The new background on my blog is titled Оттепель by Фёдор Васильев (The Thaw by Fyodor Vasilyev). I saw this painting at the Tretyakov Museum on a recent visit, and it looks just like Russia in the spring, and it feels like Russia for me right now. I've posted fun things that I enjoy about the country, and I really do love living here, but Russia is no 24 hour carnival. Russians like to say that spring starts on the first of March, even though it still very much feels like winter. Though, spring is never really attractive at first. It's muddy, ugly, and cold...
Yesterday I went to the ice rink at Gorky Park, the largest ice rink in Europe, and saw something that turned my stomach and my conscience. A man had died somehow at the rink, and had been placed on a bench by the police. At first, this wasn't such a shocking sight...people die, and in big cities, you're bound to see this happen (I have seen it quite a bit in the past). I don't find death repulsive in and of itself, but the reactions of passers-by is disenchanting. The man, who was in his forties, looked fairly well-to-do, and was obviously just out for an evening skate. He was well dressed, salt and pepper hair, and had a bit of scruff on his face that was just graying at the tips. What perplexed me about this sight then? It is that no one, not even one person, stopped to gawk at this scene.
We stayed at the rink for about 2 1/2 hours, and the only progress that was made in moving him from the scene was placing a tarp over his freezing, pale body. And skaters, seemingly unaffected, continued to have a great date night, night with the kids, or whatever else they were initially doing. I've always found it disagreeable for people to stand around an accident scene guessing at what might have happened, but when I see the opposite, it's equally grievous. Call it vanity, but a large part of me would like someone to notice if I were to die. Something inside me wants society to notice when I'm gone, it wants to believe that my existence, or the lack thereof, makes a difference. What, then, is better, people who stop and stare at an accident like it's some kind of entertainment, or for an accident to be completely ignored? Don't take this as a cry for help from me, but more as as a representation of a thaw. When the cold winter starts to warm, it reveals the filth beneath, causing one to reconsider what's really important. Summer does come though, eventually...and I've always loved the more green seasons.
I guess my point is come visit Moscow.
Yesterday I went to the ice rink at Gorky Park, the largest ice rink in Europe, and saw something that turned my stomach and my conscience. A man had died somehow at the rink, and had been placed on a bench by the police. At first, this wasn't such a shocking sight...people die, and in big cities, you're bound to see this happen (I have seen it quite a bit in the past). I don't find death repulsive in and of itself, but the reactions of passers-by is disenchanting. The man, who was in his forties, looked fairly well-to-do, and was obviously just out for an evening skate. He was well dressed, salt and pepper hair, and had a bit of scruff on his face that was just graying at the tips. What perplexed me about this sight then? It is that no one, not even one person, stopped to gawk at this scene.
We stayed at the rink for about 2 1/2 hours, and the only progress that was made in moving him from the scene was placing a tarp over his freezing, pale body. And skaters, seemingly unaffected, continued to have a great date night, night with the kids, or whatever else they were initially doing. I've always found it disagreeable for people to stand around an accident scene guessing at what might have happened, but when I see the opposite, it's equally grievous. Call it vanity, but a large part of me would like someone to notice if I were to die. Something inside me wants society to notice when I'm gone, it wants to believe that my existence, or the lack thereof, makes a difference. What, then, is better, people who stop and stare at an accident like it's some kind of entertainment, or for an accident to be completely ignored? Don't take this as a cry for help from me, but more as as a representation of a thaw. When the cold winter starts to warm, it reveals the filth beneath, causing one to reconsider what's really important. Summer does come though, eventually...and I've always loved the more green seasons.
I guess my point is come visit Moscow.
