My memory is short—I can barely recall anything from childhood.
Now, finding myself in forced emigration, deeply immersed in homesickness, I feel a desire to recover my childhood memories.

In this series, I am trying to find a connection between that Soviet child I used to be and the person I’ve become here in America. I find myself reaching for traces of her, imagining what she might have cherished, the little treasures she’d have held onto. I let these imagined relics guide me, feeling for the thin, elusive threads that stretch through time. These threads I weave into the fabric of my life that has passed between the child in the old photograph and the woman in the self-portraits I’ve taken recently. I’m tracing these threads, hoping to stitch together something whole, through the mist of memory