TATYANA GRECHINA
artist, writer, creator
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artist, writer, creator
He was selling ice cream at a stand, but before the customer received it, he would hand it to his larger-than-life drag queen friend who licked it first. When the customer said, “You can’t do that,” the drag queen replied, “Sure I can – now it’s sculpture!”
At the end the hostesses themselves came out on stage in sparkly leotards atop florescent tights and capped with running shoes, throwing balloons and opening champagne for everyone in the audience.
The dance room was filled with dozens – even hundreds – of balloons and video projections of lucid bright lights which flashed on every wall and streamed across the posts and columns that held the high ceiling.
On either side of the room and intermingled with the audience, were several microphones. Every now and again, someone would say some words or present a monologue, mostly all in German.
Being that somehow I happened to pair my timing perfectly with the end of summer/early fall season - when all of the slumbering arts were beginning to wake with a fury - I stumbled upon some of the most interesting installations, spoken word and theater nights of the year.
Written at 4 am in Kiev, Ukraine. My great aunt’s kitchen table, orange streetlamp beaming through ornate lace curtains and cutting the color of icy dark blue.
Finding time and space to rethink the way I view creation has been challenging postpartum. I’m not even talking about making art or creating — just even thinking about it as a concept.