Another memory takes me back again to our family's wonderful country house; that day there were many visitors including two artists, two sisters, two kids, and all these amazing friends of my parents: a medical professor, a writer, a physicist, a scientist, and other artists.
There is an argument: Does a person need to be trained to be able to appreciate art? Can a person from a street without any background or education understand art, or do you need an education? They are loud and passionate and think totally differently from one another. I am fascinated as their voices rise, hands waving wildly in the air…
Someone lights a fire and the physicist starts a song and says, “This one is for you,” talking to my stepfather. Everyone joins in and they sing together his favorite folk song about simple love. Their voices are in harmony of warmth and tenderness around the crackling fire. We are somewhere on this planet, not far from Moscow, yet very far from an everyday life. I just love to be lost among them, unnoticed, and simply feel them; share their exuberance.
This feels like a different incarnation. How many lives have I lived through this body?