(Prints size 103x100 cm)
Almost a year has passed since the «Russian World» has evacuated to the left bank of the Dnieper in order to terrorize the right. Kherson has already been pretty battered during this time. The air raid alerts sound here every 40-50 minutes. There is no point in running into basements and bomb shelters. You either have to live there or rely on God, luck, good karma, your option. The rackets of artillery duels is a common background noise here, similar to the rustling of leaves in the forest or the sea surf. Many buildings are damaged or destroyed.
There are less people on the streets, but more often encounters with foxes and owls, and mice in residential areas. A considerable part of local daily life is devoted to the fight against the latter.
The city has clearly aged, both figuratively and literally. Almost everyone who was capable of this left for a safer place; mainly those who sit on deep roots remained. My residence resembles a nursing home: only people over 50 sit in the courtyard. Those desperately struggling with an unacceptable reality (and their own liver) with the help of alcohol often flash by.
It seems that billboards asking Kherson residents “How Are You?” do not heal.
The few people who still meet on the streets often have emotional, loud and lengthy conversations with themselves or with someone else, but invisible, at least to me. Perhaps this is a cumulative effect and this is what victory over the liver and reality should look like. Perhaps most of them have had this superpower for quite a long time, but there are also those who acquired it after their liberation from the “Russian World”. After all, now the level of stress here almost corresponds to the level of “big city life.”
There are less people on the streets, but more often encounters with foxes and owls, and mice in residential areas. A considerable part of local daily life is devoted to the fight against the latter.
The city has clearly aged, both figuratively and literally. Almost everyone who was capable of this left for a safer place; mainly those who sit on deep roots remained. My residence resembles a nursing home: only people over 50 sit in the courtyard. Those desperately struggling with an unacceptable reality (and their own liver) with the help of alcohol often flash by.
It seems that billboards asking Kherson residents “How Are You?” do not heal.
The few people who still meet on the streets often have emotional, loud and lengthy conversations with themselves or with someone else, but invisible, at least to me. Perhaps this is a cumulative effect and this is what victory over the liver and reality should look like. Perhaps most of them have had this superpower for quite a long time, but there are also those who acquired it after their liberation from the “Russian World”. After all, now the level of stress here almost corresponds to the level of “big city life.”
