LANDSCAPE. PART I | 2014—2016
In 2014 my husband and I moved into our own house, where we settled down in the several rooms, while my mother-in-law planed to live in the second part. Earlier we spent a few years at the rented apartments, often equipped with furniture and kitchen utensils, but now we began to acquire hastily personal belongings. At the same time my husband's mother transfered her things accumulated over the decades — her own, things of her parents.
Sports cups, samovars, home library, photo albums, hundreds of videotapes, dried crocodiles, plaster statues, garden sculptures, a collection of samurai swords and dozens of kilos of clothes and shoes, including unworn, with preserved labels — all of these things occupied a room, where I hoped to make my artist studio, and then spread around the house.
This material and visual experience of the Other was attacking me, and I resisted it: I hid it in the depths of the cabinets, I secretly threw out it. I moved things from place to place. I cleared the space for my studio, but when I agreed with these things, I understood: this is the merging process of two families into the one, this is the moment when the story of two families becomes the one, when a variety of archives turned into a common landscape.