The story of the four photographs displayed on the outer wall of the Biblioteka Ulqin - Ulcinj begins not in Montenegro, but across the border in the vibrant, tumultuous city of Shkodër, Albania, during the latter half of the 19th century. To understand these images is to first understand the world that produced them—a world shaped by the arrival of an Italian political exile, the cultural dynamism of a key Ottoman city, and the birth of a new artistic medium in the Balkans.1
The founder of this photographic legacy was Pietro Marubbi (1834–1903), an Italian painter, sculptor, and ardent supporter of Giuseppe Garibaldi's revolutionary movement to unify Italy.3 In 1856, facing persecution and forced into exile from his native Piacenza after being implicated in a political assassination, Marubbi sought refuge within the vast territories of the Ottoman Empire.2 His journey led him to Shkodër, a city that was then the administrative center of the Sanjak of Scutari. Far from being a remote provincial outpost, Shkodër was a flourishing hub of economic and cultural exchange, a critical crossroads connecting the Adriatic coast with the Balkan interior.1 Its population was a complex mosaic of Catholics, Muslims, and Orthodox Christians, encompassing a diverse social hierarchy from wealthy urban merchants and Ottoman officials to the fiercely independent tribal clans of the surrounding highlands. This dynamic, multicultural environment provided a rich and compelling canvas for an artist like Marubbi.
It was in this setting that Marubbi established the first photographic studio in Albania in 1856, which he poetically named Dritëshkronja, an Albanian term meaning "Written with light".3 This act was revolutionary. Photography, canonized as an invention only in 1839, was a new and almost magical technology. Its introduction to a region at the edge of the Ottoman Empire, where figural representation could be viewed with religious suspicion, was a bold and pioneering endeavor.7 Marubbi's arrival and the opening of his studio coincided with a pivotal moment in Albanian history: the Rilindja Kombëtare, or the Albanian National Awakening. This period was marked by a burgeoning sense of national consciousness, a renewed interest in Albanian language and folklore, and a growing desire for independence from a declining Ottoman Empire.8 Though likely unintentional at its outset, Marubbi's studio became a vital chronicle of this era of transition, documenting the faces, customs, and events that would shape Albania's modern national identity.10
The Foto-Studio "Marubbi" was not merely the enterprise of one man; it evolved into a three-generation dynasty, a lineage defined by artistic mentorship and a shared commitment to the craft of photography. This succession, built on adoption rather than bloodline, ensured the studio's longevity and allowed its style and technical prowess to evolve over nearly a century.10
Pietro Marubbi (1834-1903), the founder, established the studio's artistic and documentary vision. His photographic style was characteristic of the mid-19th century, often featuring carefully composed, static portraits where subjects look directly at the camera.5 This approach lent his sitters a profound sense of dignity and presence, focusing the viewer's attention on their attire, their status, and their unvarnished humanity. Technically, he began his work using the wet-collodion process, a cumbersome and difficult method that required a glass plate negative to be coated with a chemical solution, exposed in the camera, and developed, all while still wet.14 This demanded immense skill and patience. Beyond the studio, Pietro was a pioneer of photojournalism in the region, documenting critical historical events such as the Mirdita Uprising (1876-1877) and the gathering of delegates for the League of Prizren (1878). His images of these events were published in prominent European periodicals like L'Illustration, The Illustrated London News, and La Guerra d'Oriente, bringing visual evidence of the turbulent history of the Balkans to an international audience.3
The continuation of this legacy was a deliberate and poignant act of cultural succession. Pietro Marubbi and his wife were childless, facing the end of their personal lineage in a foreign land.1 Rather than let his life's work dissipate, he chose to create a new kind of family. He took the two sons of his gardener, Rrok Kodheli, as his apprentices: Mati and Mikel (known as Kel).3 He invested deeply in their education, sending them to the renowned "Sebastianutti & Benque" studio in Trieste for advanced training.1 After Mati died tragically young in 1881, Pietro formally adopted Kel Kodheli (1870-1940).16 Upon Pietro's death in 1903, Kel inherited the studio and, in a profound gesture of gratitude and respect, adopted the Marubi surname, ensuring the continuation of his master's name and legacy.9 This act transformed a simple business inheritance into the founding of a cultural dynasty, firmly rooting Marubbi's Italian legacy in Albanian soil.
