Kirill Gluschenko. Eesti: Pärnu, Tartu, Tallinn
№ 118 • Artist’s Book

200 × 260 mm, 304 pages
Edition of 10 copies
Gluschenkoizdat, 2016

[Excerpt from the editorial assignment] ...Don’t forget that you took a trip to Pärnu. We need to see paths in the pine forest, that smells like rain. We need to see a twinkling twinkle in the window of the hotel restaurant, mysterious, and you fly as a moth to it’s light, and the meeting with this light will ruin you — oh, will it ruin you! You will meet a woman silently smoking in the bar, and the barman, who diligently rubs already glittering glasses. You will start talking to this woman under a strange pretext, and next thing you’ll know — you are a part of some ridiculous and dangerous story. Next morning you’re opening your eyes and see the branches of the apple tree outside the window. You realize that you’re lying inside the veranda of a small well-turned wooden cottage, cozy in its compactness. Exquisite Estonian tableware arranged here and there in elegant disorder. Suddenly you hear a sound of a car, gently approaching the house by a needle-paved lawn. In the jacket, you find the envelope with a small message gracefully written. With an aching head, you spend an hour on the bus, that for some reason takes you to Tallinn, where you meet the mysterious Estonian girl. You wake up, again, in a hotel room — this time in Pärnu. The concierge, before that sullenly flipping book with the entries, seeing your figure, grinning and clearly sympathizing with your way of life, guessing about something that you yourself have already forgotten. But ‘the telegram came from the editorial office’ that says ‘immediately reply dot no news from you for three days already’ and so on. The green sea and the dizzying air at night, the tiny yellow houses, idle old men in flawless outfits, the interiors of bars, meetings with mysterious Swedes and so on, and so on. You have a week, my man. Let’s start with 30 pages, and then we'll see — I'm sure the story will write itself.