Dusty piles of old toys and dried walnut shells stood between me and the lost evidence of my father's personality. Like looking at a satellite image of ancient ruins, through the window I could discern the general shape of the art studio behind stacks of waste. 18 years had passed between my birth, his death, and the present moment when the desire to live alone had brought me to the front door of this mansard. Of course, my father's presence was...

Тhe line of megalithic apartment blocks and crumbling facades wears its graffiti attire with utter disregard for current fashion trends. Beside its glass-clad neighbours in the business district, it seems strikingly anachronistic. If it were not for a detour in my after school commute that introduced me to this disharmonious section of the city, I might have remained ignorant of an entire generation forced into silence in my country. Twenty years after a helicopter unhinged the star insignia of Communist...

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