Kel Marubi brought his own distinct vision to the studio. His photographic style was more narrative and dynamic than his predecessor's. He was known for his careful direction of subjects, arranging them in characteristic poses and using props like weapons or musical instruments to create a stronger sense of dialogue and personal story within the frame.5 Kel was also a fervent Albanian patriot. During the height of the National Awakening, his studio became a crucial meeting place for nationalist politicians, artists, and intellectuals. The patriotic club "Gjuha Shqipe" (The Albanian Language) was founded in his home, and his daughter sewed the flag that was raised to proclaim Albanian independence in Shkodër in 1913.5
The third and final generation was Kel's son, Gegë Marubi (1907-1984). He brought a 20th-century modernist sensibility to the family's work. Gegë studied photography and cinematography in Lyon, France, at the school founded by the pioneering Lumière brothers.1 He modernized the studio's techniques, experimenting with the more portable and versatile celluloid film instead of heavy glass plates, and exploring creative effects like infrared photography, double exposures, and visual montages.5 His work marks the final chapter of the dynasty, which came to an end with the imposition of communist rule in Albania.
The photographs produced by the Marubi dynasty were the result of a carefully orchestrated process, a "photographic ritual" that took place within the unique environment of the studio.8 This space functioned as a theatrical stage, a controlled setting where identity could be composed, performed, and immortalized.20 The photographers employed a range of techniques to frame their subjects, transforming a simple portrait session into a significant act of self-representation.
The studio's aesthetic was defined by its use of painted backdrops, typically depicting romanticized or rustic landscapes. These were combined with physical props—ornate carpets, elegant chairs, studio furniture, and even natural elements like grass and tree trunks—to create a hybrid, three-dimensional environment that was neither fully real nor entirely artificial.15 This was a common convention in 19th-century portraiture, but the Marubis used it with great effect to contextualize and dignify their subjects, whether they were members of the urban bourgeoisie or shepherds from the remote mountains.7 Light, the essential ingredient of photography, was masterfully controlled. The studio relied on natural light from large windows, manipulated with a system of curtains to create the precise luminosity and atmosphere required for each portrait.20
The technological evolution of the medium played a crucial role in the studio's development. Pietro's use of the wet-collodion process gave way to industrially produced dry gelatin glass plates around the 1880s, which were easier to use. Later, Gegë's adoption of celluloid roll film further revolutionized the process, making cameras smaller and more portable, and enabling the photographers to work more freely outside the confines of the studio.4
For the people of Shkodër and the surrounding regions, having a portrait taken at the Marubi studio became a significant social rite of passage.19 It was an opportunity to document one's family, social status, and cultural identity for future generations. The resulting prints were not disposable images but treasured family heirlooms. This is why the Marubi archive today consists almost entirely of negatives; the original prints were purchased by the clients and are still preserved in the homes of many Albanian families, a testament to the personal value of these images.22
The studio's role, however, transcended its commercial and artistic functions. It evolved into a crucial "third space" in the cultural and political life of Shkodër. It was an intermediary zone, distinct from the private domestic sphere and the public sphere, which was still under the control of Ottoman authorities. Within the studio's walls, a modern Albanian identity was not just being passively recorded; it was being actively imagined, performed, and constructed for the camera. For the nationalist elite who gathered there, sitting for a portrait was a political statement—a visual declaration of their cultural pride and their aspirations for an independent nation.5 The studio thus became a quiet but powerful crucible for the formation of a national identity, one photograph at a time.
The four photographs selected for public display at the Biblioteka Ulqin - Ulcinj offer a curated cross-section of the Marubi archive's vast scope. Together, they create a powerful narrative of regional identity, social diversity, and cultural values during the final decades of Ottoman rule. Each portrait is a window into a specific facet of this vanishing world, from the coastal traditions of Ulcinj to the urban elegance of Shkodër and the martial honor of the highlands.
| Photograph Title | Photographer | Approx. Date | Subjects | Key Cultural/Historical Significance |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Woman from Ulcinj | Pietro Marubbi | c. 1880 | Anonymous woman | Documents the specific traditional folk costume of the coastal city of Ulcinj, highlighting regional diversity. |
| Shaqe and Lulme Shkodra | Kel Marubi | c. 1890s | Two women from an urban family | Showcases the distinct, Ottoman-influenced attire of Shkodër's social elite, marking class and urban identity. |
| Hamz Kazazi and Son | Pietro Marubbi | 1876 | Hamz Kazazi and his son, Ali | Embodies the archetype of the Albanian highlander and warrior-patriot from the Gjakova region. |
| "Arápi i Rí'os" and Kola Idromeno | Pietro Marubbi | c. 1878 | A guard of hero Oso Kuka and the brother of artist Kolë Idromeno | A powerful depiction of warrior culture, featuring the fustanella and traditional weaponry, linking martial and artistic worlds. |
This portrait is a classic example of 19th-century ethnographic photography, a genre that sought to scientifically document the diverse "types," customs, and costumes of cultures around the world.23 Pietro Marubbi, with his European training and artistic sensibility, was a key practitioner of this genre in the Balkans. His work served a dual purpose: it provided the local population with a means of preserving their cultural identity, while also satisfying a growing European curiosity for the peoples of the "Orient," a category that often included the less-familiar regions of the Ottoman Empire.26 The photograph frames the anonymous woman from Ulcinj not just as an individual, but as a representative of her specific community, her identity visually encoded in her traditional attire.
