The Winter That Is Passing
What would happen if you suddenly discovered a forgotten archive of your own photographs? Imagine they were taken twenty years ago, and beside you in those images are people who may have long since disappeared. You look at streets, storefronts, and houses that have changed almost beyond recognition. And only in such a current of perception do you truly feel that time has always been stronger than you.
What happens to a person who leaves home for several months and then returns? Where does this sharpened clarity of vision come from when looking at the familiar? It suggests only one thing: that it is all within us. Do we choose to see clearly, to fully perceive what we know so well, or do we drift into a kind of dim forgetfulness, barely aware that we are living?
So it is here: the calendar winter of 2026 is coming to an end, and I have accumulated a substantial body of photographs. I understand that I could simply delete them and move on—my standards of selection are my own. But then I thought: this can remain.
Everything will change. Shop window displays will be replaced, streets and signs will shift, even the weather will turn. The snow will melt, and another season will arrive. Meanwhile, this collection stands as a testament to life—to a winter in Voronezh that is about to conclude.
Within it you will find courtyards by night and by day, photographs from the Left and Right Banks, well-known and lesser-known places—everything that may seem ordinary at times, yet appears extraordinary if seen as though for the very first time.
So here they are: photographs of a departing winter. Two hundred images. So that they exist. So that they are not forgotten.
And when there is time, I will sort through the rest. :)
The album is part of the publication “Winter (2025/2026)”.
