Steppe Geometry: A Photo Exhibition by Ravi Jain

I am fascinated by the clash between nature and human settlement. We dam rivers, form reservoirs, and protect against the elements using glass and steel. We push further outward, creating monuments to our development and standing in opposition to nature. My desire to better understand this dichotomy produced the photography exhibition “Steppe Geometry: nature and architecture in Kazakhstan,” which is currently on display in the Slavic and Eurasian Studies Department.

Initially, I was interested in Soviet and Post-Soviet architecture in Central Asia in connection with these nations’ struggle for independence. I was particularly interested in Kazakhstan’s vast and varied environment, along with the extensive influence of the Soviet Union on its land and people. The largest land-locked country in the world, Kazakhstan spans numerous climes, with dry deserts in the south and frigid steppes in the north, requiring human adaptation to extreme conditions. Traditionally, Kazakhs would adapt to these changing conditions through nomadic lifestyles, which were disrupted by the Russian Empire, then the Soviet Union.

The costly influence of the Soviet Union on Kazakhstan cannot be understated. To force the Kazakh people to transition from their nomadic lifestyle, the Soviet Union implemented collectivization, expecting crops to grow in the frigid and barren steppe. In the eyes of Soviet leadership, the grassy plains of Kazakhstan could become new and prosperous farmland, feeding the rest of the union. This overzealous push for development had devastating humanitarian consequences on the Kazakhs, whose land was poorly equipped for sedentary farming. Unsuitable land combined with harsh punishment for sustenance farming resulted in a mass famine killing 1.3-2.3 million Kazakhs and reducing the native population by more than a third. This demographic impact was further worsened by the Second World War.

Gradually, the scope of my work narrowed on the relationship between architecture and nature. Over the summer, I was fortunate to travel to Kazakhstan for three weeks, going to the cities of Almaty, Astana, Karaganda, and Shymkent. Almaty, nestled within the foothills of the Trans-Ili Alatau mountains, reflects a harmony with its surroundings, with leafy boulevards that borrowed strength from the natural backdrop of the Tian Shan mountain range. By contrast, Astana presents a deliberate act of defiance, a human-made oasis of glass, steel, and concrete asserting permanence where nature offers little shelter. Shymkent, located in the southern desert regions, swaps the imposing skyscrapers of Astana with shorter and stout buildings better suited for the hot climate. And Karaganda, deep in the center of Kazakhstan, is shaped by its coal mining industry, with mining stations emerging across the endless steppe.

Across the cities I visited, Kazakhstan’s architecture revealed a coexistence with nature. Structures such as Khan Shatyr, a shopping mall encased in a giant translucent tent made of Teflon film, recall the nomadic traditions of the Kazakh people while offering a controlled, climate-shielded space within the unforgiving steppe. The gondolas of Kok Tobe show the rapid development of Almaty while anchoring it in the green rolling hills that line the city. Even the ruins of former cities such as Otrar highlight the clash between preservation and natural decay. Through these forms, architecture does not resist nature but reinterprets it, using design to bridge the ancestral relationship between people and the land. Using 35 mm film, I tried to capture Kazakhstan’s diverse urban and natural landscapes, showing how human ambition and nature coexist along the great steppes of Central Asia.

I cannot overstate how wonderful my trip to Kazakhstan was. I was exposed to a region of the world I had never been to before. I was able to navigate around Kazakhstan using Russian, although I would love to learn Kazakh in the future. Even when speaking my broken Russian, the Kazakh people were incredibly hospitable and patient, helping me navigate through cities and asking me about my travels. One of my strongest memories is the sleeper train from Almaty to Karaganda. Traveling by myself, I bought a ticket for a “platzkart” bunk, where six people sleep in an open door cabin. While it was a rough 16 hours journey, I enjoyed looking out the window of my bunk, seeing the landscape transform from mountains to flat steppe, and feeling the ripples of the train tracks through the night. I was also able to taste the national dish of Kazakhstan, Beshbarmak, a hearty meal of horse sausage and meat over flat noodles and broth. Although horse is a taboo meat to eat in the United States, I loved experiencing new foods and seeing how Kazakhstan’s nomadic culture influences its cuisine. Ultimately, I hope to continue building on the “Steppe Geometry” exhibition, traveling to other Central Asian countries to see how their architecture is shaped by nature.  

I cannot thank Professor Jennifer Flaherty enough for her incredible support in organizing this exhibition, which was only possible with the full backing of the Department of Slavic and Eurasian Studies at Duke. I also wanted to thank Ben Alper for his work installing the exhibition, and Claire Kang for her work designing the exhibition layout and posters. I hope that you come and visit the exhibit, located in the 3^rd floor Languages building corridor.