The woman's costume is a rich text of cultural and geographic information. While specific 19th-century details for Ulcinj are scarce, analysis based on broader regional patterns of coastal Montenegrin and Albanian dress reveals its significance.28 The central garment is the embroidered vest, known as a jelek or koret, worn over a wide-sleeved blouse likely made of linen or cotton.28 The intricate embroidery on the vest and apron would have been a marker of skill and status, with patterns passed down through generations. The materials reflect a coastal economy and climate, distinct from the heavy, dark woolen garments, such as the xhubleta, worn by women in the northern Albanian mountains.32 The head covering and the overall composition of the outfit communicate a distinct local identity, tying the subject inextricably to the city of Ulcinj.
The anonymity of the subject is itself significant. In the patriarchal society of the 19th-century Balkans, a woman's individual identity was often secondary to her role within the family and the community.34 She is presented here as the embodiment of "a woman from Ulcinj," her personal story subsumed by her representative function. Yet, Marubi's portraiture transcends mere documentation. He captures her with a direct, steady gaze and a dignified posture. She is not an exotic object to be passively observed, but an individual with a powerful presence. In this act of photographic preservation, Marubi grants a form of permanence to the unrecorded lives of countless women of her time and place, celebrating a local heritage that is both distinct and part of the broader cultural tapestry of the region.
In stark contrast to the folk costume of the Ulcinj woman, this portrait of Shaqe and Lulme Shkodra serves as a visual document of social hierarchy and urban identity in the late Ottoman period. The photograph transports the viewer from the world of regional folk tradition into the sophisticated, cosmopolitan milieu of Shkodër's upper class. Their clothing is a "social text," meticulously composed to communicate wealth, status, and a distinct urban sensibility heavily influenced by Ottoman courtly styles.7
The attire of the two women is a study in elegance and refinement. The long, flowing garments, likely crafted from expensive imported materials such as silk and velvet, differ fundamentally from the homespun wool and linen of rural dress.32 The ornate, long vests (anteri or similar garments) and the delicate fabrics speak to a life removed from manual labor, a key marker of bourgeois status.38 This style reflects the deep cultural and aesthetic impact of the Ottoman Empire on the administrative and commercial centers of the Balkans. The urban elite of cities like Shkodër often emulated the fashions of Istanbul, signaling their social standing and their connection to the wider imperial world. This portrait thus highlights the significant cultural divide between the city and the countryside, demonstrating the Marubi studio's crucial role in documenting the era's complex social stratifications.
This photograph was taken by Kel Marubi, the second-generation head of the studio, and it may reflect his more interactive and narrative photographic style. While Pietro's subjects often posed in a more formal, static manner, Kel was known for his "careful direction" of his sitters.5 One can observe this in the subtle interaction between the two women—their proximity, the way their garments overlap, and their shared, calm gaze. Kel arranges them not as separate figures but as a cohesive unit, their relationship central to the composition. He allows them to "act out their lives," creating a quiet dialogue within the frame that speaks to their shared social world.5 The portrait is not just about what they are wearing, but who they are in relation to one another and their society. It provides a window into the lives of Shkodër's bourgeoisie—a class of educated merchants, landowners, and professionals whose families were often in contact with European centers like Venice and Trieste, fostering a unique blend of Ottoman, Balkan, and Western influences.40
This powerful and iconic portrait captures the archetypal image of the Albanian highlander, or malësor. The subjects, Hamz Kazazi and his son Ali, are presented not merely as individuals but as embodiments of a proud, martial culture rooted in the rugged mountains of the Gjakova region (in modern-day Kosovo). Their unwavering, direct gaze and defiant posture convey the core values that governed highland society: honor (nderi), strength, and the patriarchal authority that passed from father to son.
Every element of their attire is rich with cultural symbolism, a visual language understood throughout the Albanian-inhabited lands. The most prominent feature is the qeleshe, the white, brimless felt cap that is a quintessential emblem of Albanian identity.33 Worn by men across different regions and religions, it served as a powerful unifying symbol. Their decorated vests, or xhamadan, are intricately embroidered, a sign of status and regional pride.33 The wide sash, or brez, cinching the waist is both decorative and highly functional, designed to hold an arsenal of personal weapons, including pistols and the formidable yatagan short sword.43 This clothing was not a costume but a uniform, signifying a man's readiness to defend his family, his clan, and his honor.
