Irina Ruppert came from Kazakhstan to Germany with her family at the age of seven. Now, decades later, she is drawn back towards her heritage and roots. In Rodina images of home and small details of family life in Eastern Europe are portrayed. A man swings the scythe on a field, a grandmother sits in the dark, a little boy chats with a goat on his way to school. All these images touch the heart but also document the past.
Rodina by Irina Ruppert, takes you on a voyage, keeping you as the beholder affectionate yet distant, keeping you from judging and taking any specific perspective. The beholder merely looks on, quietly and dreamily, like a child in timid amazement. Looking at the grandmother, who sits awkwardly on the rim of her bed staring at a box that shows adults talking. Looking at the boy with the bike and the goat, at a child’s eye level. All pictures hold this aspect of observation and “attempt to understand”. Like the look of a growing child who does not understand the world of adults quite yet: the view from afar into a church, the funeral, but also the kissing parents. The book conveys such a quietness, soundlessness. I look at the picture with the turning man in the field and I don’t hear anything; it is like a silent film or like a dream.