Where I am now...
I am now a sophomore at Harvard University studying Slavic Studies, Visual Arts, and Theater. For inquiries about sand art performances, commissions, collaborations, theater design, (or anything else that comes to mind!), please email me at: email@example.com
If we've met, maybe we had a great conversation about art, or Russia, or perhaps Montana basketball. Whatever our exchange, I probably left you a little confused. If you are someone that I have confused (or intrigued!--woohoo) with my funny background, I have compiled some notes for you:
My first years were spent in Moscow, Russia. My parents, adventuresome-Montanans-turned-Russophiles, gave me (and my younger brother Kolya) Russian names and raised us accordingly until I hit kindergarten age. Some early Russia memories that have shaped my unshakable love for the place:
- rustic playgrounds of cold steel, chipped paint in bright colors, and babushkas with bundled babies
- the smell of beets, cabbage, cooking pelmenies
- black tea with sugar and milk
- Russian wrinkles—creases between the brows… and those characteristically cynical looking ones that connect the edges of the nose to the corners of the mouth
- lively, argumentative, creative children behind stoic masks of squinted eyes and straight, closed lips
Most hard to shake has been my inexplicable love for the obnoxious r-rolling, jumble of harsh consonants, and brusk tone of my tongue-twisting first language.
Upon discovering that my soft, city feet prickled at unfamiliar feel of Montana hay and untrimmed grass, my mother moved our family home—back to windy prairies, massive skies, and jagged mountains. And so began, at 5 years old, my conversion from a scarf bundled, serious Russian child to a horseback-riding Montana free-spirit. Memories of this life:
- A graduating class of 15 students—considered a large class, too!
- Montana Class C Girls basketball—my passion, my ____ (feat? obstacle? etc.) of 10 years
- uncontrollable giggling in the back of a truck on the way home from a tournament
- 2 broken noses
- 1 severed tongue
- 3 concussions
- countless “killers” with a tough woman basketball coach—(who I still admire like no other)
- defeats to bitter rivals—the town “next door” (a few hours away by winding dirt road)
- 5am shooting workouts
- 1am gas station stops on the way home from away games
- sweaty shoes littering the hallway
- pasta team dinners
- KATYUSHA— my ’72 Chevy from my grandpa’s farm, named after the Russian WWII Rocket Launcher
- our horses— Caliente Cat, Shotgun, Norman, Cash
If you're still reading, I will set you free! Thank you for your time. Hope you enjoy the website!
-- Dasha Bough