The main subject, Hamz Kazazi, was a historically significant figure. He was a leader of the Uprising of Shkodër in 1835, a major revolt against the centralizing Tanzimat reforms of the Ottoman Empire, which sought to curtail local autonomies.44 By photographing a well-known patriot and rebel, Pietro Marubbi was not just creating an ethnographic type; he was documenting a key personality of the Albanian resistance movement, preserving the image of a man who represented the fierce spirit of independence that characterized the highlands.
This portrait, however, exists within a more complex archival context that reveals much about the nature of historical memory. For decades, a different photograph, dated 1858 and also attributed to Marubi, was widely celebrated as the definitive portrait of Hamz Kazazi and hailed as the "first Albanian photograph".15 Yet, recent scholarship and a critical re-examination of historical records have cast serious doubt on this attribution. Archival documents from Istanbul show that Hamz Kazazi was in exile there from 1856 until late 1859, making it physically impossible for Marubi to have photographed him in Shkodër in 1858.47 Further research suggests that the subject of the famous 1858 photograph may in fact be the Italian consul in Shkodër, Alessandro De Rege di Donato, posing in traditional Albanian attire—a common practice for European dignitaries at the time.16 This controversy does not diminish the power of the 1876 portrait displayed in Ulcinj, which is likely correctly identified. Instead, it adds a crucial layer of understanding. It shows that photographic archives are not static repositories of objective truth but are living entities, subject to misidentification, the creation of national myths, and critical re-evaluation. The story of the two Kazazi portraits demonstrates how a single image can become an emblem of national identity, even if its historical basis is later challenged, highlighting the fluid and often constructed nature of historical narratives.
Arguably one of the most famous and compelling images from the entire Marubi collection, this double portrait is a masterful depiction of the Balkan warrior ethos, while also subtly linking it to the world of art and culture. The subjects are presented in full martial regalia, their formidable appearance a testament to a society where strength and honor were paramount virtues.
Their attire is dominated by the fustanella, the pleated, kilt-like garment that is one of the most recognizable symbols of Albanian and Greek martial tradition.43 With historical roots tracing back to ancient Illyrian dress, the fustanella became the characteristic uniform of Albanian warriors serving within the Ottoman military. Its practicality in combat and its distinctive look made it a powerful emblem of bravery, heroism, and resistance, worn by celebrated figures like Ali Pasha of Yanina.43 The sheer number of pleats, sometimes hundreds, was a sign of a man's wealth and status.
The subjects' belts bristle with an impressive arsenal of weaponry, a clear declaration of their status as fighting men. Prominently displayed are their pistols and their yatagans, the signature sidearm of the Ottoman infantry.51 This short sabre, with its distinctive forward-curving blade and guardless hilt, was a deadly weapon in close-quarters combat.53 In the context of the Albanian highlands, carrying such weapons was not a sign of lawlessness but an expression of a man's duty to protect his honor and his family, a right and responsibility deeply ingrained in the culture.
The identities of the two men create a fascinating juxtaposition of the worlds of the warrior and the artist. The figure on the left is a well-known personality from Shkodër, identified as "Arápi i Rí'os" (The Black Man of Shkodër), who was a guard and companion of the legendary Albanian national hero, Oso Kuka (c. 1820-1862).55 This connection is profoundly significant. Oso Kuka became an immortal figure in Albanian lore for his heroic last stand in 1862 on the island of Vranjina. Besieged by a vastly superior Montenegrin force, he and his small band of warriors defended a tower to the last man. Rather than surrender, Kuka ignited the gunpowder magazine, blowing up the tower and killing himself, his men, and hundreds of the enemy soldiers.55 This act of ultimate sacrifice made him a symbol of Albanian resistance and a central figure in national epics.55 The presence of his guard in this portrait directly invokes this powerful legacy of heroism. The man on the right is Kola Idromeno, brother of the celebrated artist Kolë Idromeno (1860-1939)—a painter, architect, and photographer who was himself a student and close associate of Pietro Marubi.3 This pairing brings together two pillars of the Albanian National Awakening: the martial tradition of the heroic warrior and the cultural flourishing of the new artistic and intellectual class.
