I remember one particular morning from my childhood. It was August. I woke up in a big village bed, pressed my cheek against its cool ‘frame’ and for a while, listened to the sounds of the old house. A big sleepy tree was gently rustling outside the window. After remaining in bed a little longer, I opened my eyes and gazed at the empty space in that familiar room. A whirl of radiant dust was dancing in the well of a sun beam. Each particle, each thread was turning in the sun in different directions, flashing with mystery. It was a treasure, an alternate universe, before it plunged back into the darkness of the corners of the room. I lay in bed for a long time observing that universe. The planets were swimming down and burning in the last rays of the summer sun. The time was passing by like a slow river, like it would never do later in life. Much later I understood that sunny dust had been a gift to me on the last morning of my childhood. Everything that came later in life had a different depth, a different rhythm and a different value.

It is this sense of long lost mystery that I try to recapture in my photos. Guided by unexpected signs, and using them as bridges I come across the river where, on its bank the Time awaits for me forever frozen in that August morning. Trees, buildings, ordinary things reveal their secrets, secrets I was only able to understand during my childhood. This is my Garden where, as a matter of fact I will never be able to return. And only in the photos, exposed in alchemical solutions in the dim light of a red lamp it is possible sometimes to make out its vague outline. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Maxim Shumilin, 2010

 

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