Here is what's strange about my childhood memories: I do remember a lot, but it registers in my mind as if none of that had happened to me, as if I lived someone else's life. And I must admit, that's not the most pleasant thing to feel about yourself, I think we all wish to be wholesome, to feel that our childhood is our moral support and backup that gives us strength and energy. I can't say that I don't have any nice childhood memories, I do, but they definitely don't make the current me any stronger.
If you grow up in an ordinary family, like I did, you sometimes begin to invent "interesting" relatives. I wanted to stand out, so I began telling people that my father served in the German army during WW2, which he most certainly did not. But back then I thought it was a cool story. Yet, my father was quite an ordinary man from Siberia. Generally, Siberia is a place where most people are nothing but ordinary, there's definitely stratification in society that you don't see in St. Petersburg at all: people who served 20-25 years in jail and who didn't. I remember it struck me a lot when I first came to St. Petersburg.
I tried asking questions about my grandparents, but nobody could tell me anything meaningful. Some people said my grandpa was a soldier, some said he guarded prisoners of war. Which prisoners and where? Nobody could tell me that. That was the situation with my mother's parents.
My father's family were Old Believers. They were deeply religious, but their children didn't take after them. Yet, my grandmother kept her faith. I remember her funeral; all the rituals were followed. They wrapped her body in a cloth and put her in a coffin that had been cut out of a tree-trunk. According to traditions of Old Believers when someone dies the family should hold vigil day and night near the coffin. So the priest kept burning incense in our village house and it was completely covered in smoke and my parents didn't let me go to sleep and it all looked so theatrical to me. I also remember that particular smell of candles. I was a little girl back then. It's really hard for me to talk about my family. They were very ordinary and yet there's something intangible about them, memories don't stick, you try to find something to hold on to and it all just vanishes into thin air. But I want to remember, I want to understand where I come from, who I am.
This is why my work for Feathers turned into the quest in search for childhood, attempt to find and accept myself and my family for who we truly are. We cannot separate our lives into the "then" and the "now". I'm trying to bring it all together, come to terms with myself, one can call it therapy of some sort, but I hope that I gave the co-authors and the artists the opportunity to do the same.