Concrete Dust

Smoke rises in front of the facade of a prefabricated building. An orange excavator drives slowly over a construction site. The hammer blow of a worker hitting a metal surface on the roof of a prefabricated building. Between the ruins and skeletal building projects of the Soviets, a cowherd gallops along the animals of his herd. Lenin stands stoically on a pedestal, waving his hand guidingly. A shaman lights a juniper berry bush and adores the engine of a car, praying. Two patients are sitting in a blue waiting hall. Tones and sounds of a cleansing ritual penetrate through the walls. In the treatment room opposite, a woman sits with a shaman, a red thread braided around her hands. Concrete dust is a web of moments in an undefined post-Soviet periphery.