As I said, my dad was a tourist with a kayak behind the back. As a teenager, he used to take tourists to Altai and took me with him to some rivers of the native Voronezh heath. As a child I didn’t understand the great thing about those treks. Only over time, when my dad couldn’t row because of his heart problems, I felt the need to go back in those times to see the dawn over the river, glance on my father’s happy face, when he was sitting on the back of the boat in his ridiculous cap and smiling at me, even though he was tired of rowing. I felt the need to touch the water just to feel it or a water lily that is hiden in the reed, so my dad could take a picture of a falcon sitting on a dry bench. Now I miss it so hard, incredibly hard. I didn’t realise it then, but at those good times, with his Zenit and analogue photos my father instilled in me all his passion for photography, that is still alive. From series What The Water took away from Me / 2019 - recently