Willow is a tree of childhood. Mine, for sure. It stood by a pond, not far from my grandmother’s house in a Belarusian village. Tall and mighty, with long weeping branches that trailed into the water and swayed in the light wind, it always seemed half-asleep, half-alive – breathing with the world around it. My sisters and I loved to climb it. It felt like a wise, kind grandmother – steady and gentle, the kind that stays in your heart long after you’ve grown up.
One summer, my husband and I visited the places of his childhood. We stopped in a village where he had spent many of his summers with his grandmother. There too, by a stream, stood three great willows he used to climb – trees that had also left their mark on his memory. It seems everyone has their own willow.
There’s a saying: “The trees used to be taller, and the grass greener.” And in many ways, it’s true. When we return to the places of our childhood, the road that once felt endless turns out to be just a five-minute walk; the wide river, a narrow stream; and our grandmother’s huge house, just a small wooden cottage. Yet somehow, in some incredible way, the willow remains the same – mighty, wise, kind, and a little bit magical.
Some trees are special – they hold more than just a trunk and branches. We remember them not so much for what they are, but for what happened around them, in their quiet presence. They become a thread that connects us to memory – to moments and people who may no longer be near. A place, a scent, a shimmer of light, a touch, a conversation, a certain mood – all of it weaves together into an enveloping sense of remembrance.
The Branches project is about those kinds of memories – about how a tree can evoke a sense of connection with the world: with the earth, the air, and with time itself. Here, the tree is not merely an image of nature, but a point of entry – a bridge between the visible and the unseen, the outer and the inner.
The kinetic form captures the living breath of these memories – like branches that fall still, then stir again in a gentle wind. Each piece follows the rhythm of a particular tree, yet speaks less of form and more of feeling. Glass and brass give the tree a different nature: no longer alive, yet somehow bringing life back.
WILLOW(version 2)
70 × 70 × 170 cm
BIRCH
130 × 250 cm
A dreamy village summer – a sunlit birch grove where a narrow path winds beneath lithe, shimmering branches that flutter in a breeze too soft to ease the heat. The neighbor’s geese graze with quiet dignity among the white trunks, while the three of us – my mother, my sister, and I – walk slowly toward the reservoir.
The three-dimensional stained glass work “Birch” – lithe and shimmering, its branches fluttering gently, carrying a touch of magic – just like in childhood.
