Running to the Edge Julia Borissova
In this series I have concerned myself with the way that history and memory are perceived through images. I explore a way of creating content around the photos through their physical presence as objects, connecting them with natural elements, thus highlighting their temporality. These flowers and petals mark the present, but at the same time they are a very powerful vanitas symbol. Black-and-white photographs mean a different era; they are a visual analogy of the idea of memory slipping away with time. The concept of this work is fragility and disappearance. In my work I turn to archival photos connected with the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the first wave of emigration after it. The people in the photographs are unknown to me. I found these pictures and the diary at a flea market in St. Petersburg. I don’t refer to my memory but to the memory of the nation. This memory is connected to the events from Russian history. The idea was to create an atmosphere of general, unspecified mourning for anonymous people through the medium of photography, the medium that is traditionally valued for its claim to authenticity.
Бегств на край 2014 г.
The former slave who is rebelled, He is the future smith and knight, Now easy lifts his hammerhead To forge the crown in deadly fight. The old chain’s links are broken now, And rather scary the revengeful hit For dead soul who fallen down, For everyone who’s old and weak... But louder beat the freedom’s smith And hills of breaking walls have grown, And loud voice calls People with… For free labor to make a throne. Hit the Blacksmith, crush all around! Triumph, the mighty heart, Hooray! Tyrants have trembled and terrified Awaiting their latest day.
The worst enemy among us is our ignorance. E. Debas Or you have to believe what I’ve said, as I’m telling you now not to pay attention. For the moment I can’t do otherwise. But I’m tired, so tired, you probably do not imagine how. As far as I know you, and your nerves are in a desperate state, and if I just can (it depends on you) change everything. If you anyway think that all...
Today’s parting Today we aren’t together yet! We went, less tears, our own way. This summer flash above my head Like sudden thunderstorm in May! But I’ll remember you till I’m live, Cos I can love only once, only you! Dreams of you in my heart will alive, Do believe I will never forget you. These warm summer, magical nights Which will stay for a long in my mind And these depth, these wonderful eyes Will awake the sad thoughts inside. I know the years will fly fast, The flowers bloom and fade away. You will mock my passion at last, You’ll betray me, alas, anyway.
L. Drizo, Old Russian Romance
But - it’s only a dream I had a dream that you caressed me, I cried tears of joy, I loved you so much. But this is only a dream, Spectacular and tender. And you’re not with me. I’m alone again.
L. Kalishevsky, Old Russian Romance
You are a slave, a woman, When you love him. And you’re a queen, When you don’t love.
If the treason struck you...
He was from Florence, Palladia’s villa, and… She lived in Washington, At eleven p.m. by the evening radio she sent The message in the laconic tone: ‘My friend, tomorrow at seven twenty Let’s meet closer, in Paris, at least’ In no time, the fiery answer was ready: ‘Oh, Kate, I’m happy! Oh, heart, hold please! Tomorrow at seven twenty I’ll be in Paris’. She flew up to Paris ten minutes past seven, Her companion, Baron, ironically said: ‘I didn’t see where your “Selodon” was even’, She said: ‘My Friend, your insight was exactly bad’, ‘Oh, Miss, want to bet’? And she threw a peach towards Notre-Dame de Paris. Exactly at seven twenty two planes flew together And two hearts swirled in a mirage of love, finally!
If the treason struck you in the heart, If you cry of love and yearning so hard, If your might in this battle runs low, If this hurt bedevils your soul... If your heart is broken, if aches in the chest Forget all about it and drink to the last! What for all this pleasures, gladness what for? Any way our lives won’t be long, as you know. Give us the silence... only silence just give, Intoxicate our mind, only wine we believe! Then you drink!.. In no time, sparkle in eyes, Sadness and hurt – doesn’t matter for us! You’ll forget soon the sadness and grief, This moment is sweet – the wine gives relief, If your heart is broken, if aches in the chest Forget all about it and drink to the last!
