Never After Dusk

What began as a still life became a memory altered by imagination. A wooden box, once resting on my grandmother’s shelf. A red beaded necklace, forever woven into Slavic tradition. A nesting doll I’ve felt strange affinity with as long as I can remember. All those folded layers with limitless possibilities. Some memories of my grandmother come back like a fog. Her long braid, her worn hands, her hushed voice: “never open the doll after dusk”.

I often get inspired by old Slavic beliefs. They strike a chord in my soul that loves magic and the sense of the unknown. Growing up in the countryside, where time seemed like standing still, I felt very close to that magic. My grandma loved to remind me about the spirits and demons living in a nearby forest and I never could tell whether she was serious or teasing.

There was a belief that anything that could be closed – a box, a jar, and especially a nesting doll – shouldn’t be opened after dusk. That’s the time when demons roam, looking for places to hide. Open containers could invite them in and once inside, they’d settle into the household planting their otherwordly intentions.

“Never after dusk”
20cm x 25cm oil on wooden panel