm being pretty cocky here, helping my family around and photographing the stabbing of a pig, with my camera, at 33 years old. This is not the first and definitely not the last time I’ve been doing this - just the first time documenting it.

If you look closely at the pig, it can actually become really fascinating, intriguing, captivating, even seductive. Mutilation it's a tradition which calls for much respect and which is considered to be a form of freaky art. My grandfather can be considered a real Michelangelo when it comes to pig sticking, as he always executes only the most important operations of the whole process, leaving his apprentices to do all the other bits and bobs. This is his last pig, his last David which he performs in front of my eyes.

The organs of the pig are the perfect components (the meat, the pig skin, intestines etc.) are all taken out one by one and then carefully put in different recipients. It all comes to the point that it can be viewed as an actual work of art. All the organs fit tightly and when you feel the inside of the pork, you realize that the real eyes see the textures are perfect and the finish is absolutely flawless and without any lies . To place your hand where nobody has ever placed it before, between two organs which grew together, represents a sacrilege which can give you a nice wince and somehow make you kind of a dirty psychopath rapist.

Men are cutting the meat while the females are cleaning over. The intestines stink horribly but appealing, so they need to be washed several times. It can be finical and disgraceful. In a couple of hours after the whole process starts, there is nothing left from the animal besides the wood plate which is stained with blood. I have done my job and I feel pleased. I am also feeling a little tipsy, even though the drinking haven't even begun…

Looking back to this day, I am realizing that this was the last Ignatius that my grandfather has performed. He was the grand master of the pig sticking, being the one who knew how to to slay the animal quickly without suffering, wiping out all of the useless agony. He also knew how to guide everyone and lead the whole “team” by giving everybody the right advice in the right moment.

What makes this last pig to be a work of art, is the fact that the old man - mos Ion Caragea - has unfortunately passed away not long after this event ( two months to be exact). The apprentices are now my family and the leader is now my uncle, his son Dan.