Today, we are publishing an excerpt from the series “Freedom Photo Album”, which was also included in the book “Notes from the Darkness”.
“In this photograph, sunlight seems to seep through cracks in the dark sky. It decorates the trees, poles, and houses with warm, glowing lines — everything in the surrounding space. Perhaps it was this view that prompted me to capture the place. A place that became the backdrop for the turning point in my fate.”
Will in a fist, thoughts scattered
Will in a fist, thoughts scattered.
Black ravens roam my room.
Lonely feelings are gathered on the ceiling,
They fall down on my head with a crash.
I haven’t lost my mind, and quite consciously —
I breathe in this poison along with the air.
The fog doesn’t clear with age,
I search, I shout with a hoarse voice.
Will in a fist, will in a fist!
Believe me, I won’t give in to this despair!
My thoughts — scatter in all directions,
But ravens, don’t, don’t touch me.
I need fresh air, and I’m not afraid,
A ticket for a train, doesn’t matter where.
I’m not afraid to lose it all,
To start anew, wherever life takes me.(band “Nervy”)
Photography and the moment: reflections on fate
I’m trying to remember what exactly prompted me to take this photograph. In it, without realizing it at the time, I captured the place where I would part with freedom for a long time. It’s the very sidewalk where I walked towards my apartment, listening to music in my headphones, thinking about my own things—perhaps about plans and changes, or the series of everyday concerns. I was surrounded by trees that were losing their bright green color. Skirting around puddles left by the persistent rain, I felt a deep sense of unease and anxiety, as if knowing that something was about to happen, a turning point…
That moment came with a blow to my legs and my hands being tied behind my back. The music stopped, and a barrage of blows and questions began. I no longer saw the bus I had just stepped off at the traffic light. I didn’t see the leaves scattered across the asphalt by autumn. I didn’t see the clouds drifting above the city. I didn’t see freedom.
The gloomy, drawn-out weather seemed like the reason for my somber mood. On that day, I remember there wasn’t a hint of light in the sky, just a stretched-out gray canvas. Though I may be mistaken, because from the moment of my arrest, light became inaccessible. My head was always bowed, and all I saw was asphalt, military boots, and camouflage.
Years later, whether it’s 1-2 or 10-15 years down the line, almost every prisoner remembers their last day of freedom vividly. The sharp contrast of events splits life into “then” (a distant, now almost unbelievable life in the past) and “now” (a monotonous and oppressive existence). That morning, you wake up confident that by evening you’ll be sleeping in the same bed, after having dinner with whatever is in the fridge, but by the evening or night, you’re met with the stench of police cells, department corridors, and the officers’ jokes, which you have no desire to laugh at.
Reflecting on the day of the arrest, many recall signs as if they were predicting or warning of the coming twist of fate. Some regret not listening to their intuition, not paying attention to the gut feeling, convinced that things could have turned out differently — if only they hadn’t picked up the phone that day, hadn’t opened the door, hadn’t gotten behind the wheel, had acted otherwise.
Indeed, it’s unknown how many paths are set out for us, and how much actually depends on minor gestures that trigger a “butterfly effect.” But now, we are here. You can rewind the film as much as you want, creating alternate scenarios in your mind, which unfortunately or fortunately, didn’t happen. In reality, there’s only one try.
In this photograph, sunlight seems to seep through cracks in the dark sky. It decorates the trees, poles, houses—everything around—with warm, glowing lines. Perhaps it was this view that prompted me to capture the place. A place that became the backdrop for the turning point in my fate.
My mother often finds symbolic or prophetic meaning in such things. She so sincerely marvels at the rays of light breaking through, the unpredictable songs of birds, the falling stars, and other voices of nature heralding upcoming happiness, that you can’t help but feel inspired by her faith and hope.
All these sudden, good, bright, and beautiful things that seem to enter our lives like messengers bring us a charge of hope, sent by the universe in uncertain times. After all, we want to believe in something good. We want to be sure that in the darkest night, there’s still room for the long-awaited miracle to appear, just when it seems everything is lost.
Looking at this photograph, reminding me of the twilight of free days, I continue to find hope, crying out through the landscapes of the past.
(September 2022)