Switzerland. Flashcards
2023, polaroid Instax Square

Valeriia Temkina

I bring polaroid photo cards from each trip. They are about the material. Polaroids can survive both species and things by being a thing themselves. For me, one of the keys to understanding space and stopping time is street art, so it is the basis of my collection, like other urban views.

Dad, I miss you. Are you looking down or from the insidethat I'm in Switzerland?

Aare is a river in Bern with green water.
When I saw her for the first time, a long-forgotten line from Max Fry's book began to spin in my head: "I was born so long ago that sometimes I see green water passing over me."

The river is so fast that it can swallow and carry away. Two men undress, leave their clothes on the shore and swim.
But they're safe. An unaffordable luxury.

As a child, we had a saying: "More than two speak out loud". Hey, nuns, we're interested too.

At Christmas, everyone is a little bit wise. Even those who are not together, but one at a time. And cats are God's creatures in general.
Is she leaving or has she arrived?
And even the muffin, when it is eaten, is not in the window alone. Even "they" don't want to be alone. Therefore, they all move together.

Not everyone, one at a time, is unhappy.
The cow from Zurich condemns anyone who suspects her of melancholy.

But I cherished and nurtured my loneliness - a unique one, because I didn't know anyone in the country when I arrived. Just my supervisor. All "mine" stayed at home.

I was looking for friends through the camera's viewfinder.

Just don't eat it, please.

It was often good for me, but I always remembered the finiteness of my journey.

ЕAnother aspect is things found and bought at flea markets. This is both a story about the death of a thing and the finding of a new life for it. And a way to understand how people live in another country. Do they look like you? What items are they holding in their hands?

Each item acquires its own story - already in the head of the new owner. He loses the past, as a person can lose, and loses "his" person, gaining a new one. Or dying - on the street or in the trash.

Who is "dear Nicole"? The envelope is lying on the road in the middle of Geneva.
How did a woman who lost a scarf burn it with a cigarette? Did the wind blow away the ashes? Was it winter or autumn? Was someone smoking nearby?
A baubles, an earring, an elastic band: women lose. Women sew dolls, and put them in a box on the street: "Take them away." Why they are no longer needed. And wooden toys (shake, rustle), too.
"Brother Nicholas, pray to God for us," is written on the inside. And about us, and about us!
On a Soviet keychain found at a flea market in Geneva (which is surprising in itself), the church is poorly painted, they have stuck together in a strange golden spot.
The Dadaists from Cabaret Voltaire would respond with a black-covered book that consists entirely of the words "blablabla".
And the French artist Arlette Lauren Dry (the stigma allowed to recognize the author) knows exactly what a pieta is. Don't cry for me, Mother. Or cry if it helps.
Hang the keys to the heart at the entrance to the cathedral. And if you can't, go to the town hall tower. A matter of point of view.
Collect all the flowers of the Holy Land and send them home.
I've never been religious, but the best things I've been able to find are about faith. about the shortage
Heinz Keller, a print from a woodcut for Heidi Keller's book of poems "From the Hidden Middle". The artist from Winterthur, died in 2019.
Even the network resists any search - the simplest things can only be done by wearing a mask of another country. I only have Google image search on my side, but its links often lead to sites that I'm not supposed to.
I grab the titles of his books from the online archive, automatically translated from German:
Sometimes life seems to me like a dream full of happiness, full of pain and loneliness
I don't think you're going to jail.
The measure and gesture of silence.
Children's photos are clear and understandable.
Flour instead of gunpowder is a revolution without weapons.
Rise up with the light instead.
It surprises me that I am happy: the dance of death.
I am writing this on March 1st, and it seems to me that I am stringing everything together on one event.

"Then a small flower, unknown by name, will rest, and beautiful children will grow from its seeds and not die, the best, shining with light flowers that are nowhere to be found." A.Platonov
A.Amann, 1978 signed from the inside of the medallion. A sad, confused woman sells it to me at the Basel market. She has no experience or knowledge of English. And she doesn't want to part with him at all. And I can't even ask her, "What happened? Who is Amann?"

And then it's time to feed the pigeons and cook dinner anyway.

Can I think that I took some air, timу in the in a bottle?

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