Curtained window

2025

The houses of the old part of the city are turning into an archive of a bygone era. In my small town, these are two- and three-story residential buildings from the 1950s, where the families of the institute’s employees were housed. The city grew, acquiring new districts, while its old part was falling into disrepair, living out its last days. 

As if a dialogue had started by itself between the collective history of the city and personal memory, it arose through the layering of images of decaying houses and memories of my grandmother’s house with lace curtains on the windows, smoothly flowing into the ornament of fleeting time. Personal memory acts as a soft restorer, not returning the physical form, but filling the ruins with meaning and humanity.