How to eat at night

In totalitarian regimes, fairy tales aren’t inherited but manufactured to sustain illusion. I drift through this dreamlike reality, where history is rewritten and truth feels distant.

How to Eat at Night

In lands ruled by totalitarian regimes, fairy tales are not whispered from one generation to the next but manufactured in the halls of power. These are not stories of wonder, but illusions designed to keep entire populations in a state of suspended disbelief. Propaganda weaves a strange tapestry: the colors are vibrant, the scenes idyllic, but the threads unravel at the slightest tug of truth.

For those born into these tales, the world feels both real and surreal—a dreamy landscape where history has been erased or distorted. Growing up in Belarus, I drift through this illusion, trying to decipher my identity in a world where the past has been rewritten and the present feels artificially serene. I am left navigating a strange duality: the comfort of the familiar and the gnawing suspicion that something is deeply, inexplicably wrong.

In this photographic series, I play with that dissonance. A quiet unease lurks beneath the fairy-tale beauty, much like the way hunger lingers in the night—persistent, insatiable, searching for something beyond the illusions we are fed.