Emine Ziyatdinova photography: 2012

Monday, August 27, 2012

Floor Zero

Elevator doors open in basement level, I walk in the dark hallway and knock to the door. I do not notice any more how weird place is, neither how strange that 65 y.o. Russian man from Kazakhstan who invites me to enter a spacious room cluttered with a variety of objects, from a stuffed Tweety Bird hanging from the ceiling to religious artifacts from the Russian Orthodox Church. “All these once belonged to different people who lived in the building and moved out,” explained Yuriy. He strongly believes that our meeting is destined and he let me be present in his life..

I met Yuriy first time last winter, one of my friends mentioned he knows a psychic in Brighton Beach and gave me his phone number. Yuriy actually practices esotericism: he believes that numbers represent energy, and energy determines the nature of everything. He tells fortune based on date of birth. Yurius convinced that he has a gift from God and can heal people, he is proud of himself because he, “helped two people to heal from cancer.”

I am too skeptical to believe in all of that, but he definitely has some kind of talent and knowledge about energy. I wonder where did previously Communist party official and teacher learn so much about massage or as he calls it manual therapy.

He does different water and heat procedures to deal with hisheart or varicose veins problems. He is worried to go to free clinic because he does not have any documents.

He is nostalgic about free medical care in Soviet times, complains about how money rules everything in America and dreams to be important to the society some day again.

Friday, June 22, 2012

Re-packing memories

packing memories. packing these little objects from the past to move again. how many people i did not remember today because there are no material evidence of them among my possessions.
my possessions will fit two backpacks and camera bag. all others go to trash.
time to move on. the distance from home is longer and longer. is there is place for me at that home?
time for changes. is there is place in the world of expired egos, scavenge for work and recognition in the overwhelming flood of information and photography?