This photograph can be interpreted as a visual representation of the intangible but all-pervasive cultural code of besa. Besa is an Albanian concept that translates literally as "to keep the promise," but it encompasses a complex set of values at the heart of the traditional code of conduct known as the Kanun.60 It is a sacred oath of honor that dictates loyalty, hospitality, the protection of guests at any cost, and unwavering bravery.62 The heroic sacrifice of Oso Kuka is seen as a supreme example of fulfilling one's besa to defend one's land and people. The proud, armed posture of the two men, their symbolic attire, and their direct link to the saga of Oso Kuka all serve to visually articulate this profound cultural code. The photograph captures not just two individuals, but the very essence of the honor, chivalry (burrni), and bravery (trimni) that defined the identity of the highland warrior.61
The journey of these four photographs from 19th-century glass plate negatives to a 21st-century public art display is a story in itself. It reflects the tumultuous history of Albania and the ongoing efforts to preserve, interpret, and reclaim a vital part of its cultural heritage. The Marubi archive is not a static collection; it is a living entity whose meaning has been contested and reshaped by the political and social forces of the last century.
The end of the Marubi dynasty marked the beginning of a new and perilous chapter for its unparalleled collection. With the consolidation of communist rule in Albania after World War II, all private enterprises were systematically dismantled. In the early 1950s, Gegë Marubi, the last of the dynasty, was forced to relinquish his private studio and join a state-controlled photographic cooperative, a move that stripped the studio of its independence and subjected it to the ideological demands of the new regime.1
The archive's fate was sealed in 1970 when Gegë Marubi formally donated the entire family collection—comprising what is now estimated to be over 500,000 negatives—to the Albanian state.1 This act, often described as a donation, was in reality a decision made under immense pressure. In a totalitarian state where private property was abolished, it was impossible for an individual to maintain, protect, and promote such a vast and historically significant archive. Handing it over to the state was the only viable means of ensuring its physical preservation, even if it meant sacrificing control over its interpretation.1
This state appropriation proved to be a double-edged sword. While the physical negatives were preserved, their meaning was actively manipulated. The communist regime recognized the power of these images and used the archive to "feed the communist propaganda machine".10 Historical photographs were often cropped, retouched, or presented with new captions to align with the state's official narrative of history. Figures who fell out of political favor could be literally excised from the visual record, while images of folk life were used to promote a sanitized and state-approved version of national culture.66 The archive, therefore, became a site of political contestation, a battleground where the past was reshaped to serve the present.
The fall of communism in the early 1990s opened the door for a critical re-evaluation of this legacy. The culmination of this effort was the inauguration of the Marubi National Museum of Photography in Shkodër in 2016.10 Housed in a restored historic building designed by Kolë Idromeno, the museum represents a monumental act of cultural reclamation. As a modern, professionally curated institution, supported by national and international partners and recognized by UNESCO's Memory of the World Register, the museum's mission is to preserve, study, and present the archive authentically, acknowledging the complexities of its history.68
The public display of the four Marubi photographs on the wall of the Biblioteka Ulqin - Ulcinj is a direct extension of this mission. It is a deliberate and meaningful curatorial act that brings the archive out of the museum and into the public sphere. By selecting these specific images, the curators have crafted a narrative that connects the local history of Ulcinj with the broader regional culture of Shkodër and the northern highlands. It celebrates a shared heritage that predates and transcends modern national borders, fostering a sense of connection between contemporary residents and their ancestors. This public exhibition transforms the library wall into a dynamic interface with the past, making historical memory an integral part of the city's daily life.
For artists, researchers, and the public, the digital revolution has opened new avenues for engaging with this historic collection. The Marubi National Museum of Photography is undertaking the monumental task of digitizing its vast archive, making a portion of this cultural treasure accessible to a global audience.
The museum's online archive is the primary portal for exploring the collection. It currently features approximately 51,000 high-resolution images, which represents about 10% of the more than 500,000 negatives held by the museum.14 The digitization work is an ongoing process, with more images being added over time. This resource allows users to search for photographs by photographer, subject, and date, offering an invaluable tool for in-depth research and creative inspiration.
To directly access and explore this collection, the following resources are recommended:
For a richer comparative analysis, exploring other digital archives of Balkan and Ottoman-era photography can provide crucial context:
The photographs on the wall of the Biblioteka Ulqin - Ulcinj are, in conclusion, far more than decorative historical prints. They are active agents of cultural memory, the visible legacy of a pioneering artistic dynasty. They represent a bridge to a complex and transformative period in the region's history, sparking a dialogue between past and present, between Shkodër and Ulcinj, and between the individuals in the frames and the viewers on the street. For the contemporary artist, they are not static relics to be admired, but a rich, living archive waiting to be reinterpreted, offering endless possibilities to engage with the enduring stories of the southeastern Adriatic coast.