My grandmother committed suicide. She died the year I was born, and that's the only thing we have in common.
She came to us in October, a week before my mother went to the maternity hospital. She sent her clothes and cranberries in parcels not to carry them in hands and then left.
Grandmother was born in 1916. She got married and divorced after the birth of her daughter. She named the child Lubov and sent her to an orphanage.
She describes the way in letters to my grandfather in detail: what was sold at the station, and who was on the train, and how many times the departure was postponed, and about her felling dizzy because of the stuffiness. She wrote that no one met her, and how she was looking for our house at night.
My grandmother was diagnosed with schizophrenia after the war. There is an extract from the hospital in her pension file. I have no other documents.
She loved food and wrote about it to my grandfather. She told what food she bought, what she cooked. She asked him how he liked the fish pie, how much green peas and dry peas to buy, how many hours they keep pollock in milk, how long they were waiting in a line for eggs. She also worried about the parcel with the cranberries - it's still delayed.
Grandma was afraid of food. Everyone wanted to poison her. Every year her observation in the hospital took more time.
She began to get tired. There was still no parcel with the cranberries.
Grandmother was discharged from the hospital on 27th December. She died on 7th January.
She packed her things, peas, and sent them by post so that she would have to carry the luggage herself.
My grandmother had 4 children.
Grandma had no children.
Grandmother's name was Valentina Konstantinovna.
Grandmother's name was Marina Veniaminovna.
My grandmother committed suicide. She died 10 months before my birth, and it seems to me, she caused my birth.
I'm photographing a story about two women, about their loneliness. I make family archival photographs colorful with the help of neural networks widely used on wartime photographs. I mix everything with the delusions of schizophrenia and its isolation, with choice and its impossibility, with personal letters and official documents. I'm photographing my present story.