Writing about parents is both easy and difficult. It is difficult, because it is easy to be accused of prejudice and subjectivity. And for the same reason, it is easy, because subjectivity in this case becomes the highest form of objectivity — unrestrained childish love. I admire the photos of my father and admire them unrestrainedly and proudly. Just like my father, I make my living as a photographer. Examining the photos taken more than 20 years ago, I keep on looking for the answer to this question — how could he do that? How did he manage to take photos of not just people, but the whole human stories, which can be read from his photos?
Looking through the father’s photos of the end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s, I came to realize that the epoch in front of me was an amazing, fantastic epoch showing the most different life in Belarus. At first we wanted to take a few comments about that time, but our interlocutors remembered that time with such admiration and enthusiasm that we wanted to hear more. Valentin Akudovich, Vladimir Kolos, Nikolai Khalezin, Anatoly Gulyaev, Andrei Vardomatsky, Valery Kostyugova — they were talking about that epoch in such a way that it became infinitely enviable. They lived in that time and saw everything with their own eyes, and what is more important, they participated and created it!
So we decided to write down all these stories, not trying to look for the truth. We just wanted to know more about the Belarus of the late 1980s and, perhaps, understand what happened then.
Personally for me, this book is my ongoing conversation with my father, as nothing is lost forever, it just remains in us.
Dmitry Brushko, the son of Sergei Brushko.