The most vivid and joyful childhood memory I was able to share through this photo series is the playtime outside my late grandparents’ house in Charentsavan, where I spent the first two years of my life and where I returned almost every summer after my family moved to Russia in search of a better life.
Years passed. At eighteen, I decided to return, and reconnect with my roots. However, little had stayed the same. My late grandparents’ apartment is now rented by a nice family with whom we remain close. Even though there have been no major changes to the interior, it no longer feels the same. It is no longer my childhood home, once filled with the smell of rosemary from the kitchen, my late grandmother’s favorite seasoning; with my grandfather’s engineering drawings scattered across the living room coffee table; and with my father’s early artworks hanging on almost every wall.
It is difficult to realize that, at some point, you are left with only memories of people and places that once felt like home. As the world changes, searching for childhood memories in reality becomes a search for parallels between the past and the transformed present. That is why I returned to my hometown and revisited my favorite childhood places, observing children at play and identifying parallels with my younger self’s experiences.
The photo journey begins from my childhood balcony, where I used to observe the street, searching for familiar faces to play with. Usually, my view was blocked by freshly hung laundry, forcing me to go outside and look for my friends from there, instead.
Whenever I overcame my laziness, I would end up outside playing volleyball with my girlfriends. After accidentally hitting someone’s car with the ball, we would usually run to our playground called the “Old Pool,” named after the giant Soviet pool in its center. Other children would join us there. A boy joining our games was rare, but always more exciting. With boys around, we often ventured beyond the playground, climbing trees and doing other risky but fun things.
At the end of every playtime, we visited our local church, seven minutes away, to catch our breath before returning home.
The children from my neighborhood, the siblings of my childhood friends, helped me recreate scenes from my past and share with you bits of my childhood memories, the colors of my hometown, and its people. Through these photographs, I attempt to trace the fragments of my childhood that still remain: in places, in people, and in play.
a young girl looking out of the window in the morning, checking whether any of her friends are playing outside
The young girl’s perspective. Her, seeing a boy with a ball in his hands in between the freshly hung laundry, which is slightly blocking her view
two young girls playing volleyball outside, while the neighbors are watching out for their cars
an old woman peacefully sitting alone on a bench in the playground
a boy walking around the old pool, where the girls are playing, too proud to come up to them and ask to join
a ball the girls are playing with, right before it hits the worn, partially broken-up asphalt within the pool.
a boy fearlessly playing on the pull-up bars
a man, painting the wall, which faces my childhood playground and includes chaotic children’s art
a young boy looking down at me after climbing the same tree I used to climb his age
the same trio from my previous photographs united together and brainstorming on what game they should play next
children playing with the fountain outside the local church, bursting into laughter after a failed attempt to drink and an uncontrollable stream of water splashing in all directions
the same friend group taking a break inside the church
