James Miller: Anastasiia, your series In Case We Stay moved me deeply. Let’s begin at the very beginning. What sparked this project?

Anastasiia Terentieva: It all started with a very simple moment. I bought a potted plant. It wasn’t practical — it needed care, light, attention. But something within me reached for it. That moment became my first quiet step toward the thought: maybe I’ll stay.

James: Why did the plant become such a powerful symbol for you?

Anastasiia: Because it demands care. You can’t ignore it. Unlike a spoon or a towel, it doesn’t just help you survive — it lives beside you. For me, it became an act of belief in the possibility of rooting. It wasn’t decoration. It was a small, brave claim: I’m here, and I want to live — not just endure.

James: You’ve mentioned that for a long time, you avoided beauty and comfort. Why was that?

Anastasiia: Life as an immigrant often feels like a permanent pause. Everything is temporary — your belongings, your housing, even your relationships. I didn’t fully unpack because I didn’t believe I could stay. In that context, beauty felt like an emotional luxury. I was focused on survival.

James: And then you started photographing — beginning with yourself?

Anastasiia: Yes. The first image was a self-portrait: me and the plant. No posing, no smile. Just being. At the time, I didn’t know it would become a series. But soon, I began photographing others — people living in that same in-between state. I asked them to hold the same plant. Some embraced it. Some held it like it might vanish. Some barely touched it. Each brought their own energy.

James: So this isn’t a series about trauma — it’s about what comes after?

Anastasiia: Exactly. It’s about the space between trauma and rebuilding. About uncertainty, but also about possibility. It’s about the decision to begin again, even when you don’t know if what you’re building will last.

James: Your work raises deep questions about belonging. How do you define that?

Anastasiia: Belonging is an internal decision to stay — even when nothing around you feels permanent. It’s not about paperwork. It’s about giving yourself permission to take root. To care, to build, to be — even on unfamiliar soil.

James: There’s a profound stillness in your photographs — an almost physical silence. Was that intentional?

Anastasiia: Absolutely. I wanted to preserve vulnerability. These images don’t make declarations — they simply are. They don’t offer conclusions — they offer breath. My hope is that viewers don’t feel pressure to “understand,” but instead feel allowed to feel.

James: Tell me a bit about your experience at Harvard Extension School and the role of your mentor, Greg Marinovich.

Anastasiia: Studying at Harvard and working with Greg helped me shape the emotional clarity of the project without losing its softness. Greg gave me the tools to sharpen my vision while encouraging me to remain faithful to the quiet voice that inspired the work. The series became part of my final capstone — both a visual diary and a research-based study of identity in transition.

James: Finally, what do you hope people take away from In Case We Stay?

Anastasiia: A sense that even in uncertainty, growth is possible. That care is a form of hope. That art can hold space for complexity and quiet. And that sometimes, a single plant is enough to remind us: you have the right to grow again.


James Miller
26.04.2025