EuropeStoryA letter from my mom by Raisa Mikhailova
Time covers our memory like a peculiar stencil, leaving only separate spots - things we can recall. Some of these spots are clear and vivid; others are just vague imminently fading impressions.
Time covers our memory like a peculiar stencil, leaving only separate spots – things we can recall.
Some of these spots are clear and vivid; others are just vague imminently fading impressions. In this project I collect those tiny shards of memories; I collect them without plan or agenda, intuitively, incoherently, relying on things and places that connect me to given moments of my life.
Mom has been gone for more than 20 years now.In memory of Mrs.Inna Pronina, Doctor of Art History, my beloved mother (03.05.1938 – 15.06.1998). In the project I used photos from our family archives. [Translation: Maria Lopukhina] [Official Website]
We used to write letters to each other. We left memos saying “gone to that place, will be back at that time” even when went away for half an hour. And if sent from far away, letters would take up several pages. They contained thorough descriptions of all events, films watched and books read. This letter Mom sent me when I was at a summer camp in Krasnodar region.
The house where my mom spent her last 10 years.
As a child I loved cutting out from postcards. I imagined that with my scissors I set the figures free and they come to life
On the way to our country cottage. The bus would take us almost to our house in Moscow, so we never took trains. It was a long walk from the bus-stop, and I would whine and hang on Mom’s arm. I especially disliked crossing the railways – I was scared of trains dashing by.
Mom’s brooch. In this photo it reminds me of an eye. I’ve always believed that – sadly – I look nothing like Mom. She had blue eyes and mine are green – like my granny’s.
Mom was petit – 1,58 cm tall and slim, from behind you could easily mistake her for a girl. She was laughing when she told a story: once she was passing by a school and some boys shouted to her, “Hey you, girl!”. She turned around. “Oops, lady!”, the boys were really taken aback.
Birth certificate. Mom told me that grandparents tried to find a short name to go with a long and complex patronymic – Ardalionovna. So they named Mom “Inna”, but later found out that, according to the church service-book, “Inna” was a male name. But short first name didn’t help much – people would always mix everything up, so Mom was called: Inessa Arnoldovna, Inna Archibaldovna, Irina Artamonovna… Mom wrote down the most unusual variants in a special notebook.
In place of this vacant lot there used to be a five-storey house where Mom had lived before I was born. Six years ago my family and I moved to a flat that is only two blocks away from that place. I sometimes walk there with my younger son.
I keep having this dream, that I suddenly realize – I haven’t called Mom for a while. And I get so afraid because Mom and I used to call each other several times a day. Anxious, I call her home, but get a wrong number. I call again and again, there is only silence – the phone must be broken. I grab my cell-phone, search in the phonebook, but can’t find Mom’s number. I can’t wrap my mind around it – how could I forget her number?.. Mom died in 1998, she never had a cell-phone.
One of “our” places. We often met at “The Bouquiniste” – a second hand bookseller at Park Kultury metro station. We would go to the little shop and look through some old books. Then we set out for Mansurovskiy alley where Mom worked. Thursday was her “attendance day”, I waited for Mom to check in and then we went to an exhibition or a museum or to the cinema. “The Bouquiniste” doesn’t exist anymore; there is a copy-center in its place now.
I can recall very little of my mom’s funeral. I remember holding her hand when she was lying in the coffin. There was a small scratch on her hand and I kept thinking that it would never heal.
As a child I once asked Mom, “When people meet in heaven, how do they recognise their loved ones? After all, a person in heaven cannot know how the one that died after her would change with age. How can they find each other?”.”These are souls that meet in heaven”, my mom said, “And souls never age”
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Sight is a continuous stream of visual resources that allow us to understand and interact with the world, but memory is selective and interrupted. Coming from a Cinema background I tend to consider images for what they mean during a temporal dimension, and time makes them ephemeral.
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Summer heat, muggy weather, today is Sunday. The sea is far away, beaches are crowded, gasoline is too expensive, we can’t get away from the city. If we stay home, we would end up watching Formula One on TV, sleeping on the couch
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Ceremony of the funeral of god’s son Jesus. With the arrival of spring comes Easter week. It has centuries of history behind it and is one of Spain’s most authentic and emotive celebrations.
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Army complex from the time of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It lies by Metelkova Street in the center of Ljubljana, Slovenia. It was abandoned in the early 1990s, when Yugoslavia collapsed.
It’s another beautiful day in paradise. Dark, and rainy. It’s one of those days that suggest the beauty of film. F-stop wide open, the darkness and grain, the feeling of an impressionist painting.
These images are part of what I’ve called an “alternative family album.” With one exception, I constructed each work using vernacular photographs from archives discovered after my parents’ deaths.
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Submission
Dodho Magazine accepts submissions from emerging and professional photographers from around the world.
Their projects can be published among the best photographers and be viewed by the best professionals in the industry and thousands of photography enthusiasts. Dodho magazine reserves the right to accept or reject any submitted project. Due to the large number of presentations received daily and the need to treat them with the greatest respect and the time necessary for a correct interpretation our average response time is around 5/10 business days in the case of being accepted. This is the information you need to start preparing your project for its presentation.
To send it, you must compress the folder in .ZIP format and use our Wetransfer channel specially dedicated to the reception of works. Links or projects in PDF format will not be accepted. All presentations are carefully reviewed based on their content and final quality of the project or portfolio. If your work is selected for publication in the online version, it will be communicated to you via email and subsequently it will be published.
