In the summer of 2018, I had found myself surrounded by familiar faces in an art gallery in the Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg, Russia. From every wall, I was greeted with the calm glances of Russian aristocracy long gone. Their round blue, brown, or grey eyes glistened in the sunlight streaming through tall windows. Rosy cheeks contrasted against pale skin on their round faces. They had the tranquil demeanor time grants to faces from the past.
I had never seen those people before yet, at the same time, I had. I saw this young man passing me by on the street. I saw this lady wandering through the museum along with me. And this round, small face painted in oil shows up in my own reflection everyday. The portraits provided me with insight into the facial features that my nation retained throughout time, connecting me with the past, present, and future. At once, I found myself in the portrait of a nobility unrelated to me, another young woman in the future, ready to discover herself.
I find ways to retain my sense of identity and stay connected to my community through art. I read Russian literature, searching for my own reflection. I always find it in little details, such as the way an author expresses themself, the setting of the story, or the very nature of the characters. In such books as War and Peace and Anna Karenina, I can easily relate and understand the motivations of the characters due to the kin Russian spirit. I also find myself in the music I listen to. The way we view love, friendship, and kinship might not seem to be different from the Western world for some, but for me saying, "Я люблю тебя" (ya lyublyu tebya) holds more weight than, "I love you". My community is alive thanks to people who create, and I am able to be part of it from far away.
Seeing familiar features in a stranger also makes me feel connected with my community. I feel at home while walking on the streets of Moscow and seeing so many faces with little traits, indistinguishable for someone else, showing their Russian/Slavic identity. I feel comfortable going to Russian grocery stores and seeing older people with round faces and frowning brows. I feel understood, like, “Hey, I am Russian too! I know your culture. I know your art. I know the traditions we observe and love. I hear you!” Surrounded by strangers with foreign traits, strangers that over my time in America became friends, teachers, colleagues, or just generally familiar, comfortable faces, I still crave the comfort of innately known. Passing by a Russian on the street reminds me that there are so many places where I can find my community in America. A home far away from home, as some would say.
Over time, I found myself submerging into my American community. I fully became a Californian teenager, enjoying the culture of my generation. I started existing in both worlds thanks to the arts. I enjoyed popular music; I marveled at the fashion of our time and found my own style; the motivation behind the characters' actions in American TV shows and books became more clear to me. Like so many of my friends, who are either first-generation in the U.S. or immigrants like me, I enjoy perks of both cultures.
I pick my music based on how I feel and what I want to feel but my choice is not limited to English songs, expanding to a rich library of Russian music. I have a choice between which world I want to immerse myself into when picking a TV show. My fashion decisions go beyond one style and my taste became a mix of light Californian and sharp, elegant European clothes.
Art plays a considerable role in the creation of the identities of, not just one person, but entire nations. I gladly accepted the mirrors both of my cultures had given me. Many others accepted their mirrors too, letting art connect people as one. And even if my face is not painted in oil and displayed in the museum, I know that I am still right there on the wall, following patrons with my tranquil eyes.
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