This year, I collected Soviet-era window curtains from abandoned sanatoriums in Tskaltubo, Sakartvelo. From those lace curtains, I sewed a skeleton—a kind of monument to the remnants of the Soviet past within us. It’s a final farewell, a wish for peace, and a promise to never let it resurrect. The Soviet legacy should pass away as swiftly and peacefully as possible, though the world is already burdened with too many wars. The tiny holes in the lace create space for plants and hogweeds to grow through, symbolising the potential for new life. Death isn’t just a moment of goodbye; it’s also an opportunity to welcome something new.

Name: Olesya Gonserovskaya
Born — Location: Russia — Georgia

My work has often revolved around themes of animateness and the capacity of objects or materials to respond when I interact with them. Since immigrating, this focus has shifted and intensified. Now, I find myself as a person more dependent on qualities like animateness and compassion in my daily life. It feels strange—almost as if I’ve become part of my own project, but in a way that’s challenging rather than enjoyable or comforting.

For the past several years, my work has revolved around themes of animateness—the ability to be alive and express it—and the capacity of objects or materials to respond when I interact with them. The success of my projects was often measured by the number of unplanned interactions they sparked with observers or passersby, and perhaps by how much my own creations could surprise me. Since immigrating, this focus has shifted and intensified. Now, I find myself as a person more dependent on qualities like animateness and compassion in my daily life. It feels strange. On one hand, it seems like I made the right choices, prioritising topics that genuinely matter to me. On the other hand, these practices have come at a cost—whether through the fulfillment of meaningful experiences or the challenge of navigating depressive episodes.