On a porch.

Summer of 1989. My grandmother had this house in a village on a bank of the largest river in the European part of Russia. She and my grandfather build it themself.

After her, my parents lived here too. This little shadowy porch was made largely by my father as a part of renovations and I was instrumental in making this too, giving him a hand for long times, mostly by summer.

After them, I inherited the house but time was not right. Economic disasters and my intent to emigrate from Russia prevented me to claim ownership of this house, I had to give it away.

Today it is a total loss. But still, I am mostly sorry not for the loss of old house, but the loss of the old memories. This house was a house where my mother grew up and I grew up and my children grew up.

What do I have now? Now I have a house where my dogs grew up. That is it.