Castle

A thin little black dress I bought when I still had my old friends and my mother tongue around. It moves with me from country to country, from flat to flat, like a ghost, like an echo of what I left behind. To protect its souvenir essence I wove a case for it. I call it the Castle. Unlike medieval, bulky, stoic castles, mine is fragile and transparent. It is like a spider's web that appears and disappears before your eyes, and can fly with the wind. The walls of this castle cannot protect the core from the arrows of the outside world. And it doesn't matter: stone castles also can't withstand the onslaught of time and the ever-changing reality. I roll up my Castle. Inside there is a little bit of my old self, different languages, postcards, tears, expectations, passport photo. That's all the heaviness fluttering in the wind.

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The photos from the exhibition "Wanderings Inside A Waiting Room" at Szczur Gallery (Poznan), 2024

Photos by Liza Veselova