For the last four years I have been studying the story of my family, again and again building upon my relatives’ pictures. I’ve been showing these old photographs to my kith and kin and incessantly making them reminisce some other details, reconstruct events in their memory, reiterate the same old tales. Eventually, though, the picture of my folks’ lives has not cleared up. Neither fresh data, nor attempts to recreate generations’ fates with the help of the exact dates have not let me even approach its understanding. At some moment I was under an impression that I was looking into a dark deep well, trying to make out the reflection from its bottom, but the mirror of the water had been disturbed ever and anon by the stones relentlessly falling from above, and there were rings in the water. As long as the memory itself lives and remains flexible, as long as it is not petrified, there is not a single chance at trying to bring to a halt this flood of recalls and capture images frozen in time. Faces of the past — past youths, lived and forgotten lives — never freeze forever. Images of the past, images of the whole generations of a family — they get farther away from the present, they are constantly revived in our multiple recollections — and they change relentlessly. Some of the features are erased; some of them come back to surface. Again and again we address our own and other’s memory and we have to finish writing family stories and to touch-up portraits of our own relatives. Previous ideas about of them disintegrate and multiply and doom upon us a whirlwind of run-backs: “And who is depicted on this photo? And who was she?” Even the experience of analyzing recollections acquired during one’s lifetime does not help achieve neither the absolute clarity of familial and personal memory, nor, at the same time, the impenetrable obscurity of oblivion. We are always somewhere in between, halfway to the truth. Or, maybe, at the very beginning of this way. 2013 Gioia Perrone (IT) on “Recall”: „The Russian photographer Bogomolova, is particularly interested in the theme of memory. Contemporary budding photographers have often developed this theme, but she manages to find an original, intense dimension for it. She seems to communicate to everybody, despite the connection with her personal family pictures. The rectangular-shaped picture is re-photographed and manipulated, using other materials. Old pictures are buried, covered in dust, trapped in glass sheets. Little home-made portraits show her family members who in turn show pictures of their old selves, lost in time but saved by the only thing that could have saved them. Photography. In Bogomolova’s art, a sort of flirt with dated pictures, often linked to her personal story, can be noticed. It is as if the author enjoys perceiving herself in time, being part of a personal and collective story at the same time. It may be the need to have a concrete object to think over, as the contemporary ways of expressing memory through images seem to develop endlessly“.