He lived at the corner of Kalinkin and Sadovaya street And in ‘Peski’ she lived. On the ninth of August, on the perfumed sheet In the postal box a message was delivered: ‘In The Ysupov park, on the willows’ alley In the Post on the fourth week, at the end I’ll wait for you on Saturday, Nelly’ In this note that was said At the Easter he received this call And gathering forces remaining after all He playfully ran to the Ysupov’s alley But in vain. He was walking so long to and fro, But saw only willows leaning low In the hollow near the pound, One’s crumpled white note he had found ‘Until “Holy week” I was waiting for you, My dear, and so….. In another life now we’ll probably meet..’ That was all. Unknown author
You didn’t love me any I know, you didn’t love me any The stranger I’m for you, not more, What for you ‘play with me the devil’ You laughed at me, Please say what for. Although in outburst of anger Sometimes I send the curse on you, It for my torments paltry payment I anyway unfortunately love you! You played without any feeling, You knew – you were for me the ‘All’, You promised me the happy living But couldn’t give me it at all. For your regret I am not worthy even I kill myself cos of my passionate love, You are my angel, you’re my thrilling evil That’s why I love you even more. All in my life I tossed to your feet, All my attention, passion, all my soul! What else you want, please let me see You want my life? – I’ll give it to you all. I’ve come through torments of the hell And yet I’m suffering from you, I certain ought to hate you, well… But like a fool unfortunately love you!
A. Nikolaev, Old Russian Romance
Under your bewitching caress I’m reviving, I hope now again, My old dreams have covered me like waves And I wish love and torments to gain. With your kiss please oblivion give me, My heart’s torments only you can allay, Let my doubts forever leave me, And with kiss you my heart take away! I wait for these pleasures with passion, This sweet cup I’m ready to drain at all, Even if for this moment, for my aspiration In the grave I’ll go down after all. Let my mind prevent me again and again, That you’ll cease to love, you’ll betray Any way I can’t break your charm’s strong chain, I’m a slave of your beauty, so that is my way! N. Zubov, Old Russian Romance
I saw you in my dream last night And full of happiness I was as ever, Oh, if I can, oh, if I might I’ll be asleep and see that dream forever. I saw – you trustingly your head Then leaned to my breast. ‘I love you’ whispering I said And you repeated ‘I love’, fast. Alas, I see reality today Another see I in your eyes, I won’t deceive myself this way That was just simple dream, I realize. Now evil’s sparking in your eye, It only torments promises from you, It proves, it doesn’t lie, That dream has never been true. I thought that I was not alive, I thought in Eden sought my soul. Alas, it cannot be the real life And dream that can’t be true I know. Your sight can make me blind, I’m nothing, only dark is in my soul, I’m fated now to love that, why? What cannot be achieved at all.
N. Sorokhtin, Old Russian Romance
Two lives are in a cold hut, Two hearts - hostile and close. One is tempered in the fight, Another is rotten in prayers.
Oh! You who died in the proud fights Sleep, we’ll never forget it In the Motherland, reborn in lights The Great fest will be soon celebrated. The purple flags will light up At the Great fest of freedom, Old battles stayed in past wake up Towards the spring and freedom. But at the feast will not come All those who loved forever… Sleep, in the bed of honor, sleep calm, Heroes! We’ll be always together. D. Censor Tremble! He’s looking around, Spirit of hunger is bony and dire. Hunger of the People rose out of the ground, The People in torments who died!
The dream I was in Dagestan valley at midday’s heat, The metal in my chest forever knock me out, The deadly wound was heavy breathing yet And scarlet blood was dropping on the ground And lonely lying on the valley’s stones, I saw – rock scarps surrounded me like rim, The sun was burning their yellow slopes And cruelly burned me but calm was dead dream. I had a dream, I saw the home’s lights, I saw the evening fest, hell in my native land, I saw young women topped the flower crowns, And they about me some simple dialog held But one of them was like a dream, She sat beside but mind her wasn’t close, Her dismal thoughts there were about only him, About whom the only God that knows. And Dagestan valley she has the dream about, The loved body was lying on the valley’s sod From darkening wound the smoke was getting out And blood with every drop was getting cold. M. Lermontov
Translated by Yuri Krivobokov, 2014
Published on Mar 22, 2014
Self published art book by Julia Borissova 100 copies (signed and numbered) Hardback embossed book 21cm x 16cm (portrait) 58pp, with 24 p...