In the past of every person is the perspective of a child. A child’s view is mostly a condition of wonder and curiosity — the adult world has little time for either — as neither are immediately profitable. The adult most often repudiates their younger self with some sort of puffed-up knowing offset by grotesque sentimental back glances. However there are occasional artists (mostly writers, Marcel Proust and Bruno Schulz come to mind) who know that adulthood and childhood are not separate but something like one long and curious day.
The works of art-director, photographer and writer Kirill Gluschenko fall into this latter, admirable grouping. Though his subject matter is the crumbly, modernist architecture of the collapsed Soviet utopia, read his writing and you will see that his perspective is not sentimental or merely archival — but a gorgeous overlay of a child’s awe and a poet’s ability to savor complexity. Not to mention Gluschenko is blessed with the rare combination of having something to say with the ability to say it really well.
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The works of art-director, photographer and writer Kirill Gluschenko fall into this latter, admirable grouping. Though his subject matter is the crumbly, modernist architecture of the collapsed Soviet utopia, read his writing and you will see that his perspective is not sentimental or merely archival — but a gorgeous overlay of a child’s awe and a poet’s ability to savor complexity. Not to mention Gluschenko is blessed with the rare combination of having something to say with the ability to say it really well.
🇷🇺🖖