In the heart of Kapana, among the cobblestones, the aroma of coffee, and the lively stream of passersby, stands the small workshop of Venelin Draganov. His cheerful dog, Jaro, won’t let you miss Dаrvodelie—playfully inviting you inside to breathe in the scent of wood and feel the warmth that only a craftsman’s hands can create.
Although Venelin introduces himself modestly : “I am a volunteer, a woodworker, a citizen”, there is much more behind those words. He believes that wood has its own character, that every piece deserves respect. He chooses the material according to the project, but always “listens” to the wood—its texture, its natural forms. For him, it is a partner that has already lived for decades and should never be wasted.
Dаrvodelie is another stage of living craftsmanship in Kapana. A magnet for passersby, Venelin’s workshop is a place for conversations with curious tourists, with neighbors, with friends. Here, casual onlookers often leave as admirers, and admirers— as friends.
Photograher: Masha Mateeva, www.mashamatveeva.com , @ mashamatveeva.ph
From Venelin’s hands each day emerge objects ranging from tiny keychains, jewelry, and figurines to furniture and large-scale installations. Whether it’s a shelf, a chair, or half a boat for an exhibition, every piece is created with the desire to bring joy and comfort.
In a world full of plastic and disposable things, the woodworker of Kapana reminds us that true value lies not in the glitter but in the genuine. That aylyak—the local philosophy of unhurried living—is not laziness, but the freedom to create with heart. That change can hide in a little workshop, in a dog by the door, in a piece of wood turned into memory.
1. What does wood mean to you?
Wood is a living tissue. It has its own character, structure, and behavior. For me, it’s more of a partner to be respected, not just a raw material.
2. When did you realize woodworking was your calling?
It wasn’t exactly my childhood dream, though I do have fond memories of my uncle’s carpentry workshop. I studied advertising, but working with wood came so naturally—and it’s not far from my first profession—that creating Dŭrvodelie seemed the most logical step. Now, almost thirteen years later, I know this is my thing, my way of being myself within the community.
3. You care about forests and nature. How does this reflect in your work?
I don’t waste wood. I use materials from reliable sources and give new life to old pieces. Wood has lived for decades; it must not be squandered.
Photographer: Masha Mateeva, www.mashamatveeva.com , @ mashamatveeva.ph
4. How do people react when they step into your workshop in Kapana—do you see a change in their attitude toward the handmade and the authentic?
Sometimes they come on a recommendation, sometimes out of curiosity—perhaps even because of Jaro, who always greets them from the entrance. It’s rewarding when they leave not only with a new wooden object, but also with respect for the craft and for handmade work.
5. In a neighborhood full of noise and novelties, you work with something so old and primal as wood. Is this your way of “changing the picture”?
Yes. Amidst the plastic and the disposable, wood is a reminder of what’s real. It is natural, warm, durable, and always beautiful.
6. What is the greatest challenge for a woodworker today—the market, time, or people’s mindset?
Today, people are satisfied with easily accessible goods, while handcrafted work struggles to compete with factory prices. The market demands speed and volume, but I work with care and respect for the details and the material. Yes, there is a clash between commercial logic and the truth of craftsmanship. But the people who come to me are looking either for something highly specific or for something that stands apart from the mass-produced.
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