Lesnoye 11
Summer 2026. Topic: Hospitality.
Strange hospitality.
Houses of hospitality have existed for centuries. The concept has evolved into more modern rules and conditions. We tend to associate them with poorhouses, flophouses, homeless shelters, and the like—places that, to the average person, carry a negative connotation rather than an appealing one. Yet, the concept might well make a comeback. The root of the word stems from the idea of the “wanderer” or “traveler"—a “rolling stone.” In Eastern philosophy, this figure appears as the dervish, the sadhu, the wandering sage-monk, or the artist traveling from place to place in search of work.
In Rus', for instance, there were icon painters—to return to the subject of creative work. In modern times, such prototypes have evolved into art residencies—if we narrow the scope to creatively oriented individuals. I had heard about this format long ago, but only ventured to apply this past summer. Lesnoye 11. The residency’s curator, Anna, gathers the guests. Whether the “card” is drawn by chance or by design, I do not know. In any case, the people who come together are those already deeply involved in creative processes: artists, photographers, videographers, and sculptors.
Judging by the accounts of veterans—and to my mind, the place’s greatest advantage is that once you’ve been to Lesnoye, you can apply for the following year and stand a chance of returning—creators sometimes arrive there completely “drained.” They simply rest, catch up on sleep, go for long walks, and—seemingly—do “nothing” specific while at Lesnoye.
The scent of the place.
A living space—uncluttered by the trappings of modern civilization, yet equipped with every essential. The *genius loci* is undoubtedly the blue pine standing in the clearing beside the house—a true focal point. It feels as though the tree’s age encompasses the combined lifespans of all who have lived here, those who live here now, and perhaps even those yet to come. At the table beneath its boughs, relationships are born, friendships are forged, and creative ideas and countless stories take shape. That divine summer was the wellspring of artistic visions and a profound sense of inner liberation. Here, for the first time in years, I truly SLEPT. I slept the way serene young children sleep.
The sound of birdsong, the absence of urban noise, and even the lack of cell service—it all blends into the harmony of the place. I arrived feeling a mix of apprehension and excitement. Apprehension, because—while I make friends easily—not every social setting feels comfortable. Excitement, because I was incredibly lucky: my creative “mom"—the artist and amazing woman Katya Kozlova—had arrived at the same time. I don’t have much experience with site-specific projects, whereas she has a wealth of it. I love to learn and grow, and this was a wonderful opportunity. Forest-bound.
The concept of space-time does not apply here. Time, as a physical category, does not exist here. You are switched off and switched on simultaneously. Even in a state of “inactivity, ” important processes are taking place.
Communication.
Yes, it is hard for introverts. Yet, for those in a creative slump, this is a crucial skill. It is about knowing not just how to communicate, but how to share and be attentive—even in the small, everyday details. Seemingly trivial situations often expose inner issues, revealing them to the outside world as well. Observing the “quirks” inside one’s own head is always fascinating. Often painful, too. But healing.
nature.
Hedgehogs, birdsong, mosquitoes, bumblebees, tiny frogs, squirrels, butterflies, and fry in the pond. A sense of primordial purity lingers, nurturing one’s own natural essence. The sudden joy of hearing a hedgehog rustle, picking out bird calls from the silence. An incredible sense of peace… The scents of grasses, lilacs, flowers both familiar and unknown—the very air alive with blossoms. The certainty that all of life’s little troubles can be solved. Every single one. It is so delightful that all the mental clutter simply drifts away into the clouds— and there are so many of them here, with such incredible texture.
And there is an overwhelming sense of existence—in the most positive sense, of course. The realization that we will leave, and then others will arrive and also feel and experience all of this, taking it deep into their hearts and souls… And that we will inevitably leave things behind for them—both practical items (food, for instance) and playful ones (figurines in the clearing, stones inscribed with words of wisdom, messages, and drawings). And they, in turn, will leave something behind as well, and so on.
As one spends time at Lesnoye, a warm sense of gratitude arises towards Anna, who chose to open up her dacha to such unexpected, often eccentric, and wild artist-guests. She stays in touch practically around the clock, ready to help with anything at all. She is the person who created a truly uniquely welcoming home! Thank you!
I will finish the projects I started in Lesnoy. I learned monotype printing. I also had the chance to work with clay and stones. I took many photographs for future series and for use in digital collages. I worked with wood and spatial forms. I collected a small herbarium—a photo series intended for future collages as well.
