postcards

Violins in a lost city and accordions of a ghost-town… This is where I come from and what I found upon my return to Russia. A lot has changed, but not much has changed for the better ways.

An almost deserted music school where I played violin as a child, a factory house and its dreadful smelly guts – I don’t dare to use word ‘interiors’ and the peculiar embellishment of piled up and unused objects that I always find in my grandmother’s house. These are the postcards of nowadays which are just like a flashback from the past to me, I think they shape a certain aesthetic value somewhere deep within me that I cannot explain: the patterns, the colours, the linear grid, the meticulous structures that seem to all bear some signs of life, yet it is not ‘life’ of presence, but it is the gloomy life of the absence, where in every nook and cranny lives a creature with its own proper ghost, be it a green lamp with a body of a shelf and a heart of a vase, or an oven glove with a tail of keys.

Please, do not judge, for these are my roots….yes, somewhat rotten.