I’ve received an sms.
On March 19, at 00.00, Almaty announces a quarantine and restrictions on entry and exit to/from the city. Please decide on where to stay in advance.
I recall playing catch-up. If you make a roof over your head with your hands and cry “I’m in the house” on time, then no one can see and get you, and you’ll stay safe.
So I scream “I’m in the house” and make a roof over my head.
I make up some construction from my things to adjust the focus of the camera, then I get in their place and make a self-portrait. I want to fix on the photo that “I’m in the house” for now. Objects replace me, I replace them. The camera indifferently captures our moves and our equality. I follow the rules of quarantine, things inevitably follow the rules of quarantine with me or instead of me. Chairs grow into a pile under the icon. I’m taking a shot. I’m thinking whether it is appropriate to photograph the image of God. I can’t decide. I can’t understand whether he is looking or not. I can’t understand if the camera is looking at me or not. And who is watching when no one is there.
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