the genius of my mother - Elena Bogdanovich
It’s very easy to look at other people, especially at the mothers of others, and see some outstanding quality in them.
Little into the interviews I began to wonder whether my mother has a genius I did not notice because I’m her daughter and because we have a history. For the longest I just viewed my mom as average, taking for granted all she does because I had barely zero interest in who she is. Needless to say, our relationship has been quite complex and rough. I’ve been so angry at her for most of my life that I refused to see her in her humanity and magnificence.
My mother came to visit me in my home in London, last week for a whole week. This is the first time she comes to see me in the place where I live, and I used to be resentful about her not making the time to come see me in my temporary homes in New York or Milan. But during the week that we spent together… I felt those ruptures being sown back to whole.
One evening, I set myself up to interview her like I do with other women, except in person and with a bottle of prosecco between us. That evening she left the unidimensional corner of motherhood I’ve locked her in since I was born 35 years ago, to became a tridimensional, multifaceted woman.
My mother was born in Minsk, Belarus, in 1963 on a winter day. She was the youngest of two. My grandmother Rema, her mom, was the first female driver in the city, my grandfather Valodia, her dad, was a driver too. Her grandfather Ivan was the best shoemaker in the city and so the folks in our family never lacked footwear - which at the time wasn’t to be taken for granted. Her grandmother Anna was a cleaning lady at the hospital, in the department of Infectious Diseases. They all lived together in a one bedroom apartment in the suburbs of Minsk.
Life was tough, money were scarce and yet her mom managed to always dress her children properly so they’d always be clean and presentable. My mother won medals at school and excelled in sports, however her heart beat for clothes and beautiful things. During her early teenage years, jeans appeared in stores and to be able to afford one, she went to work… her grandmother Anna set her up in the department of Infectious Diseases, where she was put in charge of testing excrements. At the end of a long *smelly* summer…. she was proudly wearing those jeans!
Life could’ve been ok-ish in Minsk, but my mother wanted more. And as every teenager, she couldn’t wait to leave her home and family, where things were extremely rugged. My mother was a rebel, too, and someone with a mind of her own straight from the start. Rumours about Moscow reached her ears, a city where apparently things were bigger and more beautiful, there were more shops and more restaurants, and so she registered that as equaling a better life. One day, whilst still in school, she hopped in all secrecy on a train to see it for herself. Her mom would’ve never in a million years approved! And… rumours were right, sort of-ish. I believe rumours of how hard it was going to be to make a living in Moscow never reached her, that was the reality she had to discover by herself. She made a mental note to move to Moscow after graduating from high-school. I still think my grandmother never gave her the approval and in some way never truly forgave her for leaving, because she didn’t follow the rules she was meant to follow as a young lady: that is find a husband, make children, be good. She left following her gut feeling and a not so clear vision of a future. All she had was an undeniable trust in herself.
At that point she had already made a group of girlfriends, amongst which there was Nadia, who I’ve met as they’re still friends and who was gifted with golden hands: back in the days, she was sowing clothes nothing short of today’s Alexander McQueen’s designs or old Gianfranco Ferre. My mother loved to wear everything she made. Moscow offered my mother a taste of broader beauty, she’d work to afford beautiful things. And the price didn’t matter, she’s gifted with spotting gems at any price point… and so today she can be seen wearing a Zara or H&M top above a Chanel skirt carrying a Hermes bag or a crochet bag crafted by an unknown artisan.
She never as much cared about brand names, because she knew that it’s not the label that makes something beautiful, rather it’s the intrinsic quality and aesthetic of that thing.
After she got everything she could out of Moscow, she began dreaming of wanting more, again. She believed there was more beyond the imaginary walls on the Soviet Union. … And flash forward to 1988/1989, one day she landed in Italy, where she still lives in what she calls my dream home.
My father could afford his wife not working, so my mother had the responsibility of the home, preparing meals, and taking care of their three kids. At the time, growing up, all my admiration was reserved for my father because he was a successful businessman and was making lots of money and basically was powerful AF: I wanted that. Obviously on the contrary I believed my mother had no value as a woman because she didn’t have a career. I didn’t even think she had any genius because I believed genius to be something tied to a job. Yet, how many have I seen neglecting entirely that very thing that is their own while working jobs and climbing the stairs of prestigious careers they absolutely hate.
