Wallpaper is a longstanding Soviet and Russian tradition.
No flat is complete without its load of gaudy / funky / retro “обой”.
Mine was green – bright green – with vine leaves … It peeled and decayed. Time was its aggressor, and life it’s accomplice.
To free one’s mind, one must peel away the layers of pretense that cloud one’s judgement, to free one’s flat, one must peel away layers of wallpaper…
And hope for the best.
This is what I found…
The kitchen is the heart of my flat. It is the only place to sit.
Sit down on my formica stool, enjoy many hours of comfortable balancing upon its rigid form. My stool likes you. You should like it too.
My oven likes you too. It just doesn’t appreciate being used for anything other than storage. It has two settings : fires of Hell and cold.
My cabinets love you. They love to hide things on you. They enjoy wobbling and popping out to surprise you. They don’t mean to hurt you with their hardened corners. They just don’t know their strength.
My wall, however, does not like you. Or your mother. Not even your sister or your cousin. My wall hates you because you know me. I am sleeping with Lenin. I stole her clothes and forced her to bear her scars to the world.
The wall is naked.
The wall is angry.
But not for long.
Lenin has a plan. A NWP.
The Shit Hits The Fan
There are many weird and wonderful things inside my head… But what was hiding behind the wallpaper was far more surprising.
I feel relieved that I have managed to extirpate myself from this destructive relationship…
My wallpaper had too much to hide.
The Soviet Flat Conundrum is the brainchild of my shitty wallpaper.
I have been living with my shitty wallpaper for nearly a year now.
It has been the closest relationship I have had for a long time.
But sadly enough, I am a commitment-phobe … And the time has come to part ways.