Mother Russia comes home

I bought her in Leningrad in 1991, shortly before the collapse of the Soviet Union. I had gone back to the Dom Knigy bookstore (House of Books, I believe that means) where I had bought propaganda posters in 1986. This time I was hoping for posters of beefy Soviet workers, emerging from factories, carrying hammers. What could be better?

But Mother Russia beckoned to me. She was gorgeous, floating above the Neva River, beribboned and beaming, surrounded by fluttering doves of peace. She appeared to have wings made from the pages of a book. Clearly, she was designed by committee. ("And now let's add a ribbon!") What could be better than beefy Soviet workers? This could be better.

She came in three pieces--a triptych--so I bought them, rolled them up, and went on my way.

Once back in Duluth, I realized how gigantic she was. Not billboard size, but still pretty big. Definitely what you might call sofa art.

I had her framed in wood and plexiglass (real glass would have been far too heavy for my walls) and hung her over my couch. Toby didn't seem to mind.

When I moved to the Cities, I gave away a lot of things--furniture, typewriter, clothes, stereo--but not Mother Russia. Mother Russia came with me.

For a couple of years, she hung on the wall in our front hallway. Here she is on our wedding day. (And that's not Doug in the picture, obviously. That's our friend Jim.)

And then we bought tall bookcases for that space and suddenly had nowhere to put her.

Enter Jim.

For the last five or six or seven years, she has hung on the wall of his clean, heated garage in Minneapolis. But last night she reappeared on our back porch. I came home from a late interview, and there she was, glowing in the dark.

She arrived in a typical socialist sort of way, with everyone pitching in: Jim is selling his condo and is decluttering. PMiller had errands to run anyway, so she borrowed a van from her brother, co-opted a niece and a friend into helping, and drove to Uptown, retrieved the good mother, and deposited her on my porch. (For which PMiller gets a box of nice chocolates, which is more than those Soviet laborers ever got.)

And now she is home again, still too big for our walls, still gorgeous and funky, still floating over the Neva. Her country may be in tatters, but Mother Russia lives on.