My mother, although has never made it a career of her genius, she has inspired the lives of so many of her girlfriends and us children, and the partners of her children and others who crossed paths with her. Impacting in a way that is so subtle I had difficulty to recognise…
Well but imagine the impact of growing up immersed in beauty…
My mother, although being busy with 3 kids, had always the time to put herself together. She never loved nor agreed with those women that once entered motherhood, they completely abandoned themselves and stopped dressing up or being presentable. In fact, she is not someone who’s ever got out of the house without make up… which is her ritual, the way she lifts up her mood, and the way she values herself. She’s repeated to me ad infinitum, ‘Do it for yourself! Do it for the pleasure of seeing your beautiful reflection!’
It doesn’t matter if the world is falling apart, my mother will put an eyeliner on her eyelids and hairspray in her hair. And this way of embellishing herself, extended to our family house. The house, and even more the garden of my mother… is a masterpiece and holds a high vibrational essence.
For beauty’s sake…. that the reason.
I asked my mother to tell me, what’s your thing. At first she didn’t know the answer. This is all too common with women, when noone taught them to recognise their gifts and genius… when we still believe in an imaginary ladder of some gifts being more valuable and important than others. But after much thought, she answered “I have an eye for beautiful things”. Did you always have it mom? “Yes, but of course it got better and better… the more I’ve seen, the broader my horizon and the more trained my eye became.”
She acknowledged herself and her genius though with a note of uncertainty over the seriousness of said genius: is it of any value if it doesn’t bring money? Is it of value if it’s not recognised by the world? And, what is the value of the genius of beauty anyway? What is the importance of making everything and every place beautiful? Well for once, it’s strictly connected to the ability to raising the vibration. Wherever beauty lives, it makes it very hard for low vibrations to linger for long. My mother is prone to melancholy, and so I wonder whether her gift is an innate counterbalance of her nature. To her, beauty simply helps to live better.
My mother is beautiful. Her beauty is of the sophisticated, curated, classy kind. She is who she is no matter where she is. She’s not chameleonic. She’s firm in herself and her image. My mother knows who she is, what she likes, what is hers and what’s not. At times this strength of character may have over spilled onto believing she knows best for everyone, and it took me time to put boundaries in place and comfortably say “no that’s not for me, even if you find it beautiful.” I’m happy to report she’s adapted, however - on a little side note - she must’ve sent me 30 dresses for my brother’s wedding this summer and I said yes to one only… the rest were not my thing. She couldn’t believe I could say yes to just one but was satisfied with that much LOL I mean I wanted to wear something I already posses in my closet without bothering much… and to her that was unacceptable, that’s why she launched herself on the mission for finding myself a proper dress.
Today I feel very grateful for my mother’s life choices. Thinking back, it was priceless to have our mother cook us meals every day and making sure the house was amazing. She created a space for us all to thrive. My father had the mental space to go all in in his business. She maintained the vibration of our household.
It’s been over 30 years that feminism pushes forward a strong, independent, and career oriented image of woman. Where it led, and I feel we ought to acknowledge this, it’s an army of workaholic women on a quest to get financially independent as if that was the only road to freedom - ignoring, of course, the emotional umbilical cord still attached to their partners. I mean, I’ve been there too. What I see in my mother, behind the “she doesn’t have a career”, is fierce independence of self. That’s why she is free, even whilst being financially dependent on my father. She doesn’t stay quiet. She fights for what she believes. If she doesn’t like something she’ll say it, if she doesn’t like what she’s eating she’ll send it back to the kitchen even at a Michelin starred restaurant. She doesn’t follow trends, unless they work for her taste. She embodies the quality of beauty that is care, and uniqueness.
My mother opened a small private atelier, only for family and friends. She works in close relationship with a few women seamstresses and basically creates unique clothes tailored to the personality and figure of her girlfriends (and myself!). We tried setting up a bigger business, however my mom loves the little to no responsibility… she just loves to have fun. She also primarily enjoys making clothes for herself, and when someone sees her dressed in her own couture, they usually want the same.
In a world that tends to dullness and quickly fills with copycats, my mother created her world dressed in beautiful clothes, original interior design and the scent of thousands of roses. And in a world where people want to impact as many people as possible, she isn’t for the many. Nor that has ever been her interest.
