Thursday, March 27, 2008

I am from...

I am from color pencils, from dusty city playgrounds and grass between my toes.
I am from the tiny apartment with a view of a wide wide river in a big northern city.
I am from strict rules and perseverance, from Ivan who fought in the Great war and Elizaveta who survived the occupation, and from Natalya who scraped wallpaper for food and waited for Leonid to come back from the same war.
I am from stubbornness and melancholy.
From never tell a lie and finish every bit on your plate.
I am from hiding to read the bible and being Christened only before leaving the country.
I'm from Peter's window to the west, tea with lemon and honey and potatoes with herring.
From the parents who left everything and everyone to try and secure a better future for their children, the grandmother who grieved till the day she died, and the aunt who was left to care for all the elderly and dying.
I am from suitcases filled with black and white photos and memories, watercolor sketches in albums with poetry and carved wood boxes filled with treasured trinkets and broken jewelry.

I had seen variations of this lovely exercise on a few blogs, most notably on Kristin's, Susie's and Terry's. I have wanted to try writing this for a while and have finally come up with words that I like. If I wait anymore I'll probably come up with something different entirely. Maybe I'll come up with it anyway... hope you enjoyed it..
Evidence of artmaking will be seen here soon...

6 comments:

sukipoet said...

This is beautiful and sad and poetic. A lovely fragment of your life history. from this you could write a novel. From this I can see a glimpse of where your art comes from, it too is so poetic and full of depth, hidden pathways and original thinking.

Ahava Hopps Brooke said...

Beautiful and moving. Just like your art.

Vivien said...

Please make two copies of this, frame it, and give one to each of your daughters. This is a wonderful, moving tribute.

Kristin L said...

This is so spare, and yet rich with memories and stories. A moving tribute to Ivan and Elizaveta and Natalya and Leonid and Peter (and you of course). And to my ignorant ears it sounds so very Russian.

Natalya said...

Thank you all... a bit depressing it is... I should try one on a happier note. I neglected to mention that "Peter's window to the west" refers to St. Petersburg. When he (Peter the Great) built it he said he was making Russia a window to Europe...

Terry said...

This is so beautiful and gives glimpses of such a moving personal history. Those Russian names--so evocative.